#IDENTITY REVEAL QUESTION MARK????

[spookbatss]

NEW TIM DRAKE: ROBIN COVERS AHHH

i’m literally going insane TIMBERN KISS TIMBERN KISS and tim and steph look so good everyone say thank you dan mora

[dykedvonte]

Are synths blank flanks in a MLP Fallout 4 au? Are their cutie marks just like press tattooed on and it works cause people in the wastes don’t shower often?

[stackthedeck]

just remember Lyja exists, writing her into the rejecting soulmates au because I live to hurt Johnny Storm

[martiniblues]

spidey boy ; 이민형

pairing spiderman!mark x female!reader

synopsis mark has tried to hide his secret identity from you for as long as possible, to keep you safe, of course. little does he know that you’ve untangled his web of lies long ago and will do anything in your power to get him to admit it. just when you've had enough of him lying to you, he ends up getting caught in the act trying to save your life.

genre established relationship, fighting (if you squint), lots of fluff, slight violence and cat-calling, slightly suggestive, mark calls reader “my girl” and “pretty girl”.

wc 2.9k

“do you think that spiderman guy is actually as good as everyone says he is?” you ask mark, who lay peacefully in your lap as your fingers ran through his hair.

you two had been hanging out after school, as you usually do, watching random channels while you both indulged in each other's day. however, you had articulated this hangout the night prior.

a few days ago, you had aimlessly been searching through mark’s backpack in hopes of finding your calculus notes, which you had so graciously let him borrow, only to stumble upon a very familiar red and black mask balled up in the bottom.

at first, you thought mark had hit peak fangirl. he was obsessed with the superhero after all, completely drawn to the tv or newspaper whenever spiderman was mentioned, but so was every other human being in your city.

so when you began noticing how mark’s late-night appearances and “fashionably late” activities began lining up with the famous building-swinging superhero, your mind put the pieces together.

you tried to understand his point of view and why he wouldn’t reveal this very key detail about himself. it hurt you, though, feeling as though there was something in you that made him not feel comfortable enough to expose himself to you.

so, you compiled a plan to get the truth out of him organically, or as organically as this could be.

“wha… what do you mean?” your boyfriend’s head quickly snapped up, turning on his palm to face you with a questionable look knitted into his features.

a smile teasingly pulled on your lips, knowing you had hit a sore spot in his ego. how couldn’t he be proud of himself? after all, he was known as the hero of your city.

“i don’t know,” you continued, leaning back against the couch, watching your boyfriend swing from building to building on the screen in front of your bodies. “he just seems too full of himself, like cool you can swing from buildings and hang upside down, but we have police and firefighters for a reason!”

it took everything in you to not break character, slowly watching mark’s face grow red at your painful statements. he just looked at you, eyes blown wide and brows pulled so close together that you were certain he could get stuck like that.

with a small giggle, you reached out, brushing your thumb between the crease in his brows and bringing it down to caress his cheek.

“what’s with the face, baby? don’t tell me you're obsessed with him too.” his face slowly relaxed as your soft hand held his face, but his brain was still scrambling with your previous statements.

how could you find him not absolutely amazing? he could swing from buildings and hang upside down!

“you don’t think he’s cool? not even a little bit?” mark’s eyes followed yours to the screen. spiderman now being shown saving an older woman from getting mugged.

“i think he’s cool, i guess.” you looked back at your boyfriend only to find his eyes already on your face, his previous expression appearing again. “babe, you can’t be serious.” mark leaned back, feeling completely bewildered by your nonchalant attitude towards his heroic duties.

“it’s not that big of a deal."it’s not like you’re spiderman, so why should it matter if i like him or not?” you titled your head away from the screen to watch his eyes grow wide, and you could audibly hear his breath hitch.

“but…” he quickly let out before catching himself, looking at the tv to see his segment disappear. “but what?” you teased, beginning to feel bad for your ministrations.

he looked back at your face, sighing heavily. “nothing, just like the guy a bit," he said before lying back in your lap to hide his face from you.

this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

“hey baby~” mark cooed as he stepped into your apartment, takeout bags in hand. you quickly sprung up from your spot at the counter, running to hug your boyfriend after not seeing him for awhile.

after your first attempt to disclose his true identity was unsuccessful, you held off from bringing up the topic for awhile.

but you had finally decided to take a different approach this time.

“i missed you, pretty girl.” the nickname made your cheeks heat up as his cold hands held your face in front of his. he inspected you lovingly, relishing in the fact that he could finally hold you without school being in the way.

“missed you too," you replied before kissing him softly. mark dropped the plastic bag on the counter beside him, pulling you firmly against him. his lips were almost enough to make you forget about your plan.

almost.

“god, i’m hungry.” you pulled away, making him laugh at your cute antics, and he joined you on your couch to eat. as you sat, you pulled off your (mark’s) sweatshirt to reveal the key details of your plan.

mark quickly noticed the black spiderman logo displayed across your chest, at a loss for how quickly your opinion of him changed. “you like?” you asked, flaunting the red baby tee you had bought earlier that day.

“i- i thought you thought spiderman was stupid." he nearly choked on his food, trying not to blush at the image of his girl repping him like this.

“i never said he was stupid, mark. i just thought he was overhyped, but i now understand where all the love is coming from.” you looked down, ogling at your new shirt, sure of its effect on your boyfriend.

“oh…” he tried to fight the grin, trying to cover his lips, but couldn’t contain his relief. “glad you finally came around, baby.” he smiled before shoving his face with more food.

“you’re not jealous?” you asked, beginning to take on step two of your plan. “he is a guy, after all.”

this made mark actually choke on his food. “what? why would i be jealous about that?"

“i mean, your girlfriend wearing a shirt for some muscular superhero who is most definitely sickly hot under that skin tight suit he wears while saving lives." you went on swirling your fork in your food, looking up every so often to see mark’s cheeks darken at the compliments.

he held his head down, but not enough for his flushed ears and cheeks to go unoticed. “why are you so red, baby? i still like you more, you know; spiderman can’t take you away from me.” you reached over and combed your fingers through his hair to feign worry.

“that is, unless he happens to swing by and sweep me up with his insane muscles.” you winked, making your boyfriend turn into a tomato.

“yeah, you wish he would do that.” mark  joked, trying to deflate his growing pride, which you continued to boost.

“what? are you saying i’m not worthy of spiderman’s fantastic biceps picking me up and swinging me through the night sky?” mark looked at you quizzically.

you couldn’t be serious, could you?

mark discarded his food, crawling over to trap you beneath his body. "fantastic, you say... and what are these?” he made reference to his own muscular arms peeking through his fitted white tee.

"marvelous," you replied, sliding your fingers softly over your boyfriend's muscles. how lovely it was that you didn’t have to dream of spiderman’s biceps as they sat right in front of you.

“better than fantastic in my book.” mark smiled before catching your lips in his.

your spiderman shirt was soon discarded in that moment but continued to linger in mark’s head days later.

“i’m just gonna go grab a few things. i promise i won’t be long.” you stood in your doorway, attempting to run to the store to get a few things before it got too late.

mark hated this.

“why cant i just go get it or go with you?” mark wrapped his arms around you from behind, making it increasingly difficult to slide on your shoes. he kissed you all over your neck and face, held your hand, pulled at your jacket sleeves, and even attempted to block the door entirely to try and get you to stay, but you were as determined as you ever were.

“i’m a grown woman, mark. i can run down the block by myself.” you turned around in his arms, reaching for your keychain next to his head on the wall, hanging by a hook.

“it’s dangerous out there. wouldn’t want my pretty girl getting hurt.” he slouched against the wall, still holding onto your hand as your whole body nearly made it out the door.

“good thing spiderman will be there to save me from any danger.” you teased him before slamming the door in his face, preventing him from getting anymore words out. not that he could form any from your statement anyway.

as you made your way through the isles of the tiny convenience store down the block from your place, you began to notice a dark figure popping into your vision.

a man decked out in all black and wearing a dark baseball cap pulled down just enough to hide his eyes followed your trail through the store.

he just coincidentally needs the same things, plus it’s freezing outside. that’s why he’s covered up so much, you thought. you can't say much about covering up with your giant black puffer jacket nearly swallowing you whole.

as your shopping trip continued, you couldn’t help but notice the figure not picking up a single item they inspected.

how weird, you thought.

“have a nice night!” the sweet cashier bid you goodbye before you quickly made your way out of the store.

as you exited the glass doors, the figure from earlier greeted you outside. your steps increased in speed as you noticed the figure continuing to follow your path.

you: mark could you meet me outside

you: creepy dude won’t stop following me

you: dude answer the phone

you: mark come on this is serious

you huffed, knowing the figure was still following you from a distance and aggravated by mark ignoring your texts.

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here alone at night?” the figure spoke from your side, somehow managing to come up beside you without you noticing.

you stayed silent, pretending to be interested in the cement beneath your feet.

“hey! i’m talking to you!” the voice barked, noticeably irritated by your lack of interest. “i asked you a question, bitch!” a hand grabbed your wrist tightly, stopping you in your tracks.

thinking it was the figure, your body froze seeing spiderman right in front of you. stumbling back, you watched your hero step in and fight off the creepy man, knocking him over before webbing him to the alley wall ahead.

“try and speak to her again, and you’ll get much worse than a few webs on you.” the familiar voice of your boyfriend came out deep and threatening, making your breath hitch. you had never heard him speak like that.

while the bum continued to try and yell through the webs plastered over his mouth, spiderman turned to check on you.

“everything all right? he didn’t touch you or hurt you, babe- i mean, mam?” the fumbling of words made you laugh slightly, knowing the dork under the mask.

“i’m all right, thanks to you, spiderman.” you swooned, so caught up with the fact that your own boyfriend was spiderman and that he had practically beaten and webbed a man to a wall for you.

“what could i ever do to repay you?” you asked, trying not to trip over your own feet at the way the suit hugged mark’s muscle so well. more than any t-shirt ever could.

“just doing my job, as always.” spiderman leaned his body against the wall smoothly, resting his head against his fist. you two stood there in a few seconds of silence, both not knowing what to do.

“you better get headed home; it’s getting late.” he coughed, finally breaking out of his daze.

“no swinging around the city for me?” you asked, pretty disappointed that your boyfriend was about to make you walk home alone. “no can do, web swinging with lovely ladies is a daytime activity only; i wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.” he pulled his body from the wall, shooting up a web to hang from a sign above your heads.

“what a shame. guess you’ll just have to give me a show of the city another day," you replied, watching as mark swung his legs over the sign to hang upside down effortlessly.

definitely trying to impress me, you thought.

“i can see what i can do.” he crossed his arms over his chest before you stepped forward on your tiptoes, placing your hand on his cheek, making him short circuit.

“thanks again, spiderman.” you spoke, leaning into him to place a quick kiss on his mask-covered cheek.

“of-of course. any day, mam,” his voice cracked at your actions, making you laugh as you turned away to walk home.

mark hung in bliss before realizing he was supposed to be at your place, not saving your life in a spidey suit.

you rushed through the door, dropping your bag on the ground and making a beeline to your room. the only place with a window mark could slide through without getting caught.

you swung open your door to reveal a maskless spiderman half way through your bedroom window, eyes wide, body frozen.

you froze in shock, almost surprised that your plan had finally worked. "gotcha," you smiled, leaning against your door frame satisfied.

“uh…” mark scrambled, attempting to put his mask back on as if it would make you forget seeing his face entirely. as he tripped and tumbled around your room, you slowly made you way behind him.

“mark,” you began, attempting to get him to calm down. “baby,” you turned him slowly as he finally got his mask back on. “mark? who’s mark? that your boyfriend or something?” he attempted to deepen his voice to throw you off.

he realized this was unsurprisingly unsuccessful, noticing the smirk that continued to show on your face. “you know him, don’t you, spiderman? he’s the boy who just kicked ass and saved my life less than ten minutes ago.” you said, gently pulling off his mask to reveal your boyfriend’s face.

he stared at you, not knowing how you felt. “look, i can explain this all,” he nervously let out as he looked anywhere but your eyes.

before he could explain, you kissed him softly, wanting to ease his worry and express your gratitude. he saved your life after all, and not just by being spiderman.

“i’m not mad, not at all.” you looked into his eyes, noticing how at ease he seemed to be at the relief of your words.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. i was so scared you wouldn’t want to be with me or be scared of me,” he ranted, trying to make you see his side in case you had lied and were even the littlest bit mad at him. he hated when you were mad at him more than anything.

“why would i not want to be with you? i love you, mark, so much, it’s crazy.” you pulled his face into your hands in disbelief at his words. “and plus, how could i be scared of such a handsome, strong, crime-fighting superhero who so happens to double as my boyfriend. if anything, people should fear me,” you joked, ripping a laugh from his lips.

“how long have you known?” he asked, pulling you closer by your waist. biting your lip, you looked down, trying to hold back your laugh. “remember when you borrowed my notes for class and forgot to give them back?"

you didn’t even have to finish, seeing the realization wash over his face as the words fell from your lips.

“yeah, maybe putting your suit in your backpack wasn’t the best place.” you both laughed at the situation at hand; mark was completely dumbfounded.

“so that’s why you talked such shit about me and bought that stupid shirt!” he continued to put together the pieces, gripping your waist tighter as he laughed at his own stupidity.

"ding, ding, ding!” you replied, pulling away slightly to take in his whole look, still not being used to see him like this up close. “yeah, definitely need to see you in this more often now."

mark flushed, turning into putty in your presence. your eyes traveled all over the intricate details and meshing of the suit. how it hugged his body and made him look completely unreal.

“do a little spin for me, doll.” you teased, wanting to ease up all the pent-up emotions still hanging in the air. mark giggled at your stupid comment but did as you asked nonetheless, turning slowly for you.

turning completely to the back, not a second went by before mark felt a harsh slap on his skin. “fuck baby! what was that for?” he whined, reaching down to rub the irritated spot.

"sorry, i couldn’t help myself when you have an ass like that, mark lee.” you smiled at his pained expression, putting your arms back to lean against your vanity, still ogling at your boyfriend’s physique.

“guess i really do need to wear this more around you.” he placed his hands on either side of you, trapping you beneath him.

“maybe the story time can wait till later.” you breathed before his lips pressed themselves to yours.

“i love you so much, my girl."

“i love you too, spidey boy.”

now you had mark completely to yourself, spiderman and all with no secrets left to hide.

© martiniblues | do not copy or translate my work!

note | more spider!mark WHAT CAN I SAYYY WHAT CAN I SAYYY. he’s literally my fav mark to write ever like pleaseee get him as the korean peter parker asap!!! anyways, hope you loved this and my request box is always open <333

[loafgeto]

BEWITCHING HOUR

gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru

synopsis: while searching through the archives of your college’s library, you discover an ancient book with old rituals. out of curiosity, you try to summon an incubus but somehow, it didn’t work— only until you woke that same night, to encounter not only one, but two of them.

contents: fem!reader, explicit language, she/her pronouns, incubus satoru and suguru, NSFW, threesome, slight foreplay, cunninglus kinda, fingering, voyeurism(??), breastplay, markings/hickeys, overstimulation, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, squirting, orgasms, handjob, blowjob, slight rough sex(?!), pet names (use of slut once), suguru and satoru fighting over you, they both have big dicks<3, JUST SOOO MUCH EXPLICIT SHIT LMAOOO, not proofread !!

word count: 4.7k

notes: just so so sosoooo much content guys srry… i prob need to be locked up after this LOL i just cant stop myself from writing sm dirty shit like that 💔😢 (also plz dont read this if ur not comfortable)

most horror movies involved demons or ghosts, and they’re most likely summoned through rituals, or some sort of supernatural item or game that one shouldn’t dare to touch. people would ramble and scream at the user, complaining how stupid they were and how their curiosity killed everyone.

and you were one of those people.

but now you’re in your bedroom with an old thick book, dated back into the late 14th century. it was written in a language most wouldn’t necessarily understand, latin to be precise. but you were grateful for the classes you took in high school, and understood at least some of it.

the book was mainly about old rituals and performances or instructions to summon spirits. it was obviously a bad idea, a very bad idea. and you were just like those characters in those horror movies that you called stupid— but you had to admit, curiosity got the best of you, just like them.

besides, it was the night of halloween. all of your friends went out in their revealing costumes to late night parties while you stayed back in your dorm. well, you were going to attend, but this book was on your mind the entire day— so you opted out, reasoning that you were feeling under the weather.

now, how did this book even end up in your possession? well, it started earlier that day, after your third class of the day.

halloween landed on a friday, unfortunately— so there were classes. your professor assigned a major project in which required you to obtain an archive as one of your resources. it was irritating to say the least, since you’d have to search for an archive related to your topic without a computer. but thankfully, librarians were there to assist.

you went to your university’s library archives section on the very top floor, hoping to find something related to your topic so you’d get out of there quicker and start on the project. you decided your topic to be about ancient greek mythology, it was simple and you enjoy the idea. and it’d be quite easy to find an archive about it.

“excuse me, where am i able to find an archive about greek mythology or culture?” you questioned the librarian who mainly worked in the section.

she gives you a smile through her dull appearance before turning her head to the multiple tall shelves of archives behind her. “if you go to the fourth shelf on the left, then the third section, you may find the archives about ancient greek and everything related to it.”

after thanking the librarian, you quickly walk over to the section, somewhat excited to see what you could find. the entire section was stacked with archives about greek mythology, some were identical but in different colorings and covers, while some were smaller, thicker, older, or written in a different language.

all of the pages appeared worn, and were nearly close to rotting out of the book, and you wondered on who might’ve touched this centuries ago. it was weird to think about but you decided to move along, and keep searching for what you need.

your eyes scan through each row on the shelf, hoping to find something appealing and comprehendible to use as a resource for your assignment. something caught your eye at an instant, as if it was manifesting you, calling for you to grab it.

and for some odd reason, when you went to pull the book out of its spot, the book clearly didn’t belong in the section of greek mythology. you blinked several times, observing the old and thick book. the cover had a unique texture, with golden colored latin wordings in the front and a detailed drawing of a distorted demon. in hindsight, it was a ritual book.

you flipped through the first few pages, skimming through the paragraphs on how to summon a certain spirit or demon. everything was in latin, but you at least somewhat understood. there were pictures describing what the entities appeared as, or what forms they can take. it was frightening to say the least, but you were surprised something like this was here.

a page that certainly caught your interest mentioned an incubus.

and so, you read it thoroughly. an incubus, a male form of a demon that seeks to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women. they were the corresponding spirit of a succubus. you heard of the folklore several times, and this somewhat intrigued you even more. as you read further, it specifically mentioned that the incubus posed as a winsome japanese man, in order to attract women. you also noticed that there were two demons in the picture drawn on the page, one white and one black. could it be summoned in either form?

to say that you wanted to try summoning the incubus was definitely not an understatement. but who the fuck would want a demon to be fucking them while they sleep? the question didn't pop into your head at that moment, and you were quick to take the book without completing the search for the archive you actually needed.

and you cancelled all halloween plans just for this.

now, you felt as if you were in one of those horror movies. closed curtains, lights off, several candles lit around you as you sat in the middle of your room with the book opened to your designated page. the summoning was simple, you were to follow the ritual word by word and then take a long sip of red wine. and lucky you, there was some leftover red wine from a party weeks ago.

the glass of wine was next to the book, and you were contemplating whether or not to continue. you were quite surprised at how simple the summoning was, since most would require a slit of blood or your soul, or something extreme. but red wine? this incubus must have a preference.

you took a deep and long breath, before beginning to read the ritual word by word. and after you finished, you picked up the glass of red wine and gulped the entire liquid down your throat.

you expected something to appear, but nothing.

your eyes dart around the room, but you found it to be empty. did it not work? you’re oddly confused and repeated the ritual once more. but again, nothing happened.

when the second try didn’t work, you figured the third try wouldn’t either. you were certain that every word was said correctly and you missed out no words either. you scoffed, closing the book and turning on the lights to your room. you blow out the candles and concluded at how much bullshit this was.

“this shit is such a waste of time,” you mumble as you shove the ritual book into your backpack.

after putting everything else away, you decided to get ready for bed and pretend as if you did nothing. you would return the book tomorrow and never have to remember it again. it was worth a try after all, and you honestly thought it would work.

you switched into a pair of comfortable shorts and a loose top. you unclipped your bra and tossed it to the side, since you normally slept without one because it was more comfortable that way. you were still feeling quite upset that the ritual didn’t work, but at the same time, you were alright with nothing happening. it was just a hoax, like what everyone else would say.

falling asleep wasn’t so hard, and time ended up passing as you quietly slept on your bed. at some point, you could hear the faint sounds of teenagers screaming and enjoying their halloween events, and your neighbors’ kids exclaiming happily about how much candy they received.

and for some reason, the air in your room became more frigid and you were cuddling yourself close underneath your comforter you found warm. you didn’t allow it to bother you and fell asleep once more.

you remained asleep for several more hours, unbeknownst to anything occurring in your room. it was until you heard gentle shuffling noises in your room. at first, you didn’t allow it to bother you— until you felt someone’s gently caress your face.

“she’s cute, don’t ya think?” a male’s voice calls out beside of you.

your eyes immediately shoot open, and you’re making eye contact with an unfamiliar man— white hair and horns, striking bright blue eyes, shirtless with multiple scars, and white torn wings. your eyes widen and you scream, pushing the man’s hands away from you before shoving yourself in the deepest corner of your bed away from him.

“oh, did i scare you? i’m sorry, angel,” the man chuckles with a sly grin.

“w-who- the hell are you- and how did you get in my house?!” you shout, shielding yourself with one of your pillows.

the man sighs, rubbing the back of his nape as he remained silent for a moment. but before he could speak, another male appears behind of him— jet black hair and horns, black torn wings, shirtless with multiple scars, but he was broader and his hair was longer than the other one. “i told you to stop approaching girls like that. this is why they never like you,” he says, nudging the white haired man.

“ouch. hey, i didn’t think she would awake immediately,” he scoffs and they both return their gaze back to you. “sorry angel, i get carried away sometimes. never met such a pretty woman like ya. and you’re the one who summoned us.”

“summoned? what do you mean? i haven’t-“ you began to say due to your panic but you pause your words when the ritual from earlier returned to your mind. you remain quiet for a moment, and the two incubus’s tilt their head in confusion. there was absolutely no way, right? “i must be dreaming.”

the black haired incubus frowns, crossing his arms. “well, princess. you aren’t and even if you are, we can appear in them too,” he replies but then he shakes his head. “oh, forget i said that. don’t want to frighten you.”

“oh suguru, i think she already is.”

“this was your fault, satoru.”

“my fault?!” satoru raises his voice, glaring intently ay suguru who whistles.

“okay, shut up. quit raising your voice, you’re scaring the poor, innocent and beautiful girl here,” suguru says, now returning his gaze back to you and he smiles warmly. “but yes, princess. you indeed did summon us. was there a particular reason?”

“i.. just did it for fun..” you reply, still quite astonished. “and i thought it would only be one.. not two..”

“well angel, maybe you should read a little more carefully before summoning us,” satoru sighs, and then chuckles. “especially if you were expecting only one of us.”

“i-i’m sorry—“

“don’t apologize. everyone we meet usually mistakes it for one instead of two,” suguru is still smiling with a gentle tone, indicating for you to ignore satoru’s harmless remarks. “and you did this for fun? well princess, if you wanna have some fun. then we can give that to you. how about it?”

you’re mostly uncertain about this, and the other part of you urged to move forward. you were obviously curious but anticipating, and couldn’t initiate anything. was this actually real? you were still in denial still, yet if this wasn’t— then it’s one hell of a dream.

suguru notices your hesitation and thinks for a moment. “well princess, there’s no need to be anxious. we’ll take care of you,” he says, extending his hand out to yours. “but if you don’t want to, then all you gotta do is say no.”

you shake your head, a hand taking suguru’s. “i-i want to..” the words fell out of your mouth shyly, and you could feel your face burn as suguru chuckles, his grip tightening around your hand. “what a good girl. you don't gotta be shy at all 'kay, [name]?”

“mhm..” you nod, eyes slightly widening when you realized you didn’t even tell them your name. “you know my name?”

“of course. we always know the name of our summoner, it’d be rude if we didn’t know,” suguru smiles, as he pulls you towards him. his large frame towered over yours, and you could feel his throbbing erection poking your lower belly. “does that freak you out, princess?”

"n-no.." you shake your head, lips trembling slightly. in other cases, this sort of situation should freak you out. like, who would want to fuck two hot incubuses? but that question doesn't matter anymore. the two were so alluring, and their words seem to enchant you in some way. "good then.. i can kiss you now, right?" suguru coos in your ears.

you nod, gaze staring into suguru’s dark eyes. the incubus presses his lips against yours as a hand snakes around your hips. you moan into the kiss, since this was a feeling you hadn’t felt in so long. satoru just watches, his own dick twitching underneath his pants from the way your moans sounded.

suguru’s hands slithers underneath your shorts, groping and massaging the skin of your ass. next, he gently bites your lower, smirking from the way your moans fell into his mouth. “you like how i touch you, princess?” suguru inquires in such a seductive tone when pulling away from the kiss, and you nod as an answer while your face burned.

you are pushed down on your bed, and suguru hovers over you. he licks his lips, liking the way you were sprawled under him as his eyes burned with lust. you nearly shut your eyes as suguru spreads your legs apart, pushing the material of your shorts and panties to the side. “w-wait—“ you begin out of embarrassment, but suguru had already slipped two of his long fingers inside of your wet cunt. you gasp, quietly squirming as he pumps his fingers slowly.

“goodness princess, you’re already so wet,” suguru comments, pushing his fingers deeper. the squelching noises of your pussy resonates the room, along with your soft moans. he smiles, glancing at satoru who was becoming hornier by the second. the white haired incubus couldn’t contain himself much longer— wanting to touch himself to the sound of your moans. “you hear that, satoru? you hear how wet she is?”

“mmh- fuck, yeah,” satoru replies, a hand rubbing over the bulge of his pants. he had to admit, he was jealous of suguru— him being able to please you first. the two had been confined in that book for who knows how long. satoru has become desperate, hungry and longing to touch and fuck a pretty girl like you. “hurry up, suguru. i want to touch her next.”

suguru chuckles, turning his attention back to you. “doesn’t that turn you on, [name]? don’t you like hearing how badly satoru wants to touch you like this?” suguru says, pressing a thumb against your clit and creating sensual circles around the area that makes you more sensitive. you moan as a response, your body trembling from suguru’s actions. “y-yes.. i want satoru- to t-touch me too..” you reply, looking at satoru who nearly came from the needy pitch of your voice.

“you heard her, satoru,” suguru says, glancing at satoru with a grin— and you found yourself in between the two incubuses. suguru had slipped off your shorts and panties, tossing them to the floor. satoru was situated behind of you, propping your body up so that your back would press against his muscular chest.

while suguru was pumping his fingers into your aching pussy and rubbing circles against your clit, satoru had pushed his hands underneath your top to fondle with your breasts. satoru pinches your nipples with his fingers, getting a little whine out of your mouth and then moves his lips to suck the skin of your neck. suguru could feel your gummy walls pulsate and clench around his fingers, and he fastens his pace to assist you closer to your orgasm.

“such pretty tits you have, angel,” satoru compliments, leaving love marks on your neck and he kisses your shoulders. such delicate and gorgeous skin you have— making satoru wanting to mark you all over with his mouth. he pinches your nipples again, when noticing the way you react to it. “mm~ s-satoru- keep touching my breasts like that-“ you moan, your head slightly falling back against his shoulder.

“give me some attention too, princess~” suguru pouts, slipping another finger into your pussy. your eyes widen in astonishment, seeming that you’ve never felt three fingers inside of you before. your moans become louder at that point, mostly because of suguru. “yeah, that’s a good girl. moan just for me,” he adds, smirking as his knuckles began smacking the entrance of your pussy.

satoru glares at suguru, before slipping one hand away from your breast to grab your head. satoru turns your face towards him and presses his lips against yours while maintaining eye contact with suguru. the raven haired incubus furrows his brows, watching as you and satoru’s tongues swirled sloppily around and over each others. the two now seem to have an ongoing battle of who can please you the best.

“‘m gonna c-cum,” you utter through your moans, mouth parting slightly from satoru’s, a strong of saliva connecting from your tongue to his. suguru smiles, curling his fingers to rub faster against your g-spot. “c’mon princess, cum for me,” he says, lowering his face to your pussy and replaces his thumb with his tongue on your clit.

“oh f-fuck, suguruu-“ you mewl his name, eyes nearly rolling back as your legs tremble from the fast kitten licks his tongue was giving against your clit. satoru couldn’t do much but continue to play with your breast and watch suguru fuck your pussy until you came. you could feel satoru’s throbbing dick pressing against your lower back, and you use a hand to go behind and underneath his pants. “s-shit, angel-“ satoru grunts as your hands push to free his cock out and wrap around his girth. “seems like she’s ready for my cock.”

“don’t even think about it, satoru,” suguru growls, circling licks against your clit before gently sucking. he had to remind satoru that it was his turn to fuck the next summoner first, and just because you had invited satoru earlier than suguru expected, doesn’t mean he’d get to fuck his cock into you first. as for you, your mind is too overstimulated with the situation and you couldn’t bother caring about their bickering. “shitshitshit, i’m cumming-“ you cry out, squirting over suguru’s mouth and fingers.

suguru licks and cleans all of your juices that squirted onto your thighs and by his mouth, savoring the taste. he stares deep into satoru’s eyes when licking off your arousal on his fingers, smiling cockily since satoru wasn’t able to get a taste. “i might actually get addicted to this pussy,” suguru comments before he unzips his pants to releases his hard throbbing cock.

your eyes widen at the sight of suguru’s dick. was something like that actually going to fit? you anticipated greatly as suguru pumps his length a few times before aligning against your wet entrance. “oh, you scared, princess?” suguru chuckles, but you instantly shake your head. “n-no.. please fuck my pussy..” you reply, pushing your legs farther apart.

“you hear that, satoru? hear and see how she’s begging for my cock only?” suguru asks, glancing at satoru to see his reaction. he just needed to rub it in the other incubus’s face, since they were quarreling after all. satoru glares again, not replying as his attention was mostly on the way your hand gripped around his cock. “spreading your legs like that just f’me. such a needy girl you are, huh?” suguru adds, teasing your wet entrance with the tip of his cock before pushing his entire length past your folds.

“o-oh my god-“ you moan, eyes widening from the feeling of suguru’s cock rubbing against your walls, nearly making you cum again. suguru grunts when your tight pussy instantly clenches around him, and he quietly chuckles. “fuck.. mmh,” he moans, rocking his hips in a slow and sensual pace.

“touch me too, angel. don’t forget about me,” satoru whimpers, his words purring into your ears as he bucks his hips up to feel your soft hand rub against his desperate cock. and who were you to ignore his lecherous request? you began to pump your hand along satoru’s cock just like he wanted, causing him to moan softly into your ear. “s-shit.. i might cum just because of your hands,” satoru chuckles, returning his lips to suck the skin of your neck.

suguru’s hands grip tightly on your thighs as his thrusts became stronger, faster, and full of desire— wanting to strive your attention away from satoru. his cock was already fucked deep into you, spreading and pleasuring your walls towards your next orgasm. your moans fall from your mouth with each thrust and love bite you receive from the two incubuses, and you began detecting stars in your vision as you reach a daze. “n-ngh.. squeezing me so damn hard. you want my cum that badly, baby?” suguru groans, faintly throwing his head back.

“y-yes, pleaseee,” you whine, your cunt sucking in suguru’s cock at his words. the incubus groans, drilling deeper into your pussy, balls slapping against your ass. satoru intently watches suguru pound into your needy hole relentlessly, turning you into a crying and moaning mess. his dick twitches at the sight of you two connecting, making him wonder what it’d be like to be in suguru’s position. it even turned satoru on when he sees how suguru’s fucking you, and the sensual strokes you give his cock doesn’t seem to stop him from reaching an orgasm.

“fuckkk, holy fuck-“ suguru chants, his eyes nearly rolling back because of how satisfied his dick was feeling. “we should make her ours, satoru. make her our little cum dump, yeah?” suguru glances at satoru, who only moans as a response when you swirl your thumb around his swollen tip. “seems like she wants to, satoru. the way she’s clenching her dirty little cunt tightly around me tells me she wants to be our cum dump. that right, princess?” suguru utters, now staring into your tear filled eyes as he continues thrusting into you.

you nod your head several times, unable to formulate a proper response as you felt your next orgasm reaching. “‘m gonna cum, shittt,” satoru groans, your soft hand on his cock driving him insane. “m-me too.. gonna fill your womb up with all of my cum,” suguru grits his teeth, and you haven’t even realize his sharp nails nudging into the flesh of your skin.

in the next moment, satoru came entirely over your back and hand— while suguru fucks his cum into you before pulling out. you moan, legs trembling slightly as you feel suguru’s semen warming your baby room. you’re breathing heavily, desperately gasping for air as the two were switching positions, not that you noticed.

you found yourself on all yours and completely naked, face directly inches away from suguru’s cock while satoru had positioned behind of you, pushing your ass back against his hips. “now it’s my turn to dump my cum in you, angel. i’m gonna give you so, so much~” satoru coos, not even giving you a moment to comprehend before shoving him cock into you. “a-ah, fuck-“ your mewl, eyes widening from the deep penetration, instantly making you cum on him. “already came? i just started, y’know,” satoru grunts, thrusting his hips before slapping your ass.

suguru strokes his throbbing dick that was still hard, which earns your attention immediately. he chuckles, his other hand going to caress the side of your face. “you miss my cock already, don’t you?” suguru raises a brow, smacking the tip against your face before you nod. “yeah? t-then take my cock into your mouth- mmh, just like that- good girl,” he praises, pushing half his length pass your lips, groaning at the warm feeling of your mouth.

you bob your head slowly back and forth, sucking and slurping suguru’s cock while using another hand to pump the rest of his length that was unable to fit into your mouth. at the same time, satoru was drowning his cock deep into your cunt, fucking suguru’s cum out and making it stream down your thighs and onto the sheets of your bed. “s-stop squeezing me so much, angel. about to make me cum a-again,” satoru stutters, hands gripping tightly on your hips.

“mm- satoruu- suguruu~” you moan both of their names, pushing your head away to swirl your tongue around suguru’s tip. you clench your walls around satoru, despite him begging you to relax since it was driving him insane. “hear her, suguru? she’s moaning our names like a damn slut,” satoru grins, slapping your ass again.

“yeah, i like it,” suguru replies, pushing his length into your mouth again, feeling your moans vibrate against his dick. “g-gonna fill her mouth with my cum too..”

“hey.. that’s not fair..” satoru glares at suguru. or maybe it is fair and he just doesn’t want to admit it. since the last time they had sex with someone, satoru was the one mostly occupying their attention and barely allowed suguru to interact. to say the least, satoru’s selfish and greedy, but of course if it’s his best friend— he wouldn’t mind sharing, which is why they’re both sworn incubuses. “it is. but whatever [name] says, goes,” suguru hums, reminding satoru of the simple rules they established beforehand.

“‘ts okay- i want you both- to fill me up with your cum-“ you intervene as suguru slips his cock out, exchanging glances between the two. whether the boys like it or not, you’d share yourself equally to them. that was the fair way, but it didn’t mean they’d stop bickering over you. wanting to get rid of their glares at each other, you attract their attention back to you by kitten licking your tongue against suguru’s tip and grind your hips back against satoru. “s-shit. i can’t resist myself any longer, princess,” suguru moans.

satoru was loving the way you were fucking his cock by pushing your hips back against him, it made him pound you even rougher than before. “gonna make this pussy ours then,” satoru whines, his hips slamming harshly against your ass, nearly capturing your remaining attention away from suguru. “let’s fill every single one of her holes with our cum, ‘guru.”

“you fucking bet,” suguru smirks to the idea, as if it wasn’t something they planned from the beginning. the two of them moan, feeling you suck them in tighter, like you’re trying to milk all of their cum out due to the wicked statement. it aroused you, turned you into an even more filthy woman. “g-gonna cum in your pussy now, angel.. fuckkkk, take it all like a good girl,” satoru huffs, hoisting one of your thighs up.

as satoru was reaching his climax, he penetrates his cock deeper into your cunt, making sure all of his cum would reach into your womb like suguru’s did. you cry out, rushes of ecstasy flowing through your veins before satoru shoots his warm semen into you. at the same moment, suguru prods his entire length into your mouth, whether it fit or not, and releases his second load into the back of your throat. your mind is completely scrambled, cramped with lust struck thoughts of the two incubuses.

and just when you think that they’re done, you find yourself lying back on your bed again and legs spread apart to where they both could fit in between. they both wore heavy erotic expressions, eyes practically sparking with hearts as they stared down at you.

it was like you were in a never-ending heaven with two sex demons. you already felt so addicted to the incubuses, like they were going to become a drug you could never stop taking. and well, you couldn’t return the book anymore— not after experiencing this. they were going to be your little secret, your pleasures, your two fuck buddies that will pound their horny cocks into you wherever and whenever.

you keep your filled cunt exposed to them, moaning softly when their mixed cum starts dripping out. to them, it looked like you were desperately pleading for them to fuck you again. and that’s when they knew that they were going to be summoned every single night.

“let’s make sure this pussy remember us, and only us.”

LOAFGETO. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.

a/n: i’ll let you guys decide who says the line at the end. ANYWAYS finally on thanksgiving break, im sooo done with school bru. ok lol hope u guys enjoyed. likes + reblogs are appreciated. <3

[juju-or-anya]

It's hard not to find irony in the criticisms directed towards Eloise Bridgerton and the elevation of Penelope Featherington as a more genuine and hardworking figure in contrast with Eloise's supposed privileged circumstances and her discourse on feminism. Indeed, some voices have pointed out Eloise's feminism as something white and privileged, and while this is not without merit, it's akin to rediscovering what others have already noticed, akin to Christopher Columbus "discovering" America.

Understanding the context in which "Bridgerton" unfolds is essential. The series is set in Regency England, between 1813 and 1825. This historical period is marked by a highly stratified and conservative society, where women, especially those of the upper class, were relegated to traditional roles and lacked basic legal rights. In this context, any discussion of feminism must consider the unique limitations and challenges of the time.

It is true that Eloise Bridgerton, being part of a respected family in English nobility, embodies many of the characteristics associated with the white and privileged feminism of the time. However, this should not diminish the value of her role in advancing feminist ideas in her historical context. It is thanks to women like Eloise, who challenged social expectations and dared to question the status quo, that doors were opened for future, more inclusive feminist movements.

On the other hand, when analyzing Penelope Featherington's role in contrast with Eloise Bridgerton's, intriguing nuances worthy of a more detailed critical exploration are revealed. Although both come from upper-class families, Penelope's experiences differ significantly from Eloise's. In the society depicted in "Bridgerton," Penelope is portrayed as a more marginal figure, overshadowed by the prominence and glamour of the Bridgerton family. She is often seen in the background, struggling to find her place in a world where her social status does not put her at the center of attention.

Throughout the series, Penelope exhibits a distressing lack of empathy and solidarity towards other women. Instead of fostering unity and support among her peers, her writings are propelled by feelings of envy, resentment, and desires for revenge. Striking examples of this include her actions to publicly reveal Marina Thompson's pregnancy, intending to undermine her relationship with Colin Bridgerton, or defaming individuals such as Daphne, Edwina, and Kate Sharma, often with no apparent reason other than personal gain.

Penelope's behavior as Lady Whistledown sheds light on her complex nature and motivations. While it may represent an attempt to find her voice in a world dominated by more powerful figures, it also reveals a tendency towards manipulation and selfishness. Ultimately, her role as the mysterious chronicler is more than just a quest for identity; it is a reflection of the moral and ethical complexities underlying the society of "Bridgerton."

In summary, asserting that Penelope is more feminist and hardworking than Eloise due to her role as Lady Whistledown is, at best, simplistic and, at worst, deeply misleading. Both women, while privileged in their own right, have chosen different paths in life and have faced their own challenges. However, the narrative of Penelope as a morally superior and more genuinely hardworking figure should be questioned in light of her actions and motivations, which often reveal a lack of integrity and empathy towards her peers.

It's important to note that when Theo confronts Eloise, questioning her understanding of the real world and her privileged position, Eloise doesn't reject this criticism but uses it as a catalyst to seek greater understanding. Recognizing the validity of Theo's observation, Eloise actively seeks to broaden her horizons. She engages in conversations with Theo and John, seeking to break free from the bubble of privilege in which she has lived so far.

On the other hand, Penelope takes a different stance towards her own privileged position. Instead of acknowledging her situation and seeking to understand the realities of those less privileged, Penelope vehemently denies any suggestion that she also benefits from the system. Rather than accepting her position of privilege, she portrays herself as a victim, despite her actions suggesting otherwise. Ultimately, this divergence in attitudes between Eloise and Penelope highlights the complexity of individual perceptions of privilege and personal responsibility in an unequal world.

PS: The comment: "Penelope saved Eloise by writing that she hung out with radicals, she doesn't know what it's like to be grateful" is shit. Whose fucking fault is it that the Queen is on a crusade with torches and pitchforks, looking for blood and a rolling head? From Penelope because she doesn't know when to keep her hand still and stop writing, if it weren't for Penelope, the queen wouldn't think that Eloise is Lady Whistledown, Penelope wasn't looking to help Eloise, she was looking to save her skin.

[awniie]

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ their reaction to you wearing their clothes (gojo , namani , choso )

ʚ content: suggestive, fem!reader , underwear stealing (but reverse) , domestic wife? whiny choso, drabble , no actual smut, spanking? , gojo calls reader (greedy, whore, brat ) proof read to an extent ֺ ♡

ʚ note: I kinda love this one, was tempted to write a whole one-shot with gojo ⊹ ݁ ° ⋆ 

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ namani - button up !

Nanami came home from a long day at work to you, cooking something aromatic in the kitchen, gowned in one of his button up shirts. His eyebrows pulled taunt as he took in the sight. You’d never wore any of his shirts before, probably because he was so precise with his clothing. “These are strictly for work” Nanami mani recalled informing you one lazy afternoon, as he hung up the identical shirts on the hangers in the walk-in closet you shared. But, what he failed to remember was that today was your big spring cleaning day, not corner was to be left unattended. So naturally, you worked your way into the closet and gotten into his excess of button-ups and did some ‘reorganizing.’

Your husband silently cursed himself for restricting your access to his wardrobe before. His brown narrow eyes lazily drifted over your figure. The shirt was oversized on you, barely hanging on to your shoulders. The buttons on the collar were unfastened, revealing your cleavage and the swell of your breasts. The slits on the hem exposing your upper-thighs covered in stretch marks. He was practically drooling. You were a pretty wrapped birthday present, practically begging to be delicately undone.

“Oh hi Ken’! How was work?” You chirp, looking up from the cutting board with a big smile, unaware of the way your husband ogled you and your body. He had only a little bit of his restraint left as he grunting out a half-hearted “fine” before he comes up behind you, your back up against his chest and heavy fingertips at your hips. He softly kisses your jaw and works down to your neck, taking advantage of his position to peer the collar of his shirt that was just soo loose on you. “Darling, what did I say about wearing my shirts?” He questioned crossly. He wasn’t really mad, he just like the way you let out those nervous giggles whenever you were caught doing something you were supposed to. “Oh, this?” you play clueless as he peppers open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “It’s just one of your old ones. It’s practically a rag.” you tell him, letting out a surprised gasp and his mouth moves to the your pulse, teasing it with his mouth. He let out a ‘tsk’ “No wife of mine will be wearing a rag.” He runs a hand underneath the warm linen, caressing your skin directly.

“Let me take them off you then.”

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ choso - graphic tee !

You and your boyfriend choso share a closet and also a fashion sense, so naturally your happen to have mix-ups with your clothes. You’ve mixed some of his socks with yours, grabbing the other’s similar colored hoodie by accident. He’s even had one of your lacy panties on the back of his shirt, which you took off and showed him, getting a confused look and a furious blush in return. Any sort of clothing mishap, you guys have had it and today was no different. So when you accidentally put on one of his graphic tees early this morning, he didn’t think much of it.

He opened his mouth to tell you, but closed it as he watched you move in it. It was big on you, but he loved it. The way it slid off the shoulder, revealing the fact that you were not wearing a bra. How it only came down to about halfway down your thighs, so when you bent it over it would rise up and he could see the pink fabric of your panties. He couldn’t help himself, so he followed you around the apartment all day like a lost puppy, trying to sneak a look at all your parts. Of course, you eventually noticed and you thought it was the cutest. So you decided to put on a show for him. You purposely tried to grab at items high on the shelf, just so you could torture him when the shirt rose above your hips and shoved your midriff and ass. He’d try so hard not to be too obvious, but when you would suddenly turn around and catch him staring, he’d start blushing and grab whatever you were reaching for you, avoiding eye contact.

Eventually, he got desperate. When you were preoccupied, he came up from behind you, lifting up the back of the shirt without difficulty. You were taken aback and tried to turn around and face him, but he was pressed against you firmly. “Cho’! You’d better be careful with your shirt.” You warned him with faux innocence, but not before rubbing your backside against him. You loved him like this, all whiny and raspy voiced. He groaned at the stimulation of you pressing on him and swallowed hard. “Don’t care baby. Need you so badly.” He whined, grinding his crotch against the fat of your ass.

“You’ve been teasing me all day. J’s need to get my damn shirt off you.”

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ satoru - boxers !

It was late in the morning as your boyfriend satoru was doing his morning routine. Teeth brushed? Check. Face washed? Check. He had laid out his clothes, ready to put them on when he realized his black boxers were missing. “Babe?” He called out from the bathroom. “Have you seen my boxers…they were literally right here.” You respnded with an eyebrow furrowed. “No, I haven’t? Maybe you thought you did. Just grab another pair.” You advise, moving on to the next thing. Your boyfriend isn’t stupid though , no matter what you might say. He swore he places his underwear along with the rest of his clothes but it was childish to keep discussing over it, so he simply got a new pair.

This mystery didn’t go away though, in fact it started occurring more and more often. His boxers were going missing. His drawer filled with the, started to get more and more empty, seemingly every wash day. What was worst was that every time he tried to inform of you this phenomenon, you’d brush it off. “You’re such a child ‘toru.” you’d tease him. “There probably scattered around the house somewhere, you never put your clothes away.” scoffing and shutting down the possibility of there being some kind of…boxer thief. He’d rolled his eyes and try to press on but you weren’t hearing it. So he would have to find the culprit himself. He checked the dryer, making sure nothing had disappeared inside. Nothing. Then he’d check the dirty clothes hamper and his side of the closet, just to double check. Nothing. Logically thinking, there was only two of you in the apartment. So logically, the only person who could be taking his boxer…could be you. When he’d bought it up, you shoved the thought back down. “No, gojo. I haven’t been taking your underwear. I don’t want to hear anymore about this. If you need some so bad, I’ll go to the store with you we can buy some more.” You’d told him, not looking up from your phone. He knows it was wrong but, he didn’t believe you 100%. So, if you didn’t want to admit it, he’ll just have to prove it for himself.

“Oh my gosh, toru what are you doing?!” You yelped, as your boyfriend literally pantsed you. He couldn’t care less about your squeals and squirming, as there right in front of him was his missing boxers. He brought a heavy hand down on your ass, watching it jiggle. “See babe, guess I was right.” He’d gloat, bounding your two wrists together with his hand, bending you over the kitchen counter. You felt your face warm in some sort of twisted mix of shame and arousal. “I’m sorry, they’re just so much more comfortable than my panties.” You confessed, letting out another yelp as he brought another slap to your ass. “Sneaky ass bitch. Thinking you can take my boxers and then lie about it. If you wanted to borrow some, ya’ should’ve just asked.” He scolded you, his own boner poking out of one of the only pairs of underwear he has left. He rubbed his cock against your clothed cunt, bringing out whines from you.”

“Since you like my damn boxers so much, I’ll fuck you with them still on.”

@awniie’s please don’t steal ! ㅤㅤㅤ⭑

[naeverse]

The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

      ◽preview: 

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary: 

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw:  Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel,  Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤  Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

     ◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K 

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.' 

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it. 

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves. 

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you. 

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor. 

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin. 

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!” 

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor. 

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff. 

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.” 

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you. 

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors. 

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk. 

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag. 

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking. 

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?” 

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously. 

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo. 

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv. 

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa. 

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more. 

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower. 

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

..

.

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes. 

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance. 

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter. 

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl. 

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look. 

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice. 

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words. 

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor. 

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before. 

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose. 

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”  

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again. 

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature. 

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’ 

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun. 

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed. 

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being. 

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless. 

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation. 

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous. 

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun. 

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more. 

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering. 

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table. 

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back. 

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about… 

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area. 

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant. 

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric. 

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes. 

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.” 

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding. 

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands. 

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you. 

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary. 

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words. 

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on. 

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him. 

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts. 

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position. 

“Everything alright?” 

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself. 

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so. 

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were. 

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo. 

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair. 

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you. 

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down? 

It felt utterly impossible… 

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell. 

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands. 

“Let me relax you.” 

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you. 

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. 

"I'm going to give you a massage." 

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair. 

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself. 

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass. 

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good. 

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot. 

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes. 

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body. 

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.” 

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things. 

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken. 

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

 “Here, it needs my attention.” 

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires. 

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin. 

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.” 

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate. 

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good. 

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything. 

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react. 

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger. 

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting. 

He chuckled. 

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. 

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you. 

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped. 

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything! 

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear. 

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.” 

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

 You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words. 

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core. 

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.” 

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. 

It felt surreal. 

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise. 

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you. 

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist. 

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter. 

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal. 

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition. 

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air. 

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed. 

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with. 

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair? 

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.” 

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot. 

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs. 

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver. 

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca 

Your desires.”  

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin. 

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time. 

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction. 

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more. 

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him. 

That you couldn't lie about... 

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.  

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding. 

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back. 

If you desire something, you go through with it...” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct. 

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise? 

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time. 

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter. 

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp, 

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…” 

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds. 

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you. 

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth. 

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue. 

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end. 

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter. 

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more. 

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy. 

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release. 

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold; 

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again. 

It was like music to your ears. 

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high. 

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more. 

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened. 

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more. 

Just one more taste” 

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next… 

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state. 

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried. 

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-” 

“Let me relax you, chica.” 

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever. 

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan. 

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle. 

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand. 

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed. 

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy. 

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself. 

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you. 

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time. 

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.  

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest. 

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.” 

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.” 

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.” 

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary. 

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo. 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone. 

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore. 

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek. 

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved. 

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding. 

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more. 

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own. 

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it. 

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day. 

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right. 

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether. 

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist. 

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo. 

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind. 

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[dmitriene]

𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗞 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘣𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘨𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘗𝘜𝘙𝘌 𝘍𝘓𝘜𝘍𝘍, 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘛, 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘦

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

you've always had mixed feelings about simon's balaclava, the black fabric adorned with a white skull that usually served to hide his identity, but ended up being the thing that sent cold shivers down the spines of numerous people.

it strained, made look closely and think, but not you, you were visited by completely different feelings — tickling, spreading warmth in the very bottom of your stomach, but simon doesn’t need to know about this innocent prank of your mind, does he?

it was stupid to believe so, to hope that his intuition was not developed so strongly as to notice small details, as soon as he put on this mask in front of you — a slight blush, darting eyes and twitching fingertips, hell, he even noticed how your legs fidgeted, like there was already a whole pool in the gusset of your cotton panties, and he fucking loved the thought of it.

he liked to know that you had no idea that he had long ago guessed about your innocent little secret, and even if from time to time you asked a nervous — «wha.. why are staring like that?» the answer was only a little amused — «just looking at my girl, why, is that bad?» for the go ahead, turning your attention from his studying brown gaze to his words, sweet as honey, leaving a light layer of blush on your ears.

oh, stupid, stupid you, even rabbits going into the mouth of a predator are more perceptive, no?

you, in turn, found yourself right under him to be devoured, eyes reminiscent of roasted almonds were lost in dilated pupils and the shadow of a balaclava, a sharp chin and a thin line of bitten, swollen lips displayed the results of long, burning from the inside kisses.

he waited carefully to catch you, surprise you when you returned home from a nearby bar where you been meet friends, chat, share news, informing simon that you would be gone for a while, and receiving more than approving — «course, have fun, lovie, gonna wait you at home»

having returned very late in the evening, you were confused by the absence of the usual figure on the sofa, out of habit, he often spent his time in soft pillows, watching some unremarkable show, but this time you were greeted only by darkness, his shoes were in the shoe tand, and this is the only a mark of his presence, maybe he has already gone to bed?

taking off your shoes and outerwear, you slowly put on warm slippers and walked deeper into the apartment, passing the sitting area opposite the TV and the kitchenette, shuffling along the floor, following to your shared bedroom, allowing him to grin under the dark fabric, — «what a smart girl» was spinning in his head when the handle clicked under the pressure of your fingers and the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit bedroom and a dark figure, simon.

oh, but no, this time in front of you was not your boyfriend, but the one whose name and face are a mystery, and one look makes you shiver, ghost, for some a lieutenant, and for you today’s guide into the darkness, your lips part in an attempt to understand why is he sitting in his signature balaclava, in plain black clothes, does he know? but you fall silent at the first quiet, grumbling tone — «shh, no questions and no word's, wanna only hear you moan, alright? think you can do this f'ghost?» and you just nod, fuck it, he definitely knows.

you understand this by the fact that the fabric does not leave his rough face for a minute, it only lifts up to his nose to press his lips to the warm flesh and leave a hot trail of kisses, greedy bites — a little hastily, rudely, not habitually and not typical of his usual behavior, but so damn tempting.

he prepared everything down to the smallest detail, was firmly convinced that his second identity caused flashes of new sensations in you, and had no problems revealing to you what he was like when he played his role, but he needed to make sure that you would not be scared or feel discomfort , so the rule was extremely simple — «you gonna tap me or call me by my second name if something feels off, okay?»

a languid baritone pulls you out of your thoughts and you nod, seeing his relaxed gaze directed into yours as rough fingertips stroke the skin of your hip, to your waist and back, laying a layer of goosebumps and slowly moving the fabric of clothing out of its way, frowning as if worried, and you rush to calm him down, purring contentedly, expectantly — «i'll let you know, si, promise..»

this is enough to give him permission to press the pedal, speed up his movements and direct his thoughts to the central channel in his head, changing in a split second, and now the gaze looking at you was nothing more than wild, hungry and unusually ardent, here it is, that tickling feeling, slowly migrating through the body and down until it reaches and makes your wet pussy pulsate with intensity, distributing slick throughout the fabric of the already transparent panties.

ghost pounds into you in a fast and powerful rhythm, his muscular body pins you to the sheets and the creaking mattress, you don't have a chance to move as he takes control, placing your knees on either side of your head, exposing your vulnerability in this position, squeezing your legs and holding them the way he needs.

he drives his thick, meaty cock into your tight, slick pussy, feeling how his girth stretching you out and filling you completely, with every thrust his pelvis rubs against your throbbing clit, sending powerful waves of burning waves coursing through your body and all the way down, making your pussy more and more slick.

your mind becomes foggy, your words turn into meaningless babble as the pleasure overwhelms you, drool drips from your lips as you mewl and moan, completely lost in the sensations that ghost inflicts on you, managing your pleasure with professionalism and precision, enjoying your periodic squeaks in moments when the limp tongue in your mouth still connects a couple of words — «a-angh! s'.. so good, si, please!»

listening to your babbles, his own moans of pleasure escape from under his mask — «knew you'll — nnrgh! like it! ghost fucking you good, pretty girl?» as he moves further, his veiled, veiny tip hits your cervix and slides along your gummy walls, relentlessly stimulating your sensitive g spot.

your body is covered with his marks, hickeys and bites that mark your skin as evidence of his possession, your nipples are wet and swollen from his kisses and sucks, aching from the sensitivity and the way the air of the room touches them with each thrust he makes inside you, rocking your body, while you lie there, completely fucked out, your back arches and your eyes roll back in obvious ecstasy at what is happening.

continuing to ravish you with unyielding intensity, the force of his thrusts causes the headboard loudly hit the wall, the sound of the impacts causing a soft knock on the wall from the other side, but neither of you pay attention to it, too engrossed in your carnal desires.

the density of his potent seed filled balls slamming against the bulge of your ass only intensifies the pleasure coursing through your body, his veined tip curling and hitting your sensitive g spot, causing intense sensations that make your body squirm and your walls spasm around you his girthy dick.

his masked face rubs against your neck, his lips slowly move closer to yours, and with a careful touch he kisses you very gently, making you mewl and obediently open your mouth for him in response to a smooth kiss, tongues flying together and muffling any sounds you make, and the excess of all feelings collects light moisture on your lashline.

simon notices the way your salty tears gather on your lash line and a flash of worry goes through his head, but you haven't said a safe word, haven't touched him, so he assumes you want to continue, but still gently kissing your tears away, his warm lips press against your eyelids, a stark contrast to the strong movements of his hips.

they keep snapping forward, the incessant pounding makes your ass red from the sharp slaps of his tight balls and thighs, your tightness squeezing him tighter and tighter, your slick dripping down his cock as he mercilessly abuses your cervix with all his strength, fat tip hits a sensitive spot with pinpoint accuracy, and you can only whimper and sob — «ca.. caann't — uumh! s-sii, gonna c-cum.. cumming!»

barely noticing your sobs as you announce your approaching orgasm, the tight coil in your stomach finally bursts and you're gush hard, your slick and cum covering his cock and the sheets, your thighs wet, the thin fabric soaking as your arousal continues to drip.

he groans heavily — «fuckin' hell, there you go, jus — little bit, love!» feeling the tension of your warm walls suffocating his heavy cock, and continues to move, although now slower, he touches your throbbing clit, adding the final touch of stimulation, and covers your hole with white ropes of his cum, enjoying the feeling of release, stuffing further, filling you with his potent release until it stops leaking, before noticing how your cunt becomes looser, allowing him to slowly slide out, strings of your wetness mixed with his cum stretching from your hole to his cock, leaving a white ring on.

he watches his cum ooze out of you in fat globes, feeling the urge to spread your twitching folds and tease you even more, but he notices the state you're in — exhausted and sensitive, whimpering and sniffling, and his demeanor softens, he turns his attention to comforting you, realizing that at this moment you need care, you need simon.

simon carefully kisses and licks every part of you, enjoying the taste and aroma of your wasted pleasure, while your body goes limp, completely exhausted from the intense encounter, but there is enough strenght for you to reach out tiredly to touch him.

your limp hands shake as you raise them and reach out to touch his face, and he allows you to remove his balaclava, revealing a stern but familiar face underneath, simon nuzzles your cheek fast enough afterwards, leaving soft kisses on your face, gently rubbing your thighs while his eyes dart around, looking for a dry spot on the bed that isn't covered in fluids, and finally settles down at the very edge of the bed.

he gently scoops you up into his arms and gently holds you against his chest, rubbing your back soothingly, feeling your breathing begin to soften as he coos and kisses your forehead tenderly, leaving the image as quickly as he entered, whispering the last couple of words which you hear before passing out, snuggling into his tender embrace — «that's it, you're fine, lovie, your simon is here.. you're fine, pretty girl» ‹𝟹

[theshadowrealmitself]

Making myself laugh at an au where it’s Peter Parker, became a vigilante at age 10, has been one for like 16 years now, so 26 years old max. and still, inexplicably, has his identity a complete secret, and so his file with SHIELD, if they knew him, should have stuff about him having spider abilities and a healing factor and a spider sense that helps him sense danger even without seeing it, etc

And so Spiderman thinks that his file, because they don’t know anything, just looks like a ton of question marks

But instead, it’s full of their observations that they’re 100% sure are correct based on misunderstandings and misconceptions, and that file just keeps leading to wild rumors, which end up just hiding Spiderman’s identity better, so the file’s like:

Spiderman must be about 50+, clearly knows how to fight, knows First Aid, has trouble working with others, knows military lingo (he figured it out as a kid due to various vigilante situations that put him near them), is clearly trained (they mostly think this because of the experience he picked up and because of his spidey sense), is a genius super scientist who makes his own equipment (this parts true but they don’t know he’s been mutated, they think it’s all equipment), etc

So they’re all like, obviously, Spiderman used to work for SHIELD or something (maybe there’s a rumor or they did actually used to use a weaker version of the soldier serum on agents, so they all think at most Spidey has weak super strength), definitely a government scientist at the very least, went on the run as lone wolf soldier after he witnessed some corruption*, maybe the government even killed off his family when he refused to do something corrupt, and now he wears bright clothes because he’s sick of working in the shadows, etc

(*misunderstanding based on the fact that one of the reasons why Spidey refuses to join SHIELD is because of how often it gets revealed that Hydra infiltrated it but then it gets covered up, and it’s getting covered up because they don’t want citizens to lose faith in SHIELD, like I have no doubts every single time Nick Fury is going out there and getting rid of them all, but to outsiders it just looks like SHIELD refuses to take accountability and is covering it up because they’re still there, and Peter’s Jewish ass can’t take any chances with that)

[suzukiblu]

Tim’s my blorbo so I’ll always take more Tim content

Apparently Cadmus knew Experiment Thirteen was the one to invest in because Experiment Thirteen had a soulmark.

Apparently Cadmus also considered terminating Experiment Thirteen because Experiment Thirteen had a soulmark.

Tim knows this because he broke into the place and stole a copy of Superboy's file the day after they met.

He also knows what Superboy's soulmark looks like, because these absolute bastards not only took multiple pictures of it, they put those pictures in his fucking file. Not even, like, classified or tucked away behind a firewall or a password or anything. Not even in a seperate folder. Just right there in his standard file where literally any random scientist or doctor or goddamn intern could trip right over them without even meaning to.

Forget the fucking mind control; that's fucked up.

So yeah. Tim knows what Superboy's soulmark looks like. It's a stark, dark red, all sharp angles slung low in the V of his Adonis belt and cutting from one hip to the other, looking not unlike a stylized bird in flight coming at the viewer head-on. Bold. Undeniable. Very much like Superboy himself, really.

And exactly like the mark that came in on Tim when, he now knows, Superboy was first put together in a fucking petri dish. So that's . . . a whole thing, there.

Well. At least his soulmate is only literally fifteen years younger than him, not physically and mentally.

Although that doesn't really seem like a big improvement, to be honest.

Tim didn't even know he was into guys, actually? Definitely didn't know Superboy was into guys, all things considered. Like, he would not expect somebody like him to ever be subtle about who or what he was into.

Maybe they're platonics, Tim tries to tell himself. The fact that his first thought upon learning that Superboy was his soulmate was immediately questioning his own sexuality doesn't really support that theory, though.

Though it does help explain why Poison Ivy putting her hands on the guy had pissed him off so bad.

Like. It very much does.

Tim doesn't actually know what to do about this. Bruce still thinks he doesn't even have a soulmate, due to Tim previously really, really not wanting to deal with the absolute embarrassment of admitting that said soulmate was an actual fucking baby, so Tim never got the Bat-version of the soulmate talk. Bruce'd sat him down to give it to him when he'd first become Robin, but Tim hadn't had a mark then, obviously, so they'd both just assumed he didn't have to worry about it. Tim is pretty sure Bruce had been as relieved as he had to dodge that particular bullet, really. Apparently Dick had needed visual aids and hadn't understood the "gilly talk" version. And Jason had had questions.

Lots of questions.

Creative ones.

Sometimes Tim suspects Jason might've been an asshole. Like, just a little bit of one.

So no, Tim does not blame Bruce for deciding to skip that particular talk with him, especially when they'd both thought he wasn't gonna need to know any of it anyway.

So . . . yeah. He doesn't know how he's supposed to approach this situation. Obviously telling Superboy that they're soulmates would compromise Tim's secret identity and therefore Bruce's, and everybody and their damn mother knows Superboy himself doesn't even have a secret identity so it's not like Tim can figure that out and approach him that way.

On the other hand, not telling him that they're soulmates isn't a great start to being soulmates, now is it.

Crap, Tim thinks.

Then he calls Dick, because if he has to sit through the Bat-version of the soulmate talk, at least maybe Dick will be slightly less embarrassing to hear it from.

As long as there's no visual aids involved, anyway.

"Hey, Tim," Dick greets as he picks up the phone. Tim has a carefully crafted plan of attack, of course; several, in fact. He's got all sorts of subtle ways to lead the conversation without revealing anything too damning or too specific and while keeping everything in hypotheticals. Just making the whole thing either a quick thought exercise or casual curiosity from an unmarked kid who's heard one too many soulmate stories and wants to know more. So Tim's prepared. Tim's ready.

Tim panics.

"Poison Ivy kissed my soulmate and I want to burn down her entire life," he blurts.

"Uh," Dick says. "You're . . . gonna have to catch me up a little here, baby bird. For starters, I thought you didn't have a soulmate."

"I didn't," Tim says as he starts to pace back and forth across his bedroom, because he's already screwed this up so there's no point in playing coy now. "Then some dickheads in Metropolis decided to steal Superman's dead body and make a cocky asshole with douchey shades and a leather fetish out of it."

"Ohhhhh boy," Dick says. "What'd B say?"

"I found out like half an hour ago and you're the only person I've told, so nothing yet," Tim says. "What's the Bat-protocol for finding out your soulmate is somebody in the community, exactly? Specifically somebody in douchey shades?"

"Depends," Dick says. "How'd the kid react?"

". . . I don't know how to say this without sounding like a total creep, but he doesn't know," Tim admits with a wince. "I broke into Cadmus to make a copy of his file after I met him and they just . . . had his soulmark in it. Like. There wasn't even a password. It wasn't even in an isolated folder. It was just there."

"That is the most fucked up thing I've heard since the last time I had to talk to Jervis Tetch," Dick mutters in obvious disgust. "Alright, well, how are you reacting, then?"

"My soulmate is a baby," Tim grumbles disgruntledly, dropping into his desk chair. "A baby who is also a teenager."

"Tim, you're a teenager too," Dick reminds him wryly. "You are very much so a teenager too, in fact."

"Yeah, and it sucks," Tim says emphatically. "And I have, like, actual legal guardians and a home and a trust fund. Superboy just lives somewhere in Hawaii with a sleazy businessman and his kid and some random guy from Cadmus!"

"That's, uh, actually not great," Dick says, sounding a little troubled.

"You think?!" Tim demands. "He's a baby! An infant! And he lives with his frigging manager!"

"What the actual hell," Dick says.

"Just–is it ethical to kidnap your own soulmate and does that even matter if they're not legally a person and so you couldn't actually be charged for anything anyway?" Tim mutters speculatively, drumming his fingers on his desk for a moment and then booting up his computer. "I mean, B can't get mad at me for doing it if the courts can't get me for doing it, right?"

"Wait, Superboy's not legally a person?" Dick asks incredulously.

"Nope," Tim says. "Which neither Cadmus nor the sleazebag selling his likeness for a living has in any way tried to correct, for the record. Technically he's classified as intellectual property, but Cadmus forfeited legal possession when Superman turned up alive again, presumably to avoid Superman ever finding out that they'd had said legal possession, so technically if I went and kidnapped him it'd be more like . . . salvage, maybe? Like, in the eyes of the law, I mean."

"Yeah, okay, in that case kidnapping your own soulmate might be less an ethics question and more a moral obligation," Dick says.

"Good point," Tim says, frowning consideringly as he pulls up his browser. "Do you think if I just do it as Tim Drake I can avoid compromising my identity?"

"I have no idea but if I were you I'd already be booking my flight and thinking up a cheap excuse to 'accidentally' flash a teen heartthrob superhero my soulmark anyway," Dick says.

"I am already booking my flight," Tim says mid-click of said booking. "Although, uh, flashing him our particular soulmark might require, like . . . third base, and I don't even know if he likes guys. I don't even know if he knows if he likes guys, he's like five minutes out of the cloning tube and like, I'm literally fifteen and don't know if I like guys, so why the hell would he?"

"Okay, yeah, that could be an issue," Dick says. "Hm. Wardrobe malfunction? Slutty beach day? Wet T-shirt contest?"

"I'm not above any of those options at this point, frankly," Tim grumbles, even though those ideas are all very "Nightwing" and not very "Robin". Technically he shouldn't be approaching this like Robin would anyway, because god forbid Superboy recognize his methodology.

Slutty beach day might have to be a thing, Tim realizes with resigned dread. He is really not comfortable with slutty beach day being a thing.

. . . maybe if he just gets lucky, he can catch Superboy having his own slutty beach day. Not to make any assumptions, just Tim's pretty sure if either of them were ever going to be the type to wear a speedo or low-waisted swim trunks or just walk around with their soulmark out in general . . .

Which, in Superboy's defense, well–his soulmark is already on file with Cadmus, so yeah. He might not even care if other people see it or not, considering that.

Then again, if Tim knew that a bunch of random strangers who'd wanted to mind-control him had all seen and taken pictures of his soulmark, he'd never wear anything that risked exposing it again. Like. Ever.

Possibly he'd just live and die in a wetsuit. Or coveralls. Overalls. Or just–whatever. Something like that.

. . . come to think of it, Superboy's costume is all one piece, isn't it.

Cadmus is full of assholes, Tim decides as he confirms his booking, then gets up to throw together a go-bag. He has no plan whatsoever, but whatever; it's a twelve-hour flight. He's gonna have time to think something up.

One go-through with airport security and a twelve-hour flight later, Tim has not thought anything up.

Dammit.

[flightrising]

This is now a Fallout fan account. We will not be taking questions at this time.

MUSIC: Zur, Inon, composer, "Fallout 4 Main Theme," Fallout 4, Bethesda Softworks, November 2015

[Dragon Information] Yellow Poison/Toxin Ridgeback

[Apparel] Scavenger's Weapons, Journeyman Satchels, Powerpack Coat, Black Cat, Shabby Top Hat, Dented Iron Boots, Ruthless Claws, Copper Steampunk Goggles

[VIDEO DESCRIPTION] The scene is a dusty, foggy desert location as the Fallout 4 Main Theme plays. A shadowed figure approaches and the fog clears to reveal a long-necked dragon yellow dragon with green accents. He's wearing apparel that appears scavenged and a shabby brown top hat. On top of his head stands a black cat who is wearing an identical top hat. A talk module that reads JAKE and Talk appears and then disappears. The BEAN and Talk module then appears next to the cat. The cat is selected and the following green text appears on the screen: Another settlement needs our help. I'll mark it on your map. Above the pair the following words appear: Scarred Wasteland, Talk to the dragons at Quarantine Zone #128. After a moment all of the overlaid text fades off screen. The talk modules appear and disappear in rapid succession as the video fades to black.

[metalmonki]

A Well Kept Secret Part 3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

1.3k word count

Summary You and Spencer have been in a secret relationship for a year. When you unexpectedly become pregnant it becomes harder to keep that secret.

fluff

Part 1 Part 2

A sudden warmth spread through your jeans, stealing your breath. Panic clawed at your throat, but you forced it down. Grasping your phone, your fingers fumbled across the screen, finally hitting speed dial.

"Dr. Reid," Spencer's familiar voice filled your ear, a grounding presence in the sudden chaos. Relief washed over you, so intense it almost rivaled the fear. "Spencer," you managed, your voice thick with a strange mix of terror and exhilaration, "my water broke."

Morgan's voice, gruff with concern, crackled through the phone a moment later. You could hear him bark questions at Spencer, the urgency in his tone mirroring your own.

The world narrowed to the insistent beeping in your ear and the frantic pounding of your heart. Minutes bled into an eternity before the apartment door swung open, revealing Morgan's worried face and Spencer's tense form beside him.

The car ride to the hospital was a blur of flashing lights and Spencer's hand, a warm anchor in yours. A memory flickered in your mind, a stolen kiss, a promise whispered under the cloak of night. The consequences, both terrifying and exhilarating, were now cradled in your womb, about to make their grand entrance.

At the hospital, the whirlwind intensified. Nurses bustled around you; their faces grim. A memory surfaced. Twins. The word hung heavy in the air, unspoken but understood. Relief, laced with a sliver of fear, washed over you. At least they were alive.

The sterile white of the operating room swam before your eyes. A prick, a burning sensation, then blessed oblivion.

When you came to, a soft weight rested in each arm. Tears welled in your eyes as you gazed at the tiny faces, impossibly small and perfect. Two beautiful girls, their skin a canvas of soft pink, forever marked by their unique bond.

"There you go," Spencer's voice, rough with emotion, drifted in from beside you. He cradled one of the girls, his gaze fixed on the tiny face. Your heart ached with a love so fierce it took your breath away. He might not have planned it, but there was no doubt in your mind – he would be an amazing father.

You reached out a tentative finger, brushing it against the soft cheek of the baby in your arms. A tiny hand, impossibly small, grasped your finger with surprising strength. A choked sob escaped your lips. These were your daughters, a part of you, a future you hadn't planned but now embraced with every fiber of your being.

"Penelope Jane and Jennifer Emily," you whispered, the names feeling perfect the moment they left your lips. Spencer looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before a warm smile spread across it.

"Those are beautiful," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion. He carefully placed the other baby, presumably Jennifer, in your free arm. "Which is which?"

You studied the two tiny bundles, so identical at first glance. But then you spotted it - a faint birthmark marring the otherwise flawless skin on Penelope’s right cheek. "The one with the birthmark is Penelope," you said softly.

A wave of exhaustion crashed over you. The ordeal of the birth, the weight of the revelation about the twins, the overwhelming love that bloomed in your chest – it all threatened to pull you under.

"You did amazing, y/n/n," Spencer murmured, squeezing your hand gently. His touch, calloused from years of fieldwork but surprisingly gentle now, sent a comforting warmth through you.

The sterile silence of the room was broken by the soft coo of one of the babies. Jennifer instinctively turned towards the sound, your maternal instincts kicking in with a ferocity that surprised even you.

Just then, the door creaked open, revealing a parade of familiar faces. Hotch, ever the stoic leader, offered a tight smile. Morgan, usually the life of the party, looked unusually subdued. Even Garcia, her hair a riot of colors as always, seemed uncharacteristically quiet.

"Wow, you got Garcia out of her office," You rasped, a weak attempt at a joke.

Morgan snorted. "It wasn't that hard. Spencer, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you and the babies, before nodding curtly. He followed Morgan out of the room, leaving Melody alone with the team and a secret you knew wouldn't stay hidden for long.

You watched them leave, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach. The team had already noticed the tension between you and Spencer, the unspoken truth hanging heavy in the air. You glanced down at the twins, the delicate features calming your racing heart.

"You must be tired," JJ's voice, laced with concern, broke the silence. You offered a small, reassuring smile. "Why don't you get some rest? We can hold the fort for a while."

You nodded gratefully. The exhaustion was finally catching up to you, a wave threatening to pull you under. As you drifted off to sleep, the hushed murmurs of the team filled the room, a comforting presence despite the unease gnawing at you.

When you awoke, a sliver of sunlight peeked through the window, painting the sterile room in a warm glow. Spencer sat beside you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared intently at a medical journal. The air crackled with unspoken words.

Rossi, his normally jovial face etched with concern, stood at the entrance. "Mind if I have a word, kid?" he asked, his gaze flickering between you and Spencer.

You felt trapped, the truth caught in a tangled web of unspoken words and simmering emotions. With a resigned nod, you allowed Spencer and Rossi to step outside, the weight of the secret growing heavier with each passing moment.

The sterile hospital room seemed to shrink as the door clicked shut behind Spencer and Rossi. JJ and Garcia exchanged a worried glance, the playful banter they usually brought to any situation replaced by a concerned silence. You wanted to scream, to break the suffocating tension, but exhaustion kept your voice a mere whisper.

"Do you want us to stay, y/n/n?" Emily asked, her voice gentle but firm.

Melody looked at the two godmothers-to-be, a flicker of gratitude warming your chest. "For now," you rasped, your throat dry. "But maybe… maybe you could give them a heads-up? Let them know things might get a little… heated out there."

The weight of the secret pressed down on you like a physical burden. It was time to come clean, but the fear of losing Spencer, of jeopardizing this fragile new family you were building, was paralyzing. You glanced at the twins, their tiny chests rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. No, for them, you had to be strong.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open and Spencer reappeared, his face a mask of controlled emotions. Rossi followed close behind, a comforting hand on Spencer's shoulder. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Y/n," Spencer began, his voice tight. "Rossi knows—"

You cut him off, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It's Spencer. I lied. He is their father."

A collective gasp filled the room. Emily's eyes widened in surprise, while JJ and Garcia exchanged a knowing look. Hotch, ever the stoic leader, simply raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something akin to amusement crossing his usually stoic face.

Spencer stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and crinkled the corners. Relief washed over you, warm and sweet. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be the disaster you'd envisioned.

"Well, Agent Reid," Rossi boomed, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of amusement, "looks like you've got yourself a whole new team to manage."

A nervous giggle escaped your lips. This wasn't exactly how you'd planned to reveal the truth, but seeing the acceptance, even amusement, on everyone's faces calmed your racing heart.

"Let the interrogation begin," Spencer said with a playful glint in his eye, stepping closer to the bed and taking your hand. He looked down at the twins, his voice softening. "Welcome to the world, Penelope and Jennifer. We've got a lot of explaining, and even more loving, to do."

[epickiya722]

Actually, now I'm thinking about it, it's odd to me that Midoriya and Uraraka look similar and maybe that's on purpose.

Round eyes & face

Facial marks (Freckles for Midoriya, blush stickers for Uraraka)

"Brunette" (green hair is considered being a brunet/te in anime logic)

Shorter than the others

Now given that, what if Uraraka "falling in love" with Midoriya wasn't her actually falling in love? What if it was her having a self-reflection and accepting herself?

Further thinking about it... they're practically the same person.

They're both compassionate, kind. They learn to adapt to changes. They're cute, but they're vicious if pushed far enough. They won't give up on people or in a fight. Hell, they both float, use long range attacks, and close range ones. Works in teams of three (Uraraka-Asui-Hado, Midoriya-Bakugou-Todoroki) under a top Pro Hero.

And they both "rival" some feral blond that they don't act "normal" around.

What if Midoriya wasn't meant to be Uraraka's crush but her mirror? Mind you whenever someone points out her "crush" it's not someone you would turn to for love advice.

Aoyama is Aoyama (think about that reveal), Ashido practically ships anybody with anybody when there's no real chemistry, and Toga has a twisted concept of love.

You really think I would trust any of them on telling me I have a "crush"?

There's also the fact that Uraraka herself during her talk with Midoriya says they're both "oddballs". That whole talk during 342 comes off more as someone talking about their feelings about their identity and relating to a friend who feels the same about themselves than supposedly "romantic". When someone is called an "oddball", it means that person is "weird". They're not part of the "norm".

Sometimes it comes off as having different interests, like someone liking the arts unlike the majority of the group who likes sports.

Or it's someone who identifies as queer.

What if these last few chapters of Toga and Uraraka was Uraraka accepting herself?

@darkcircles4lyfe points out a detail that I didn't catch until now in this post here.

In this scene, Toga has a hold of that All Might keychain. We know it's of importance to Uraraka because Midoriya gave it to her. We also know that once before Uraraka snatched it away from her when Toga first got a hold of it during the PLF War Arc. Here, she doesn't do it. Granted, because she's bang the hell up and probably even isn't aware of her surroundings. But on Horikoshi's part, what if that's on purpose? What if here, Toga is taking the keychain as a way of saying Uraraka is finally accepting herself and her feelings? That Midoriya was that mirror she kept looking into and questioning until this very moment?

And let's be honest here, it's not like Horikoshi isn't incapable of writing M/F ships. I just think IzuOcha is a ship he doesn't intend to make romantic because of how underdeveloped it is.

Compare it to Kamijirou and Kirimina, it is pale. Also, make note of those two pairs.

The characters in those ships also have opposing physical features.

Kamijirou - dark and light hair colors, the extrovert and the introvert

Kirimina - Spiky hair and curly hair, sharp edges and round curves

A lot of pairs Horikoshi puts together in which the characters are close (romantic or platonic) have some opposing features to them.

Gentle Crimimal and La Brava - tall and short, dark hair and light hair, one is more hands on and the other isn't

Eraser Head & Present Mic - quiet and loud, dark hair and light hair, close combat & long range

Bakugou's and Jiro's parents - quiet & loud, dark hair and light hair

It's his shtick.

But for Midoriya and Uraraka? They are just genderbend versions of each other!

That's really all I have to say here. And if you disagree, fine. Don't care for the input though, keep it to yourselves. (I say this because some of you are just damn disrespectful.)

I myself don't think IzuOcha is a bad ship, but I just don't think it's a ship Horikoshi has on his agenda. Let alone wants the audience to perceive them as "romantic" but as a "mirror".

[wildflowerblurbs]

A Light for the Knight of Shadows | Isaac Rhoades

Isaac Rhoades x GN! Mythic! Reader

CW: mentions of past trauma/mistreatment, reader feeling anxious, minor injuries

A/N: wrote this ages ago and recently found it in my drafts; please disregard any mistakes.

-

“I’ve been lying to you.”

Isaac freezes in his chair before quickly relaxing and placing the documents he’d been reading on the desk. He slowly turns towards you, motioning for you to come closer. 

“You certainly know how to get my attention,” Isaac replies nervously. You could tell he was wary despite his playful words. “What have you been lying about, exactly?”

You fidget in front of him, not quite able to look at him while you contemplate just how you’d broach the subject of who you were—or rather what you were.

Thanks to the stupid rules of your kind, you couldn’t outright tell him what you were. Something about “ignorance being bliss” or however that human saying goes. It was a safety issue. Hunters can’t hunt what they don’t know.

Truthfully, if someone had told you that you’d be in this position six months ago—telling a human of your true identity—you would’ve laughed in their face and reported them to the elders for even suggesting a thing. Well, to be fair, you would’ve done anything to get in the elder’s good graces six months ago, but that’s not the point. Details don’t really matter. What matters is the forbiddenness of what you’re doing. 

It’s a bad idea, really. Humans are fickle creatures and there’s no guarantee Isaac’s love will last. You’d waited until he finally opened up enough to begin a relationship with you, but—disregarding the fact that your kind isn’t even supposed to fall in love with humans—that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. He’s human. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The guilt of keeping this from him was easier when he held you at arm’s length, when the possibility of him throwing you out was high. But things changed. He opened up, slowly but surely, and even revealed his biggest secret. A secret that killed his family and destroyed his innocence. A secret that wasn’t a secret to you.

When he showed you the video of the werewolf, you’d tried to respond in a way that didn’t alert him to your own extended knowledge on the topic, of a life that most humans don’t know about. You’d questioned the validity of the video, both because you weren’t sure if it was created by some human to create chaos and because, if it truly was real, you wanted to gauge his opinion on the matter. You wanted to know if he believed it was real. 

Despite his suspicious nature, he did end up believing the validity of the video. Was it perhaps because he wanted to believe the thing that killed his parents wasn’t some sort of practical joke? Maybe, but that doesn’t really matter either. 

He knew creatures like you were out there, which makes it easier to approach telling him the truth of your existence but also a lot harder at the same time. The shock won’t be from your existence, but rather that you kept it from him. 

Moreover, when it comes to the logistics of your exact conversation, there are a few major issues. 

There is no name for what you are. Names and identifying information are forbidden. Any utterance of information on your kind is immediately quelled before it leaves your mouth. Your throat closes up and you’re left a sputtering mess. Writing anything down is out of the question as well, your hands only producing incoherent scratches and marks if you tried. It’s a curse, you suppose—and an inconvenient one at that—but also an effective way to hide. And an effective way to lose the man you love if you don’t hurry up and say something already. 

You must’ve been quiet for too long because Isaac had long since abandoned his chair and walked over to you when you heard his voice again.

“You… don’t need to force yourself to tell me if it’s difficult. I’m well aware that some secrets are best kept hidden. It’s my job to pry, but you’re not a case to be opened. You more than have the agency to tell me what you wish.” 

At his words, you finally look up at him. His face is a mixture of concern and the same wariness as before. 

“It doesn’t feel fair. You’ve told me things you’ve tried to keep hidden for years and yet here I am struggling to tell you something so important.”

At this, you feel Isaac’s hand gently lift your chin. 

“Have you been spying on me this entire time?”

The shock must’ve been evident on you face at his question.

“No, of course not!”

“Were you sent by an enemy organization?”

“Isaac, you know that’s not the case.”

“You’re right. I do know that’s not the case.”

“Then why are you—?”

“I’ve long since accepted you for who you are, for everything you are. You don’t need to hide from me. Whatever it is you’ve been lying about, I know it was never to hurt me.” You could feel Isaac move closer, closing the gap between you two. “And even if you did try to hurt me, my heart is yours to hurt. Call it unhealthy, but I wasn’t lying when I said that you were now my motivation to live. Do whatever you need to soothe your aching heart. I’ll be here to bear it all.” 

You weren’t sure which one of you moved first, but before you knew it his lips were on yours. It wasn’t like one of the kisses you’d share to greet each other or show affection, this kiss was full of something else. It conveyed the love he professed to you moments before, but it was also vulnerable. Isaac’s heartbeat was more honest about his feelings than he was. You could feel his heart pounding. He was anxious despite his comforting words. 

After you pull away, you decide you’d let the suspense go on for far too long. His words had finally let you find your resolve. 

“Follow me,” you ordered as you pulled Isaac outside of his office. While he normally would’ve teased you for sudden boldness, Isaac knew to keep quiet and let you lead, something you quite appreciated. 

He didn’t question you as you lead him into your shared bedroom. Originally quite bare and minimalist, you’d added your own charm to the bookshelves and wooden furniture that furnished the room. Isaac welcomed your changes, even if he still pauses upon seeing your stuffed animals or displayed collection of fairy tale figurines. It’s not a bad pause by any means, but rather one of disbelief. His room had never been this lively before you. It now had evidence of your shared existence. 

“Ok, I need you to bear with me. This isn’t something I can outright tell you,” you warn as you finally let go of his hand and shut the door. 

He simply nods and waits for whatever you’re planning to do. It’s not until you start to take off your cardigan and shirt that he shows any kind of reaction besides his existing nervousness. 

“What are you—?” Isaac starts but is immediately cut off by a large flash a light and sudden blast of wind that would’ve knocked him down if not for the door behind him. 

Suddenly, the fact that you are shirtless in front of him is the last thing on his mind. He has bigger issues to discuss, namely the wings that were now sprouting out of your back. 

He is speechless as he takes in your new form. Your wings are birdlike—white like a dove’s but don’t look nearly as soft. Rather, the feathers look sharp enough to cut him if he were to touch them, a risk he’s debating taking as he continues to look at you, enthralled by what he’s seeing. 

You stand in silence for a few moments, waiting for him to finally say something. You look for any signs of fear or anger, but only see pure amusement. 

“…An angel…,” he manages to breathe out. 

You don’t even try to speak. Confirming or denying his claim is just as forbidden as outright telling him what you are yourself. Instead, you walk over to him, taking note of how he steps back—an impulse even he can’t shake—and immediately freezing in your spot. 

You lower your wings, not wanting to intimidate him. They weren’t as big as the others of your kind—a reason why you were cast out—but they’d seem big to anyone who’d never seen them before. Hell, the wings themselves are intimidating. 

At seeing your attempt to make yourself smaller, Isaac walks towards you. 

It wasn’t just the wings that were different about you. Your skin was glowing, radiating a soft light that was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Your eyes were sharper, not quite glowing but still brilliant enough to notice. It was like your entire being was made up of light. It was all so inhuman. 

Despite this—or maybe because of it—Isaac doesn’t hesitate in gently placing his hands on your both sides of your face, caressing the soft skin. 

“I’m not who I said I was, Isaac,” you say finally, almost too quiet to hear. 

“Strange, I don’t ever recall you ever claiming to be human,” was his response. 

You look up at him in disbelief. His tone was playful, but his eyes showed something different. You’d figured he was delirious from the shock, but he was quite serious. 

“I don’t understand. You’re…ok with this? That I kept this from you?”

Isaac pauses for a second to think before be responds. 

“After my grandfather showed me the video, I spent months trying to find as much information on the supernatural as possible. I didn’t follow any threads that would put on their radar, but not knowing anything about these creatures that I was suddenly now aware of was difficult. I needed to do something to ease the uncertainty I was facing.” 

He had moved his hands from your face, opting to hold yours instead, squeezing them in comfort. 

“The research I did was quite extensive and I managed to find quite a lot of information once I weeded out the websites and blogs that were obviously written by humans who had no idea what they were talking about. There were hundreds of entries, both by creatures writing about themselves and by those who hunt them.”

His face hardens. 

“The hunting records were endless. Reports of entire clans being massacred, the best ways to torture every kind of creature you could think of, their strengths and weaknesses, the trafficking of supernatural creatures for purposes of protection or… other unsavory reasons. All of these records claiming that the supernatural are dangerous, yet only showing the cruelty towards them at the same time. I thought that the video of the werewolf being tortured was bad, but it was nothing compared to what I found afterwards.”

His expression becomes intense as he brings you close to him, minding the wings as best as he can.

“You know my stance when it comes to human nature. We are weak compared to the supernatural, but we aren’t innocent by any means. Humans are cruel and seek out any and all kinds of power for the sake of their own advancement... You were protecting yourself. I can’t blame you for that.” 

You weren’t sure when it started, but his final words made you realize that you’d started crying. Once coming to this realization, you bury yourself further into his chest, feeling his arms hold you tighter to him as well, now letting your wings cut him as much as they want.

“You’re you. It doesn’t matter if you’re not human. Everything you’ve shown me in the time we’ve known each other has only proven that you’re better than any other human could be—even without having so-called ‘humanity.’ I love you. That hasn’t changed, nor would it have changed over something like this to begin with.” 

You pull back slightly and he wipes the tears from your eyes as you finally speak up again.

“You really mean it? This doesn’t bother you?”

At this, Isaac looks offended that you’d even ask those questions.

“My feelings for you aren’t so fickle that they’d disappear over something like this,” he asserts with a tinge of a tease in his voice, hoping to lighten the mood. “It doesn’t matter what you are, you are mine—” 

He pauses and lifts your chin once again.

“—and I am yours,” he finally finishes. 

When he leans over to kiss you, you let him take over, trusting his words fully as he shows you his determination. Your mind is a blur of all kinds of emotions as you melt into his soft yet somehow still firm hold. When you finally pull away, you’re breathless from the sheer intensity of it all. 

It’s also once you pull away that you realize you’ve been shirtless for the entirety of this conversation. Suddenly embarrassed, you shift back into your wingless form—much to Isaac’s disappointment—and rush to pick up the shirt you were wearing to put it back on. 

As you quickly—and shyly—put on your shirt, you take notice of Isaac’s own appearance, or rather the cuts covering his arms where he’d made contact with your wings. Your eyes widen as you rush over, apologetic over having hurt him unintentionally. 

Before you can say anything or apologize, Isaac cuts you off: “Don’t. I did this to myself. Besides, they’re more like scratches than anything. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

He sighs as he sees your guilty expression. An expression he reasons is due to his injuries, but is rather something much deeper.

“…The first aid-kit is in the bathroom. You can patch me up if you’d like.” 

You perk up at his offer, quickly rushing to the bathroom to grab the first-aid kit as he’d requested. It’s not hard to find by any means—meant to be easily accessible for emergencies—but you’re delayed by your own thoughts. 

You should’ve been defeated by the fact that you couldn’t heal him in the same way others of your kind easily could’ve in your position. You should’ve wished to be as strong as them, to be worthy of calling yourself [redacted], but for once in your life you weren’t. 

Here you were, living a life with a man who loves and accepts you for who you are. Even if it’s just the two of you, you finally have a home and family. You have a purpose, whether it be being Isaac’s life partner or a private investigator. You were actually glad to have been cast out, to have been abandoned and left to fend for yourself. All of the pain and suffering—

“Having trouble finding it? I’ll try looking for it downstairs. I may have left it down there.”

You smiled to yourself. Right, you had a job to do. This reflection can come later. 

“Nope, it’s right here! I’ll be there in a bit!”

The day would come when you’d finally grow strong enough to protect the two of you, to tell Isaac of your upbringing and the reason why you were cast out—or at least as much as you were allowed to—but that would come in due time. Right now, you’d help in the way you knew how, and that was more than enough. 

[kradogsrats]

Signs of the Fall, Pt. 1

Since basically... forever? Look, idk I wasn't around for the first half of this fandom so I don't know when Aaravos as "fallen star" was revealed. But presumably since then, it's been a big question mark as to exactly what that means.

We're told in places like the artbook that—along with whatever else it may mean—Aaravos being a "fallen" star means he's significantly depowered, and that his "fallen" status was a consideration in designing his look. So, reasonably, there should be identifiable features of Aaravos as a "fallen" Startouch elf, and we've collectively already spent a shit-ton of time overanalyzing them and what they mean.

BUT now that s6 is out and we have a chunk time seeing Aaravos before anything that would normally have been assumed to be his "fall" (more on that later), I wanted to return to some of the ones that have been most discussed.

The Eyes Have It

Previous assumption was that Aaravos's eyes not being the luminous Startouch pink outside of flashbacks was related to his status as a "fallen" Startouch elf and related to the darkening of his chest star:

This has not been cleared up by s6, where he is shown both with

and without the full-pink Startouch eyes

in contexts that are basically identical, aside from medium (one being a painting, and one being animated), in the same damn episode.

So what, if anything, does it mean?

First of all, I want to acknowledge that this may be entirely a choice of artistic convenience. Having arted a time or two, myself—characters without human-standard visual distinction between sclera, iris, and pupil are an unbelievable pain in the ass. A huge amount of microexpressions that humans subconsciously rely on to convey mood and intent are entirely down to the spatial/size relationship of iris and pupil to the surrounding eyelids. Leola and TMO are animated with full-pink eyes, with the irises barely distinguishable and pupils invisible, sure—but Leola has a shit-ton of emotional body language to compensate and let's be real, TMO is intended to be serenely inscrutable and alien.

It's just really, really hard to have a character convey the depth and nuance Aaravos requires when you're effectively barred from using one of the most critical aspects of facial expressions. Rather than fight that uphill battle, they may have chosen to handwave it in one context or another. (That is, the state of Aaravos's eyes is linked with his "fallen" status, and in the scenes with Leola they are meant to be different but it turned out to be way too annoying to handle.)

It could also, like Leola's single horn, be explained as a unique feature of Aaravos or this particular physical manifestation of Aaravos, except that they did go out of their way to include the full-pink eyes in not only the painted s4 flashbacks, but also the s3 promo art:

To be completely honest: I'm not convinced at this point that this is a feature we're meant to attach significance to. Unless we get additional context of another Startouch elf with eyes like Aaravos's, or conditions under which Aaravos is actually animated with the full-pink Startouch eyes... I don't think we can really know for sure.

Star Up, Star Down

In the same vein as his eyes, we've attached a lot of importance to the orientation of Aaravos's chest star. Since the Star primal symbol is actually used very rarely, and in just about every context up to s6 it was in its "upright" orientation—that is, the opposite of Aaravos's chest star. And like, obviously a fallen star would be upside-down.

It seems like s6 is determined to mess with us in that respect. For the most part, Aaravos's chest star is upright, or opening-down:

Until his grieving, when it is opening-up (and also darkened):

HOWEVER, when TMO appears in the same scene, their chest star is also opening-up, though lit:

We also get a LOT more usage of the Star primal symbol at the Starscraper:

And—excluding when it's on the floor so you can't know for sure what the "proper" orientation is—it is exclusively opening-up:

Also noteworthy is that we don't see the mark directly on Leola's chest, but on her clothing it is opening-up:

As is her star in the constellation:

So whatever the orientation is meant to signify—and unlike the eyes, I do think this is still significant in some way—it's unlikely that it's a strictly negative symbol. There's some other dichotomy at play that it's indicating.

Body Bling

This one doesn't come up as often, but it's suggested (at least in the artbook, IIRC) that Aaravos's body stars are brighter before he's "fallen," when he's at full power. Is this objectively true? Well... yeah, not really.

In arc two, they're very similar levels of brightness across s4-s6, independent of his chest star:

In arc one, the mirror effect tends to be more pronounced than the one scene where we see it in arc two, so it sometimes looks like they're not as bright. I think they actually are meant to be, though:

And then, of course, at the end of s2 when he's casting, everything is brighter:

So that doesn't seem related at all, except in the sense that magic is shiny. Maybe we'll learn something at some point about Aaravos's relationship to the primal sources that will explain that, but for now we can put this one to bed.

—

aaaaand I have actually hit the "images per post" limit so we'll be concluding in Part 2!