#It’s still just so good and it’s such a shame there’s not more like how cruel

[sunniques]

— lascivious addiction

cw/tw: hoon is still mean and manipulative, jealousy, possessiveness, daddy kink, size kink, exhibitionism, voyeurism, fingering, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie

pt2 to this. minors do not interact.

Your face is hot as you press it against Sunghoon’s pillow. The cool air is hitting your cunt, and you can feel how wet you already are. Being bent over and spread out is embarrassing, but for some sick reason it only turns you on.

“See this?” Sunghoon says as he spreads your ass, giving the four people an unobstructed view of your pretty holes. “This is mine.”

You cry out when he slaps your pussy. More arousal drips out of you, and the groans coming from behind you make you clench around nothing. Sunghoon eases two fingers into your tight pussy, smirking when you whine out his name. His other hand trials up your naked body until it's latching onto your hair. He roughly yanks your head back as he curls his long fingers into your most sensitive spot.

“Isn’t that right, angel?”

“Yes!” You mewl, moving your hips to fuck his fingers deeper into your pussy.

“Yes, what?”

Your face is burning, but you feel too good to not give into Sunghoon's indirect request. “Yes, daddy!”

The groans and dark laughs make you tighten around Sunghoon’s fingers. He lets go of your hair to caress your ass, tossing a smirk to his depraved friends and your friend that lended you two her room last week. It’s so funny. Your friend has a neutral face, but anyone can tell she’s entranced by the way your little hole sucks in his fingers greedily. Heeseung has a filthy smirk on his face that shows no trace of shame or anything close to it. Jake’s face is bright red, but he can’t look away despite how embarrassed he feels. And Jay’s dark gaze is intently fixed on your dripping pussy like it’s the prettiest thing in the world.

All of the men in the room are hard. Painfully hard.

Sunghoon is so mean. They all know he’s doing this to show off and to make them suffer. Forcing his friends to look at something they’ll never have is like sweet torture for them and thrilling for the man fucking his fingers into you. Sunghoon’s boner is starting to hurt from how much he's enjoying this. Just knowing that all his horny friends are so close to the tight little holes they’ll never touch, lick, or fuck has his thick cock straining against his pants.

Long fingers work your pussy just right to get you nice and soaked, and all you can do is mewl and whine into Sunghoon’s fluffy pillow. Everyone in the room can hear how wet you are. The lewd squelching coming from your stuffed cunt is mixing in with your needy moans loudly and obscenely.

Sunghoon bites his lip when your legs start to tremble. You’re so hot, and the fact that you’re willing to go along with all his filthy desires makes you even hotter. When he sees you fisting his sheets, thinks he’s teased you long enough. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out to let everyone watch how your tight little pussy tries to suck them back in before clenching around nothing. Sunghoon doesn’t bother to stifle his mean laughter when he sees his friends squirming.

It’s hard for the guys to ignore the way their cocks are throbbing in their pants. You’re so fucking pretty, and they can see how tight you are which only makes everything so much harder—literally.

“Think you deserve my cock?”

Heeseung wants to answer for you because damn it if you aren’t the epitome of a good girl. You’re so desperate and needy and exactly his type.

“Yes, daddy,” you moan, too turned on to be embarrassed anymore. “I’ve been such a good girl for you.”

“Has she?” Sunghoon directs his question to his friends.

Jay swallows thickly before responding in a hoarse voice. “Fuck yeah.”

Sunghoon hums before finally deciding that his dick is starting to hurt a little too much. So he manhandles you until you’re facing the other four people in the room with your pretty ass up in the air. He gets behind you and quickly gets his dick out of his pants. For a while, he slaps and slides his cock against your slippery pussy. He can tell everyone is getting impatient, but he doesn’t give in so easily. Not when he’s having so much fun.

Your friend feels stupid and fucking nasty. After coming back and literally finding you getting rawed on her bed, she never thought she’d speak to you or Sunghoon again. But when that pretty face asked her to wait outside while he finished using your little pussy, she agreed without fully thinking it through. That night, she was forced to listen to your wanton moans and Sunghoon’s filthy words as he fucked your brains out.

When Sunghoon reached out to her again, she didn’t imagine it would be for this. And once again, she agreed to participate before fully thinking it through.

Finally, Sunghoon grabs your hair and yanks your head up, forcing you to lift your body and press your naked back against his chest. All three of his friends groan at the sights of your pretty tits. God, do you look amazing.

Sunghoon grabs your chin and forces your face forward to make sure you don't stop looking at them. Goosebumps cover your skin when he whispers in your ear: “Let’s give them a nice show, baby.”

Everyone remains silent as Sunghoon pushes his massive cock into you. The way your cute little cunt is stretching beyond belief to accommodate his dick looks painful, and none of them have ever seen a hotter sight. Your moan is loud and nasty—downright pornstar worthy.

Sunghoon smirks at his friends before biting down on your neck and roughly fucking his cock into your hot cunt. You cry out loudly, pussy pulsing from being split open and the heated gazes on you.

None of the men move to touch themselves even though they desperately want to. This is their punishment for Heeseung trying to covet something that is clearly not his. Jay and Jake were mostly there as collateral damage, but Sunghoon always made sure to cover all his bases. It was also the perfect opportunity for him to make sure you sever all ties with the one person who almost stopped him from having you.

Now they were forced to listen to your sweet moans. Moans that each one of his friends want all to themselves. Every one of them wants to split you open, to absolutely ruin you. What they wouldn’t give to be able to take Sunghoon’s place. To be the ones to make you beg, make you cry, make you cum. 

But since it’s a punishment, all they can do is watch.

“Daddy, harder!” You beg, moving your hips to meet Sunghoon's rough thrusts.

The way you arch your back and moan louder is so filthy and hot—fucking obscene. Just like Sunghoon ordered you to do. And damn it if you aren’t putting on a filthy show. One that’s making him so, so proud.

Once again, your friend is the victim of jealousy and shameful arousal. You look so good getting split open by Sunghoon’s fat cock. He’s so rough, and she can tell it feels so good because his cock is covered with your cream. She’s not sure who to feel more jealous of at this point, and all she can do is squeeze her thighs together to relieve the ache in her ruined panties.

“You’re going to break her, Hoon,” Jay groans, eyeing your messy pussy as his friend’s heavy balls slap against it with every thrust.

“That tiny pussy can take it,” Heeseung says as he licks his lips. “Fuck. Just look at how it’s stretching open.”

“God, Y/N,” Jake whimpers, looking something between guilty and horny. It’s cute. 

Sunghoon laughs against your neck. “Hear that, baby? The boys love how nasty you are. Why don’t you be a good girl and show them how pretty you look when you cream all over this cock?”

And so they watch with envy as you convulse and squirt all over Sunghoon’s girthy cock. They don’t take their eyes off of you even as you desperately ride out your orgasm until he shoots a thick, creamy load deep inside your pussy. He fucks it back into you, loving the feeling of your mixed cum dripping down to his heavy sac.

The room is permeated with the musky smell of sex. It’s all so erotic that the three boys are close to cumming in their pants. But they control themselves and savor the sight of Sunghoon slowly pulling out of you. Cum slowly drips out of your messy pussy and onto the sheets. 

“Don’t think we’re done yet, baby. These idiots still haven’t learned their lesson.”

[envyangelic]

˚* ˚ ✦STEEL AND SILK * ˚ ✦ ˚

・❥・Violet “Vi” x Reader

・❥・Warnings: smut, minor descriptions of violence

・❥・Summary: Working at a brothel in the heart of Zaun, you find yourself drawn to a new regular who so happens to be a reckless pit fighter seeking solace in your expertise.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Babette’s brothel is so much more than just a whorehouse- it’s a crossroads full of expensive secrets. In the hallways of the brothel, the most powerful people of Zaun float in between the rooms of different women and men.

There’s always a crowd in the brothel. People let things slip when they feel safe and relaxed. That’s your job. Of course, it’s not the ideal job that you’ve always dreamed of but it pays better than most and you gain leverage over the powerful people of Zaun. It’s not like you have much of an option when all the prices in the Undercity are sky rocketing.

After a while, you’ve become numb to the touch of strangers. The other workers always lookout for one and another and Babette doesn’t stand for violence. It’s one big dysfunctional family. You’ve gotten used to it all and have started to have regulars that respect you. You try your best not to get too close them but a particular new regular has caught your eye.

Her name is Vi. She has this red pinkish hair that she decided to dye black in an impulsive rage. Still her red hair shines through the cheap dye shining a spotlight of who she used to be. A tattoo of her name underneath her eye and piercings scattered on her body. She’s a pit fighter for one of Zauns notorious illegal fighting ring hidden in the dark corners of the undercity. You always prefer the women customers over the men but Vi attracts you in an alluring way.

Your meetings usually happen after her fights. She’s bloody and drunk seeking comfort anyway possible. Sometimes she comes in before fights to scoop details about the other fighters strategies.

Here she is again, stumbling into your dimly lit room on a late Friday night. The faint tang of iron fills the room. Her lip is busted and her nose leaks dark red. She smells like cheap whiskey and looks as if she has been drinking bottle to bottle.

Her knuckles are split open and bruised but she pays no attention to the pain that tightens her body.

“Hell of a night, huh?” You ask as you pat the spot next to you on the love seat. She can’t help it when her eyes trail up and down your body. You’re practically wearing nothing. Like usual, you’re wearing a cropped v neck tank top with an open back and matching shorty shorts. She lets out a deep sigh and shuts her eyes.

She collapses on the soft plush next to you. You lean over the coffee table and pull the medical kit out from the tiny compartment. You started keeping one ever since Vi started her visits.

“I’m taking that you didn’t win tonight.” You state as you open the latch of the medical kit. Her face doesn’t change- not a flicker of pride or shame, just her same old steady stone cold mask.

“In the end, I’m still here aren’t I?” She rasps in a deep voice. You pick out a white bandage and a cloth. You sit against Vi’s clothed thighs and brings your hand to her face. You caress her cheek as you dab away the blood on her lips.

She slightly opens her eyes watching your movements. “Who did you fight?” You ask while you wipe away the remaining blood. “Doesn’t matter, doll.” She leans into your soft touch.

She started calling you that after her first visit there. Always dressed up in prettiest of garments and hair perfect as can be. You look like a doll to her. Perfect and pristine. She wonders how you ever ended up in a place like this. You’re too good for here.

She brings her calloused hand up to your hair. It’s neatly up in a bun with some bobby pins pressed against it to hold the hair. “Why haven’t I ever seen you with your hair down?” She coos in a low voice.

Your lips upturn into a sly smile. “Maybe because you never asked.” You state as you place the bloody cloth on the glass table infront of the loveseat. The warmth of your skin radiates on Vi. You lean back touching your shoulder to hers. Only inches away from her face your eyes meet hers.

“I’m asking now.” She loops her finger into your hair band and unravels it slowly before throwing the hairband somewhere next to you.

Your hair falls down onto your shoulders and cascades around your face. She plucks the bobby pins out and places them on the table. You let out a small laugh.

She takes it all in, her sharp gaze lingering longer than usual. The way your hair falls around your shoulders. You push your hair back with a deep sigh.

“Long day for you too?” She asks while twirling a stray strand of your hair. There’s a rasp in her voice, a splinter of vulnerability shining through her bloody battered state.

“Yeah well.. you know how it is here.” She pushes the stray hair strand behind your ear. “Anyways, I heard some big shot talking about your next fight.” She tenses up while you continue.

“I don’t care. Not tonight.” She says while you start to pull her black jacket off. You peel it away slowly feeling the worn fabric under your grip.

You throw the jacket over the side of the couch. Your fingers trace the black ink on her bruised skin. Her eyes follow them. Then they flicker to your face again.

She can’t help but feel an overwhelming attraction towards you. A gratifying force pulling her to you. She grabs onto your hand freezing you in your place.

She can’t take this anymore. She needs you against her. Her gaze locks with yours. The air between the two of you thickens, charged with an energy you can’t fight.

She lets go of your hand and wraps it into your hair. She crashes onto your lips moving in a hungry rhythm. Your hands wrap against her back. Her hands loop with your tank top. She unravels from your lips to lift the tank top off of you.

It slides off with ease. She takes a moment to appreciate the scene in front of her. Your chest rises and falls. She ducks down to your neck pressing chaste kisses.

You let out a soft gasp as she travels further. Her touch hand latches onto your breast and she nips at the sensitive spot of your neck. A rush of euphoria makes your head spin.

You need more, she needs more.

Her breath is hot against your skin sending shivers down your spine. She ignites a fire inside of you. Her finger leaves your chest and travels below your shorts.

She lets out a deep laugh against your skin feeling how soaked you are. Her finger dives deeper. Your lips press against her ear. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be making you feel like this..” you whisper.

“You know it’s so much more fun for the both of us when I do it, doll.” She pulls you back in for a hungry kiss. Her fingers curl inside of you.

You let out a hushed moan. Her hands explore your body like your body is new territory. Time to seems to blur, your heart beats in your ears. Her fingers leave your warmth.

You sigh unable to form words as she pulls off the shorts that already barely cover you. Her hands drag down to your thighs slowly torturing you with the prolonging absence of her touch.

The shorts are thrown with the rest of your forgotten clothes. Her hands stop at your hips and she grabs them. She moves you down the couch and starts to press kisses further and further down.

The warmth in between your legs continues to grow. Flutters of arousal beat inside your chest. She finally makes her way to your heat. She ducks down in between your legs. Your thighs instinctively tighten around her head.

Her hot breath lingers around your center. Her lips press against you. You gasp lightly and your hands travel into her hair. Her tongue swirls around your core carefully. She always knows just what riles you up.

“I know you like it just like that, doll.” She cockily teases you. She can’t help but smirk seeing your flushed face.

Between breathy moans you moan her name quietly as she inches you closer over the edge. She slides her tongue up sending you over but slows down.

“Fuck.. Vi..” You whisper under your pants. She picks up your pace. You grab onto her hair pulling her closer. A burst of an intense sensation paralyzes you.

You press her down further arching your back. She keeps at her pace until your pathetic humps stop and your body twitches. She leans up from her position to catch you in a quick kiss.

You can barely keep up with her rhythm as she crawls on top of you. Her red hair falls infront of her face. She leans away from the kiss and deep down all you want is for her to stay.

She drops her head on your chest taking in the warmth of your body. For a moment the pain of her wounds melt away. She doesn’t think of Caitlyn but only of you. Your breath slows down matching with her.

She tries not to dwell on the fact that this experience is something you always have when working at the brothel. To her you’re not just the hooker from the brothel. You’re just a desperate girl doing whatever it takes.

Just like her.

——————————————-

I couldn’t find any Pitfighter Vi gifs which is disappointing bc she’s so fine in her emo era

[mini-ism]

#— HEDONE.

pairings: lighter lorenz x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,443

synopsis: hedone (hēdonē), an ancient greek word that describes "pleasure.” after the girls leave, it’s just you and lighter. would you let him hold your hand if it gave him pleasure, if it gave him the answers he’s always sought? would you let him fuck you?

warnings: p in v, semi-clothed, hand job, choking, reader gropes lighter, accidental erection, daydreaming/fantasizing, fingering, he’s just a guy who wants to h*ld h*nds, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

notes: crossposted to AO3, lighter is bae

the throttle of motorcycles and bikes were a sound you’ve grown accustomed to.

a lot of things in life can be chalked up to the philosophy, the belief, of chasing pleasure. why would you do something you hate if it reaps no reward you enjoy? why would you do something if you don’t like it?

that very same idea can be considered the reason people do anything, generally. subjecting yourself to pain is undesirable to many, the most masochistic of people have their limits too.

the roar of engines grew quieter, replaced by the heavy click of boots against hardwood flooring. it was smart to wear boots around, the wooden flooring was splintered, worn from years of trampling and stomping. a gloved hand landed on your shoulder, taking you out of your trance-like state.

“you good?” the hand on your shoulder drifted down to your upper back, rubbing circles, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. his voice was deep, a handsome sort of rumble. it took some effort to peel your eyes away from the scratched up window.

“yeah, i’m okay.” you brought your gaze up to lighter’s, whose was concealed by his beloved aviators, tinted so dark you wondered if he could even see at times. he stood behind you, to your side, his touch still lingering in circles, inferior to your lower neck.

his demeanor seemed stoic as always, keeping to himself, staying “low-key” as he put it. “the girls are all gone,” he murmured, the hum of their bikes so distant it couldn’t be heard anymore, “just us now.”

lighter’s eyes were glued to the environment outside the window, seemingly entranced, lulled into the same kind of deep thought you were in.

would one derive satisfaction from thought? what is pleasure? how much chasing would someone do for that rush, the release of ecstasy?

lighter’s gloved hand moved lower, to the small of your back, his touch growing into a gentle, almost ghostly, caress. you looked out the window, observing the tan, dusky dirt and sand, the orange hue of the evening sky, the constructs of blazewood, the few little pebbles and rocks scattered around.

your eyes trailed back to him, his gaze now focused on you, still hidden by those fucking sunglasses. his brows had a small indent in them, creased by their furrowing, lips slightly pursed. his gloved touch had since stopped rubbing circles on the superior base of your spine, fingers daring to go lower.

you let out a soft, confused noise, his lips parting slightly. the crease deepened a bit more. how far is someone willing push the limits to fulfill their own desires for satisfaction? depends on who they are.

lighter’s face was contorted into a strained, almost guilty look. his lower lip glistened with a thin and awkward sheen of saliva, expression taut with a shameful tension. how apt is someone to escape pain by indulgence? his fingers crept to your side, clutching it tightly.

you didn’t pull away, not at all.

internally, lighter was warring with himself, telling himself he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. he knew that was a damn lie. it’s not like you're anybody’s personal property, not like you’re pulling away, not like you're running from him. it really isn’t like that, not like you’re touching up on him too, not like you’re more than friends. it scared him, the uncertainty, but he just can’t help himself. you’re irresistible, every part of you.

was pleasure worth the risk of pain? what is pleasure without pain? to perceive one means the other must exist. his grip pulled you flush to his side, pressing you to his body, hold unrelenting. he could really get lost in those eyes, he was already tumbling over himself just staring at you.

you stayed flush against him, even pressing your cheek to his chest. could you hear his heart hammering? it was already thrumming in his ears, blood rushing harder, faster, further, everywhere.

everywhere.

he could only hope you could ignore the raging boner tenting his pants, standing quite proud. his tight pants really don’t help, they felt even more like a barrier than before. his breathing grew heavier, clawing at the last remnants of composure. he was a man that prided himself on his ability to keep it together, always level-headed, despite the circumstances. wouldn’t it be good to let that go? just for a little, just for a while.

his gloved fingers dug even further into your flesh, the sensation grounding, yet intoxicating at the same time. your body was so pliant against his, he was desperately seeking any other thought that didn’t involve pinning you underneath him, getting you bent over and compromised. his resolve was wavering with each second, you’re gonna drive him mad.

lighter’s insistently demanding cock kept stirring, retaliating with each needy twitch. every physical reaction of his spurred his dirty thoughts on further, lewd images of you under, beside, on top of him, his shaft buried as far as it could go inside of you. a particularly vivid picture of you, one leg up on top of his shoulder, leaned upright against a countertop beckoned him deeper into his fantasies. you keened as he shoved himself further inside you, drinking in every noise you made. your eyes were glassy with desire, with need, with… love. his grip on your thigh was tight, grunting with satisfaction as he slid in and out of your warm cunt with aided ease. god, you’d get so fucking wet…

a sharp inhale brought him back to reality. he didn’t realize just how tight his hold on your waist had gotten. “sorry, really, uh…”

instead of wriggling away or whining, you curled closer to him, body melting into his for some semblance of comfort or relief. whichever one was galloping through your motives. the air was tense, he was sure you could feel how hard he is through the fabric of his pants, you’re terribly close. not that that’s a problem, unless you don’t want to be poked in the thigh by his touch-starved cock.

yeah, you definitely knew. “are you hard?”

no point in hiding whatever is in very, very plain sight, “uh… yeah, my bad.”

with the simple brush of your hand by his crotch, he bit back a particularly low groan, stifling it as a throaty noise. did you intend to do that? did you intend to rub up against him like that, get him even harder than before? as if that could be possible, it was. his face was strained, cheeks dusted a faint pink, becoming immersed in his fantasies again.

his breaths came in shallow, slight heaves. they sounded like soft gasps, periodic and frantic. fuck, what he wouldn’t give to hear you croon underneath him. you’d look so hot pinned to the bed by your wrists, kissing you until you panted for air, just as needy and depraved as he is for your touch. your tongue would feel so good, swiping against his own, licking down his neck, down his shaft. those darling lips would fit so perfectly around his cock, tongue milking every drop of sweet pleasure out of him. pleasure that belonged in you, hips bucking like a crazed man, drunken and starved, experiencing what it means to feel for the first time.

lighter’s eyes trailed down to his crotch, your hand lingered, ghosting just over the raised clothing over his persistent, weeping cock. he could feel pre-cum seep from the head, dampening his boxers, demanding in tempo with the beat of his heart. the color of lighter’s face darkened, hips involuntarily grinding against your palm. lighter drew in a particularly sharp breath at the much desired friction.

you gave him a knowing look as you continued to palm the prominent bulge in his pants. lighter’s fingers stayed glued to your side, his eyes wide behind the dark lenses, partially in disbelief and in welcome bewilderment. his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, mouth slightly agape. at a loss for words, he let a deep grumble out, his gaze still stuck on your hand. your grip was now entirely on his dick, pressing against the outline, moving from base to tip and back through his pants. “ah, fuck…”

he let out a deep breath, the air held in by his wound muscles, unbeknownst to him. his body relaxed slightly under your gentle touch, slipping back into the comforting coax of his daydream. damn, your hand, it feels way too good. would you let him hold it if he could? hold it while he fucks you, while he guides you, while he walks in stride with you? will you let him interlace his bare fingers with yours? will you kiss each of the scars on his knuckles, wrap your own delicate hand around his aching shaft instead of his own?

would you instinctively reach for him? in a crowded area, would you look for him the way he’d look for you? could he seek every answer in you the way you’d look to him? would you let him fuck it out of you, kiss you until you spoke every word he wanted to hear? merely the satisfied twinkle in your eye soothes his soul. he could satisfy you the way nobody else ever can and will, accept every answer in the way you speak, laugh, cry, scream, and moan… every little gasp and mewl, nobody would take you like he could.

take you from behind, from the side, below and above him, take you as you are, take every word and lack of one. take every good with the bad, every soothe with the familiar burn and sting, if it meant you understood him the way he understands you. he would kiss you the way you like, fuck you ten times over if he knew you loved it, hold your hand tight enough if it meant anything to you. seems like you’re struggling with his belt.

“need a bit of help? i know it can be a pain sometimes. here, i got you.” he put his hand over yours, guiding it towards the overly complicated buckle, unclasping it just enough, loosening it with his own hand grasping yours until you could manage to unzip his pants. “you got it, keep going. i promise i’ll make it worth your while.

you didn’t need it to be ‘worth your while,’ having him in your grasp was already enough. you couldn’t be bothered to move from the window, hand already snaking down his boxers to grab his bare, attention-deprived cock. lighter hummed softly at the feverish contact, feeling your thumb collect the thick bead of pre-cum oozing from his cockhead. as you coated his shaft in his own pre, his head grew slightly dizzy, the sensation overwhelming, yet comforting knowing it was you.

“ah, shit, yeah…” your hand started moving faster as lighter let out a mumbled string of curses. with each passing stroke, he could feel the heat in his body burn hotter, the familiar pool of desperation in his lower gut forming, pleasure soaking into every single cell of his body. all his coherent, ‘normal person’ thoughts were melting away at the mercy of your slick stroke.

with a whispered groan, lighter leaned in, “that feels amazing, but i can’t take another minute without my dick in you.”

hesitantly, you released lighter’s cock, pulling your hand out of the waistband of his boxers. lighter pulled you away from the view of the window, just far enough from prying eyes. within the building was a lounge space and a small kitchenette. lighter cornered you inside the kitchenette, wasting no time to put his lips on yours. his kiss was firm but careful, giving you a moment to melt into his lips, your arm hooking around his neck to pull him further closer. his tongue eventually slipped between your lips, the sweet taste of your mouth mingling with his, eagerly swapping his spit with yours. lighter’s kiss grew heated and intense, exploring every inch of your mouth, his lips searing and nearly bruising. he groaned as your fingers tangled with his dark locks, his glove-clad hands coming to grip the counter on each side of you.

reluctantly, he pulled away, lips still proximal to yours, huffing for breath. lighter’s eyes burned bright with passion, staring you down as if he needed you more than the air that kept him alive. you nearly quivered under his scrutiny, the attractive green hue of his eyes keeping yours. your panties were stuck to your cunt with dampness. your hips rocked into his, heat collecting in the fabric as your cunt leaked, contracting around nothing. “do me a favor? turn the other way for me.”

you did as lighter asked, squirming around so your ass was in direct contact with his hard-on. instinctively, his hips rolled against your ass, the tantalizing swell mocking him. lighter eased your pants and underwear down your thighs and legs, letting them pool against the floor, managing to get his right glove off pretty quickly. the pads of his fingers prodded against your heated pussy, collecting the wetness between your thighs, rubbing your clit a few times from behind.

“you feel that, huh? that’s nothing compared to this dick.” seemingly on cue, his index and middle fingers slipped into your heated cunt, stretching your pussy out wonderfully. you let out a soft moan, feeling the two digits slide in and out with adept ease. each moan was punctuated by his fingers working their way back inside of you, deep within your cunt, the slap of his knuckles on your ass. lighter’s fingers curled just enough to make you croon and let your neck loll downwards, forehead dangerously close to thunking against the counter. your hands gripped at the edge of the countertop, knuckles white as lighter’s other hand spread your pussy to the side. his fingers made an abrupt exit.

you mewled at the loss, trembling weakly at the absence of something inside you, of him. the coil in your gut loosened, knees weak and palms creased by the rigid edge of the kitchenette’s counter. lighter brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them nearly exaggeratedly, savoring the taste of you. he let out a satisfied “mmm,” licking the webbing between the digits, lapping up any remaining slick on his fingers. his left hand fell to his boxers, letting his cock spring free as his right hand got you to arch just right against the cold marble slate, spreading your cunt just enough again to let him take a good look.

“you’re gonna look so good taking my dick.”

lighter slapped the heavy tip of his cock against your slit, the rounded head dragging on your clit, the friction driving you wild. you could feel the excitement inside you build, anticipating the lethal stretch. fuck, you were soaked, the wetness coating his tip thickly, threatening to drip all the way down your thighs and onto the floor below you. he pressed his palm down on your lower back, forcing you to intake a sharp breath, his cock accompanying the newly inhaled air. after the tip got lost inside your heat, your cunt squeezed him tight, lungs immediately letting go of your breath. “that’s it, take it good, just like that.”

you moaned weakly, the thickest part of his cock being the shaft immediately below the tip. it felt so good, being split open by him, even with how wet you are. every fiber of lighter’s being was resisting the urge to snap his hips into yours, bury himself into you with force. your cunt wouldn't take much more, lighter opting to pull out a little to sink deeper inside. as he withdrew, you cried out, lighter hushing you with a soft “shh,” his hips moving forwards into yours again. you let out a string of soft babbles, the addictive stretch over as the rest of his shaft took.

“that’s right, fuuuuck.” he gasped, your pussy immediately gushing around him, clamping down on his length like a vice. after a few merciful moments, lighter dragged his hips back, rocking them into you again. you brokenly moaned, feeling his cock slowly drawl in and out of you a few more times, each movement followed up with a loud, needy moan. fuck, you looked so hot, sexier than he could imagine taking his dick from behind. “let me hear you, come on.” he urged gently.

his right hand pinned the back of your neck down to the cold marble, his hand large enough to wrap around the blood vessels on the lateral sides of your neck. his grip was tight, not entirely brutal, picking up the pace with each drag of his hips. the heat in your tummy flared, a thick sheen of your slick coating his dick, the lubricant creating a mess of his boxers and hem of his jacket. his tight hold on the sides of your neck furthered your high, body arching into his, brain fuzzy with pleasure and disconnected from reality. his cock slammed into you, his own pleasure indicated with a guttural groan. he sounded so hot when he felt good.

“you like it when i fuck you? you like this dick?”

you could offer a broken moan as a response, pussy tightening at his deep, horribly sexy, laugh. “yeah, i know, fuuuck.”

lighter bent lower, his voice ringing in your ears, brain barely processing his words, “you close? you just wont let me go, feels amazing.” your strangled moan told him everything he needed to know. you were closer than you could understand.

the heat of your orgasm pooled deep within you, winding all your muscles tight with tension and desire. with a few harsh thrusts, you let out a cry louder than you anticipated, your neck suddenly free from his hold. lighter bullied himself as deep as he could, watching you come undone. though you couldn’t see as you rode your climax out, he had a smug, proud look on his face.

lighter pulled out of you with an effort, resisting the urge to fuck himself using you. his hand came up to the front part of your throat, where your trachea was, pulling you upwards and putting your backside flush to his chest with a gentle force. “i got you, don’t worry.”

before you knew it, lighter was leaned back on the couch, sinking you onto his cock again, your legs parted as you straddled him. your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he half sat up and half laid back, squealing in pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt again. “knew you could handle it, feels so good.”

didn’t matter what he did with your clothes, now that you were naked on top of him, his signature sunglasses sitting aside on the other cushion. his scarred hands came to rest on your hips, moving you up and down, bouncing you on his cock. he threw his head back, gasping with each oversensitive movement along your walls.

an uncharacteristically high noise left his lips, his eyes focused on the bounce of your tits as he lifted you up and down on his ever-demanding cock. fuck, you looked so good, sweaty and tuckered out, yet still taking him so well. your tits are just the cutest, the way they jiggle with every motion. lighter’s hips rocked upwards, bucking wildly as the high crept onto him, your nails digging into the skin and scar tissue littering his shoulders like a mosaic through his leather jacket. lighter’s control became frantic, guiding your body brutally, the sensitive waves of your previous orgasm washing into this one. lighter grit his teeth, groaning heavily as the coil tightened even more, the intensity of his climax terribly foreign. every muscle in both your bodies ached and wildly tightened with desperation as ecstasy washed over you both.

as you rode out your familiar pleasure, lighter rocked his hips, bucking them, milking out every bit of sensation he could from inside you. lighter covered his face with one hand, peeping one eye out of the gap between his fingers, as the other hand’s nails dug into your bare flesh. “fucking hell, oh, shit…”

you don’t think you’ve ever heard lighter say such vulgar things, especially not swear that much in a minute. as his grip on your waist and hip loosened, it immediately sought out your hand, prying your dominant hand away from his shoulder and interlacing your fingers with his as he heaved. “fuck, you think you’ll let me do this again? as many times as i want?”

[zepskies]

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? 

AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.

This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!”

Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro Latina), with textured hair. 

The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.

You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.

Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.

Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.

A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.

Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.

What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too! 

“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.

Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?

Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.

Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.

Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil. 

You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.

Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to— 

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.

He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.

“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile. 

Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…

“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”

Your spine tightened once again.

“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.

“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”

You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”

Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.

If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.

“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.

“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”

His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.

“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.

Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.

Not in a good way.

Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.

He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.

“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.

His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”

His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.

“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”

Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”

You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.

“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”

"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"

You narrowed your eyes right back at him.

"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"

His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.

Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he said.

Your brows rose. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.

“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.

“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.

Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.

“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”

“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.

His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.

But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.

While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.

“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.

Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.

There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.

You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”

He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.  

Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.

You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.

“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.

You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.

…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.

And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.

Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.

There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.

“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.

The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.

You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.

You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”

Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.

He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.

“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.  

“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.

He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.

“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.

“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.

Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.

For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.

And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new. 

He was right, damn him.

The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.

His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.

He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.

“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.

You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.

“Shower first,” you stipulated.

You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”

You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.      

AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚

Spanish Translations:

Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.

It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.

However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂

Sabes que, …

You know what, …

La sirvienta

The servant (or maid) (female)

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[vampiricgf]

˗ˏˋ BARBELL BACKDRAFT ˎˊ˗

lighter lorenz x f reader

wc : <1k

warnings : reader has pierced nipples, inappropriate fantasy, oral sex, cum, spit, mentions of swallowing, pet names (good girl), lmk if I missed anything

this was literally just an excuse to write about him absolutely cranking that thang crazy style (also a backdraft is a flaming shot of liquor I thought I was being clever) lighter nation I present my humble offering <3

He knew he shouldn't be thinking about you like this. You of all people, a fellow member of the gang and someone who (to his knowledge) has never expressed any kind of interest in him that stepped over general familial affection. It doesn't even matter and it doesn't matter how much shame he feels stuck to his skin in the light of day, especially when you give him one of those beaming smiles bounding up to him chatting about who knows what.

All that matters right now is the crystal clear mental image of your nipples through your shirt, the barbells pierced through the flesh perfectly accentuated by the tight fabric. Fuck he'd almost moaned out loud this afternoon catching a glorious eye full of them, and seeing you kick up into a run over towards Piper? It was a game, set, match in less than ten seconds.

He'd had to excuse himself for the rest of the day and all of the evening with a lame lie of sudden allergies. No way he would be able to calm himself down enough to spend any time around you and all the others without rocking a massive erection and that was a topic he would rather die than speak about to a group of chortling girls. As much as he loved all of them, his pride would bear the wound forever.

That's not even touching on the fact that he'd rather cut off and eat his own fingers than admit the cause of this massive problem was your unfairly gorgeous chest and how he felt on the verge of a heart attack knowing they were pierced. Did you do that for yourself or for someone else? If so, who caught your eye and would it be a terrible decision to beat them senseless in the name of usurping that spot in your mind?

Those wanton moans bounced around the room freely now though, his dick throbbing painfully in his hand as he gave it a few languid strokes. Eyes closed it was unfortunately very easy to envision you shirtless; those glorious steel barbells glinting off the weak light in his bedroom like cherries on top of a deliciously pillowy scoop of ice cream. You seem like the type to find being on your knees enjoyable, a thought that should make him feel guilty again but such emotions are powerless in the face of naked lust.

Spit dripped, sloppy and attached to his bottom lip in glistening strands, as his pace picked up and hushed grunts filled the room. Would your hair be as nice as he imagined, if he slid his hand around to the back of your head to keep you still and let him use that perfect mouth of yours to his hearts content?

His eyes squeeze shut so tightly abstract fuzzy shapes flash behind the lids as his breathing stutters, feeling his abdomen and balls tightening up the more he indulges in the fantasy. Fuck you'd be even prettier like that, cheeks all hallowed out as you let him fuck your throat with all he's got.

The throbbing in his dick matches pace with his hand now, furiously stroking up and down so fast it's probably just an ambiguous blur from an outside perspective. Are you the type to spit or swallow? Nah, who cares when his real prize would be painting your tits in milky white streaks, watching it stick to the metal of those nipple piercings... Could he suck it off, flick his tongue around that little bud and make you arch your back, shove them even further into his face?

He bets you sound so sweet when you feel good, his fingers would dip down into your panties (which he already knows you prefer black silk after one day you decided to borrow a skirt from Burnice and unknowingly gave all of Blazewood a to die for view of your ass, much to his delight) and he already knows you'd be a sticky, soaked mess in his lap. Would you be a good girl, pop open those lips and suck his fingers clean for him? Yeah, he bets you would.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There's just something about you that turns him into the lowest form of pervert, breathlessly beating his dick like it's going out of fashion. But he'd be a liar if he said the adrenaline of how inappropriate these fantasies were wasn't addicting, nearly as addicting as his habit of "keeping an eye on you" (really meaning filing away a variety of moments for later use, like now). He'd trade away honor and pride, all that shit, for just ten minutes alone with you. Ten minutes to have you exactly the way he wants.

As one long groan turns into a harsh through the nose exhale, his pace slows down the more his hand gets coated in spurts of hot, sticky cum. His hips stutter before he's sure he's spent, collapsing backwards from the edge of the mattress to starfish in the center as his breathing slowly evens back out. Olive green eyes remain glued to the ceiling, but all he can truly see in his field of view is you with your tongue out and his cum splashed all over your tits flashing him one of those pretty smiles for giving you all he's got.

He knows this is a problem that isn't gonna go away until it reaches a head, like catching a firm right hook to the jaw. He can only hope he doesn't end up sucker punched if and when he does work up any nerve to test the waters with you.

First thing though is finding out why you got those piercings in the first place because if it was for someone else, well, he's not above an old fashioned duel for your hand. Who knows, maybe you're secretly into that kind of thing.

With an exhausted half smile to himself he shimmies down his jeans the rest of the way, lazily kicking them off before fully crawling into bed. As he tugs down one of the pillows, curling his arms around it and breathing in deeply, he can't help but think about a different sort of fantasy now: how good it would feel to have you right here, one of his old ratty shirts clinging to your skin and smelling just like him.

He'll work up the nerve to get there, in his own way.

[coc0amocha]

🔞 Hate sex || 'Fuck you...Literally.'

you two always argue over random shit..And do random shit while you argue. Like fucking for example ~~requested

College Au - Roomate Sukuna

Word count: 620

★Fem reader - unprotected sex - rough sex - ewb(Enemies with benefits) - degrading★

You never got along with your roommate, Sukuna. Not once. Even on the first day, you two met each other he seemed to already despise you despite not even knowing your name. And you tried to make amends with him on multiple occasions because living with someone you hate and that hates you wasn't exactly on your bucket list.. But your attempts were futile as he didn't even want to try to like you. He hardly knew you but he knew he hated you. And that's all he needed to know.

And you started resenting him too. It got to a point where if one of you breathed too loud the other would get pissed off and a fight would start. Whether it was physical or verbal something would happen and it wasn't pretty. And it's like Sukuna thrived on getting under your skin and provoking you until you laid a hand on him, it's like he was entertained by it...or something more.

The only thing you seemed to like about him was the way he fucked you, and the only thing he liked about you is how you felt when you clenched and came around him. And you two would argue while fucking which is the bad part. You'd mutter breathy curses at him as he fucked you like he was trying to hurt you.

Ff-fuck y-ou–" you exhaled weakly as he pounded into you recklessly, he didn't care if it hurt because he was 'fucking the attitude out of you' as he called it

He scoffed "Nghnn..Still tryna–hnn–argue w'me, huh??" He punctuated his words with a sharp snap of his hips. Watching you writhe and whine beneath him your walls clenching around him "You feel so good darlin' mmnhmm.. it's a shame you're such a brat" He thrust particularly hard causing you to let out a sharp 'ohh!' As your back bowed off the bed and up towards him, he smirked and gripped your waist "Maybe I should put you in your place like this more often"

"Y-you're n-n–ot-" You were cut off by another sharp thrust, your hips jerking involuntarily "Unngh–ffuuckk youu.." despite your constant protests and curses directed at him you sort of liked the treatment despite the fact your inner walls might come out bruised by the end of this "Y-you're not–mmhn!–succeeding.." You muttered weakly, clawing at his shoulders hard. Leaving red lines on his skin as your nails scraped across it

"You sure? 'Cause from the way you're moaning and whining like a bitch I think I am. And by the time I cum inside this pretty pussy of yours I think your attitude will be officially gone." He quirked his lips up into a smirk, his hips stuttering in its motion

"I'm very sure, asshole... You're the one that can't handle me. That's why you're about to finish so qui–" another sharp thrust. "Unnnhh..I hope you hurt yourself."

"You're the one getting hurt, and it's all because of that mouth of yours." He retorted

"Immm..I'm not getting hu-hurt."

"Sounds like it." He raised an eyebrow

"No the fuck it doesn't" you snapped back at him

His heavy breathing turned into pants as his thrusts stuttered further "Just shut the fuck up and take it already" He bit down on his lip hard as he listened to you gasp sharply when his cock pulsed inside you, shooting hot ropes of cum deep inside "ffuuckk.." He groaned as he emptied himself into you like you were a disposal

"You fuckin' minute man." You teased, rolling your eyes

He glared at you as he pulled his softening cock out "That was not less than a minute. Can you tell time??"

"Whatever, Sukuna." You huffed

[imnotditzy]

Captain Marvel doesn’t know what a normal death is

(TW: mentions of death, brief mentions of murder gang violence)

No but really if you ask a street rat, literal living lighting, a bunch of ancient immortal people and a really wise king from a bajillion years ago, why would a reasonable answer be an option?

Like Billy thinks that if you’re 60 one of your feet are in the grave. Why? Because that was the life expectancy in the 50s. He's also homeless so he’s already more exposed to crime anyway, I wouldn’t doubt he thinks death by “minding someone else’s business” is common enough to be recorded as such in its own category and not murder. Also, he literally fights supervillains who try to kill him everyday? His view is skewed so much, that the damage might be irreversible. 😭

Moving on, Marvel is literally sentient magic. They can’t die, and if they can it’s not a thing that’s very easy to come by. The amount of work it takes to even do the equivalent of a paper cut is excessive, the concept of them dying would take a lot to set in. And they are a lost cause when it comes to knowing what a normal death is. The only “normal” deaths they’ve really paid attention to are the deaths of the Champions…and none of them had anything close to a normal death. (One of them literally gets hacked in two 💀)

The acronym; do I even have to explain? All of them besides Solomon, Heracles and Achilles literally haven’t died. And literally no hero in Greek mythology dies normally. Solomon is the only one who’s died of natural and normal causes, but he was alive in the BCE. That is a long time ago.

Now, Combine all of them together and what do you get? Captain Marvel: someone who does not have a correct interpretation of typical death!

This would probably concern others around them. Especially the JL, because I feel like Captain would mention this randomly.

—

(Green Lantern [Hal] and Captain Marvel were sent to investigate a crime scene together and they stumble upon the body.)

Captain Marvel: Aw…seems like their time came. (Captain’s got a sympathetic but large smile.)

Green Lantern (looking down at the stabbed body): Um, Cap?

Captain: It’s a shame. But I guess nothing could be done…

Lantern: Captain, they were stabbed???

Captain: Oh, I know. Happens to the best of people, right?

Lantern: Uh —No? Captain this is…worrying??

Captain: They’re in a better place now. Maybe.. ☺️

—

(They’re now back at the watchtower for a debrief, but it somehow turned into Batman questioning Captain Marvel.)

Batman: Captain can you explain why the body was not concerning to you?

(Batman’s staring at Captain intensely.)

Captain (confused smiling): …because there was nothing to worry about?

Batman (raising an eyebrow): Why?

Captain (hesitant): Because there’s probably not a serial killer or whatever running around? They killed an insider, it was gang violence.

Batman: How were you sure?

(Captain looks up to the side like their remembering before shrugging)

Captain: …Oh, I’ve seen similar bodies like that before.

—

(This occurrence is reason #5738 on why Captain Marvel cannot interact with civilians. But in Captain’s defense, how was Billy supposed to know lifespans updated?)

Captain Marvel (pointing at an “old” lady): Oh, she’s 62?

Citizen: Yeah?

Captain (sympathetic): Oh. It’s good she’s still on her feet though.

Citizen: What?

Captain: She’s thriving for her age, right?

Citizen: C—Captain Marvel, she’s 60 not 99. She just retired.

Captain (confused): Really? Why would they have her working so long if she’s nearing the end? (The lady turns around with this expression on her face: 😟)

Citizen: Because she wanted to?? Captain are you ageist?

Captain (never heard that word a day in his life): Uh, I don’t think so? What does that even mean??

(The media later somehow gets ahold of the footage and it becomes such a scandal it reaches the JL; Captain Marvel is then forced to have a public statement. At the giant press conference, Mary and Freddy are there standing next to him and laughing.)

Captain Marvel (whispering): Shut up, it’s not like you thought any different.

Miss Marvel (also whispering): Yeah but we’re not stupid enough to say it to their face, Captain.

Captain Marvel (still whispering): It’s not like you guys would have any less scandals than I do if you were in the media as much as I am.

Reporter (impatiently): Ahem. Marvels?

(Both siblings look like deer in headlights while Freddy laughs at them. They both apologize in unison.)

(Captain then clears their throat, they look like they’re dreading this.)

Captain Marvel: I am terribly sorry for what I said about [62yo citizen]. I hadn’t intended to be rude, but I seemed as such because I had a gap in my…

Solomon (telling him what to say): …Knowledge. I was under the assumption that the average lifespan wasn’t much longer than a person’s 60s…

Captain (repeating what Solomon’s saying): I now know that, while once true, that information is outdated.

(Billy went on for three more minutes, only stopping because the DTC got too bored and people were starting to give him funny looks.)

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - To Ruin or Reign

Summary - In a tense clash of vengeance and desire, she confronts Daemon, whom she blames for her cousin's death. As they struggle for power, the line between hate and attraction blurs, revealing dark truths and an undeniable connection.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Royce reader

Warnings - Violence (threats)

Word count - 2415

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"You really ought to pay for your crimes," I whispered, my voice a deadly promise as I pressed the dagger harder against his throat. The sharp edge kissed his skin, just enough to remind him of how easily I could end him. 

My body was anchored over his, knees digging into his arms, holding him pinned beneath me.

Daemon's smirk never wavered, his dark eyes glittering with mischief despite the danger. 

"No crimes were committed," he said smoothly, but his expression told a different story as if daring me to prove him wrong.

"You murdered my cousin," I hissed, leaning closer until I could feel the heat of his breath on my face. 

The satisfaction of seeing a thin line of crimson bead on the tip of my blade sent a pulse of triumph through me.

"She fell off her house," he repeated, feigning innocence, though his eyes gleamed with something far more sinister.

I rolled my eyes, pushing the dagger just a hair deeper, drawing another drop of blood. 

The warmth of his blood against my fingers was intoxicating, a reminder of how thin the line was between life and death in this moment.

"You expect me to believe that?" I growled, lowering myself until my face was inches from his, knees pressing even harder into his arms.

He let out a small, exaggerated sigh. "I was quite saddened by it, truly. But," his voice dropped into something darker, "if it hadn't happened, we wouldn't be in such... a delightful position."

My stomach twisted at the heat in his gaze. I scoffed, disgusted at the thought that he could even think of something so base while teetering on the edge of death. 

"This position?" I asked mockingly, dragging the blade down his chest, leaving a neat, shallow cut in its wake. His muscles tensed under me as I brought the dagger back to his throat, daring him to keep talking.

His lips curved into a wider grin. "No," he whispered, voice thick with amusement. "This one."

Before I could react, his leg shot up, knocking me off balance. I barely had time to gasp as my back hit the cold ground with a thud. 

In an instant, Daemon was on top of me, his weight pinning me down, reversing our roles as he straddled my hips. 

My dagger, which had felt so powerful in my grip a moment ago, now hung loosely in my hand. With a deft movement, he snatched it away, holding it effortlessly at my throat.

"So pretty... so fiery," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to mine, his breath warm against my skin. His words sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. 

I squirmed beneath him, cursing myself for the traitorous heat rising in my cheeks.

"It's a shame, really," he continued, his voice soft, but laced with something darker. "You weren't offered to me instead. We could've had so much fun." 

His eyes flicked down to my lips, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself stilled.

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to give in to his games. "Rhea was a good woman," I spat, my voice venomous. "Better than you deserved."

Daemon's laugh was low and rich, rumbling from deep within his chest. 

"Perhaps. But that doesn't change the fact that you look far more intriguing," he countered smoothly, the edge of the blade tracing a slow, teasing line along my cheek. 

The cold metal was a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body, pressed so intimately against mine.

I bit back a gasp as the blade's tip lingered under my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his. His eyes were intense, flickering with something far too dangerous to name. 

It was maddening how he could toy with me like this, so close to death, and yet in complete control.

The tension between us crackled in the air, thick and suffocating, as if the line between hate and something else entirely was blurring with every passing second. 

Every fibre of my being screamed to resist him, but there was something undeniable in the way our bodies were entangled, something electric that neither of us could ignore.

"You may have me pinned," I whispered, my breath ragged, "but don't think for a second you've won."

His smile was wicked, his lips ghosting near mine. "Who says I want to win?" he purred, voice dripping with dark intent. "Maybe I just enjoy the fight."

Daemon's eyes flickered, that damned smirk playing at the corners of his lips as if he found my resistance amusing. 

The blade in his hand traced slow circles along my skin, daring me to challenge him, testing just how far I was willing to go.

"Maybe you like being on top," he mused, voice a dangerous purr, "but we both know you thrive on the fight. Admit it."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. 

My body ached beneath his weight, every nerve alert, and every muscle screaming to throw him off me, but he had me pinned too well. 

The heat of his breath ghosted over my lips, his proximity maddening.

He dipped his head closer, his voice dropping to a dark whisper, "It's intoxicating, isn't it? The way we burn when we fight."

His words sent a pulse of fury through me. My breath hitched, but I quickly masked it, glaring up at him with all the venom I could muster. "You don't know a damn thing about me."

Daemon's grin widened as if my anger only fueled him more. 

"Oh, but I do. You hate how much you enjoy this, don't you?" His tone dripped with arrogance, the tip of the dagger now lingering just beneath my collarbone, teasing the edge of my top.

I seized the moment, pushing up with every ounce of strength left in me. My hands shot up, grabbing at his wrists, using the element of surprise to roll us, our bodies a tangle of limbs as we struggled for dominance.

I ended up on top again, straddling his waist, my chest heaving with exertion. I snatched the dagger from his grip, pressing it against his throat as before. 

But this time, I leaned closer, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath me. He was breathing hard, his smirk finally faltering.

"Who's in control now?" I whispered, my voice low and dangerous.

His lips parted slightly, a flash of something darker crossing his gaze, and for a moment, I thought I'd won.

But then his hands shot up, faster than I expected, gripping my wrists with bruising force. His eyes locked on mine, the intensity between us almost suffocating. 

With a sharp pull, he yanked me down, our faces inches apart, his breath hot against my lips.

"You think this means control?" he rasped, voice raw with challenge. "Control is in your head... and right now, you're losing it."

The air between us crackled, our bodies tangled in a game neither of us was willing to surrender. 

My pulse raced, not just from the physical exertion but from the maddening way his eyes held mine—dark, daring, pulling me into something I wasn't sure I could escape.

The dagger was still in my hand, pressed to his throat, but my grip faltered as the proximity of his lips, the heat of his body against mine, sent a traitorous thrill down my spine. 

Damn him. I wouldn't let him win. I couldn't.

But I hated how right he was. Control was slipping through my fingers, like sand I couldn't hold on to. 

The fury, the frustration—it was all blending with something more dangerous, something I didn't want to name.

"You want to know the truth?" Daemon's voice was a low rumble beneath me, his hands tightening on my wrists, keeping me anchored. "I could've killed your cousin. Easily. But I didn't."

I blinked, shock cutting through the haze of lust and fury. "Liar," I spat, pressing the dagger harder, just enough to make him flinch.

His lips twitched into that infuriating smirk again. "I didn't say I didn't want to. I said I didn't. Rhea's death was... unfortunate, but I don't take credit for it." 

His voice turned bitter, a shadow passing through his gaze.

I didn't know whether to believe him, but something in his tone gave me pause. I hated how much his words affected me. The uncertainty gnawed at my resolve.

"You expect me to just take your word for it?" I growled, frustration boiling over. "After everything you've done?"

His eyes darkened, the humour draining from his face.

"I've done a lot of things, and I'll pay for my sins. But not that one." He shifted beneath me, his body tense, and for the first time, I saw a crack in his perfect composure. 

"You think I'm the monster in this story, but you've barely scratched the surface."

I froze, my grip on the dagger loosening just a fraction, uncertainty creeping in. Was this just another one of his games? Another way to twist my emotions, to make me doubt everything?

He used that hesitation to his advantage, one swift movement and I was on my back again, the dagger flying out of my hand as he pinned me once more. 

But this time, there was no smirk, no teasing. His eyes were cold, hard, the playful façade gone.

"You're not the only one who's lost something," he said, voice tight with barely contained anger. "You think I enjoy this? You think I want to play these games with you? I'm doing what I have to do to survive."

I glared up at him, defiance blazing in my chest, even as my mind scrambled to understand the shift in his tone. "So, what? You're the victim now?"

His grip tightened on my wrists, and for a moment, I thought he might snap. But then his eyes softened, just a touch as if he were letting me glimpse something deeper beneath the surface.

"We're both victims," he whispered, leaning down until our noses nearly touched. "You just haven't figured that out yet."

The proximity of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into mine—it was maddening, and yet, in that moment, the line between hate and something darker blurred completely. 

My heart raced for reasons I refused to acknowledge, and every fibre of my being screamed at me to push him off, to fight him. But I couldn't. Not now.

Because for the first time, I saw the truth in his eyes.

It wasn't just a game anymore. And that terrified me.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Daemon released my wrists, his hands hovering above me as if he were daring me to make the next move.

"Go ahead," he murmured, his voice soft but dangerous. "Fight me. Or..." His gaze dropped to my lips, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't name. "Kiss me."

The challenge in his eyes burned hotter than ever, and for the first time, I didn't know if I wanted to kill him or... something else entirely.

Breathing hard, I stared up at him, my mind a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and desire. 

I hated him. I hated everything he stood for.

But damn it, in this moment, I wasn't sure if I hated how much I wanted him even more.

His fingers brushed my jawline, barely a whisper of contact, but it sent a shiver through me that I couldn't suppress. 

He noticed. Of course, he did. His lips curved slightly, just enough to show he was still in control, despite the thin thread of tension holding us both on edge.

"I see it in your eyes," he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow line along my cheek like he was savouring every second of my reaction. "That fire, that fight..."

My breath hitched, every nerve screaming to push him away, but my body betrayed me. 

Instead of shoving him off, my hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as if the space between us was suffocating.

"I hate you," I growled through gritted teeth, my voice barely a whisper, but even to my own ears, it sounded hollow, a fragile protest against the tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume me.

His dark gaze never wavered, the intensity of it burning into me as if he could see every wall I'd tried to put up between us, every lie I'd told myself. 

"Then show me," he whispered, his voice a rough, dangerous challenge. "Hate me."

And before I could stop myself, my lips crashed into his, the force of the kiss fueled by every ounce of fury I had left. 

It was raw, a collision of teeth and lips, neither of us willing to give in, both fighting for control even in this.

Daemon responded in kind, his hands tangling in my hair as he deepened the kiss, rough and unyielding, as though he were trying to conquer me, and I, him. 

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet.

It was a battle, just like everything else between us—a war of tongues, a clash of wills.

I pushed against him, my hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, but he held firm, pressing me harder into the ground, his body radiating heat as our lips moved together in a fiery, relentless rhythm.

Every kiss felt like a fight, every touch a challenge, and yet beneath it all, the line between hate and desire blurred even further. 

It was maddening, consuming, and I hated that I craved more of it. More of him.

When we finally broke apart, gasping for breath, my chest heaving beneath him, Daemon's lips hovered just above mine, his smirk nowhere to be found this time. His voice, low and rough, brushed against my skin. 

"You may hate me now," he murmured, his fingers still gripping my hair, "but sooner or later, you'll realize—this is exactly what you've been wanting all along."

I glared up at him, my breath shaky, my heart racing in ways that scared me more than the blade ever could. 

"Don't flatter yourself," I bit back, but even I could hear the unsteadiness in my voice.

His smirk returned, but there was a glint of something darker in his eyes, something possessive. 

"I don't need to. You'll come to me," he whispered, his lips ghosting over mine once more, "whether you want to or not."

And with that, he pulled away, leaving me breathless and burning, my mind a chaotic swirl of anger and desire that I couldn't untangle. 

He was dangerous—more dangerous than I'd ever realized.

But the worst part?

I wasn't sure I could stop myself from wanting him anyway.

A/n - Enemies to lovers is just 🤌🏼will forever be my fav trope

[inuxi]

that ask was rude of me, i should've just blocked you instead of telling you about it, i'm sorry. i'm aroace and sex+romance repulsed, and i guess i thought alastor was gonna be something i could enjoy for once like everyone else gets to without feeling like i'm intruding on a conversation i have no right to be part of. i'm on ios so i can't use browser extensions to actually get rid of all the alastor ship posts like i want, and i'm not sure my problem even has a solution short of just giving up trying, because so far i have found exactly zero blogs that are 1.) still active at all, 2.) still post about Hazbin, 3.) aren't actually 12 years old, and 4.) don't post about fucking Alastor ships. i got so excited seeing such good, recent art i haven't nuked yet considering how old every other post i can still see is, and i'm not kidding when i say i sent that ask through tears. it was rude and unacceptable either way, and i'm sorry.

i've blocked over 200 different people and i'm not exaggerating that number even a little bit. i would rather put a gun to my head and pull the trigger myself than see them so much as breathe next to each other ever again. i am so. so so so so so sick of searching and searching and searching and finding nothing.

the thing i've learned from alastor's aroace representation is that not only is the world as a whole not made to accommodate me, fandom space isn't either. i am an alien on a planet i was never made to fit into, and i don't even get to escape that through fiction like everyone else does. no amount of filtering and blocking and searching will bring into existence a community for me that simply does not exist, and it is futile for me to try. that's what this fandom has taught me.

i think the chances of me sticking around in this fandom are slim, so at least it won't be an issue for anyone else anymore. i think being excluded from conversations about an aroace character sting a lot more than just not being represented at all to be honest.

Okay, listen.

First of all, Alastor is officially an Ace, NOT an aroace. That means he can still be interested in any romantic things or finding a couple. No one is stopping you from seeing him exclusively as an aroace. But shaming people who don't share your point of view is a bad idea.

Secondly, I am an aroace artist myself. Romantic and sexual themes are virtually non-existent in my art. I can joke about it, but almost all of my drawings explore completely different things. And you come to me and try to talk about how hard it is to feel socially comfortable being an aroace? I understand your worries, but, again, trying to shame other people because they don't share your point of view is NOT a healthy coping mechanism.

Third, I have done THREE drawings in all my time that include a romanticized Alastor. Two of them were collabs, and the third was asked to be drawn by people. And these three drawings made you give up on my art, which you said you really liked?

The community is too heavily oriented towards romantic and sexual themes, it's true. People like us are often uncomfortable in that environment, that's also true. But aroace people can't just come in and ban others from having fun just because we don't find that fun or interesting.

Man, I'm not even Alastor's artist! What the kind of Alastor shipper am I? And you picked me out of a thousand people to block? Oh my God, that's as funny as it is sad.

In case you haven't looked at my art, I am a Lucifer artist. I very rarely draw Alastor, simply because I don't find him interesting enough. And because of that, I find it so funny to be labeled an “Alastor shipper”

[popatochisssp]

Are any of your boys interested in/good at singing? I was listening to Nightwish’s Phantom of the Opera the other day and couldn’t help but think that Pyre would love an opera metal rendition of this musical

Ooh, singing, that's a good one! 👀

Sans (Undertale): He has a lovely singing voice, practically made for slow, sweet ballads…but he’s entirely too private and awkward to ever really use it. He might sing once or twice, just for you, but there can’t be anybody else around to risk hearing and he might need to be drunk to be convinced. Like really, truly, very drunk… Please, no recordings.

Papyrus (Undertale): He’s got the voice and the confidence, he’ll sing at the drop of a hat! If he has any flaws at all, it’s that he only has one volume setting on his singing voice, and it’s: LOUD. Full-on theater-kid ‘project for the people in the balconies’ belting it out, which is very fun and great for sing-alongs, but lends itself slightly less well to wooing endeavors. Alas!

Sky (Underswap Sans): He doesn’t mind singing and he’s got a good voice for it, plus a good grasp of melody and tempo, but he definitely prefers singing as a group activity rather than a solo one. Singing along to songs with friends at concerts and parties and even in the car is what he likes the most. Other times, the most he’ll do is just hum tunes that get stuck in his head.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Too shy and self-critical for singing, which is a shame because his voice is actually very nice. You might catch him humming absently to himself sometimes but he won’t know how to respond to any compliments or encouragement to do more. He might get a bit less embarrassed the more comfortable he is with you, but don’t rush him—fighting the good fight against lifelong anxiety takes time.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Nah, he doesn’t sing…is what he says, but he’ll sing a different tune—literally—if you get him a little drunk first. Not a lot drunk, just enough to loosen the inhibitions, is all. He’ll rarely do anything more than sing along with any music that’s already playing, but his deep, raspy drawl lends itself really well to rock and country and the genres in between.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): He doesn’t sing, it’s unbecoming. Yes, he knows all the lyrics to way more musicals and emo bands’ songs than you would ever expect, but that doesn’t mean anything! …He actually has an incredible singing range and sounds good at any volume, from scream-singing all the way down to gentle serenading, but he’s sensitive to criticism and it holds him back.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Doesn’t usually sing, but good at it when he does—he’s good at everything, or so he says. In this case, he’s right, he has a deep, pleasant voice and good control over it to sound exactly how he wants to. It generally doesn’t come up, but he’ll sing to woo you…or to win a bet or otherwise prove some kind of point.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Probably not at the point confidence-wise where he can do it sober, but immediately willing to sing for you if you ask when he’s not. His voice lends itself best to love songs, the more heartfelt and deeply yearning the better, but he’s nothing if not a crowd-pleaser, so he’ll take requests if he knows what you want to hear.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He has an excellent voice, plenty deep and lots of room in his chest for it to reverberate in, but he’s still pretty self-conscious about it. He’s prone to humming more, rarely anything specific, just pleasant tunes that pop in and out of his head…but he’ll sing for you, if you stay still in his arms long enough to hear it.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): A good singer, and he’s even managed to learn volume control, which is…both a blessing and a curse. He has a harder time now than he used to singing loudly, and his control tends to slip around the higher registers, so he’s prone to the occasional embarrassing warble or flat note. A little shy about that, but it won’t stop him from singing altogether.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Has a nice voice for singing but not a robust one. A fair amount of vocal longevity, but not a lot of power, which results in someone who can sing for (or with) you for a good long while, but not very loudly or with any special flair. Still, that’s plenty to croon to you in dulcet tones when you’re alone, in romantic moments. Is any more than that necessary?

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Sing? Him? Oh, no, he couldn’t… or well, he will if other people are singing but not…by himself, that he couldn’t do. His voice is pleasant but probably nothing to write home about, best suited for the humble stage of his own home, humming happy tunes while he goes about his chores and hobbies. He’s such a malewife house-husband that it borders on cliché, but it’s his ecological niche.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Nah. He’d love to, but his least-favorite injury being what it is, any sound he tries to funnel any further up than his neck…hurts. A lot. So no singing for him. He still likes music, though, and sometimes it’s an interesting challenge to try and sign along with what the artist is singing (if he’s not too busy head-banging). His version of singing, he’d guess.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): What exactly about him gave the impression that he might sing? He’d like to correct it immediately, though he’ll try to take it as a compliment that you think his voice might be suited to singing. …You’re right, but you won’t find that out for a very long time, if ever. His low, sonorous voice, perfect for lullabies and sad songs, is only for a deeply-trusted few.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He doesn’t sing much, but he misses it. He tends a little monotone, but it’s hard to sing without emotion and inevitably, that creeps in. Which is slightly problematic for his condition, so he’s prone to humming, then singing, then getting a little too into it and having to stop. Looking forward to sorting that and being able to sing jubilant pop songs with wild abandon again.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Not really, but sometimes if (he thinks) he’s alone, he’ll put on some punk-rock screamo and sing along to it. Wildly embarrassed if caught at it and will deny and deflect, he was not, and who said you could come in anyway?! All a lot of fuss for no real reason, ‘cause he sounds good, always deeply passionate and putting his whole voice into it when he sings. Ah well, can't argue.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He’ll sing whenever the music takes him. ‘When the music takes him’ is usually when he’s relaxing with the radio on, or trying to be playful with you, but he’s not above karaoke on a dare or concert sing-alongs if opportunity knocks. He’ll sing a lot of things but perhaps surprisingly, his voice is best-suited to classic crooners, so for the sake of a manageable ego, try not to swoon.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He rides the edge of non-verbal most days, so singing isn’t really his forte or pleasure. Probably the most you’ll get out of him is a thoughtlessly hummed wisp of tune here and there, usually when he’s occupied with something and not thinking about it. Maybe a more deliberately-hummed love song for you, but those are hard to catch, since he’s most prone to them when he thinks you’re asleep.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He likes singing, definitely more willing than most to sing if there’s a catchy song on or if other people are singing around him. He has a good voice for it, not especially deep but fluid and melodic, nice to listen to. He struggles a little with tempo, getting to certain parts of songs a little faster or slower than called for, but hey, it’s not like he’s classically-trained.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Loves to sing! He thinks it’s fun and likes the resonance of his own voice, so he’ll do it often—sing-songing a phrase, singing lyrics to you to be playful, or just because he’s enjoying a song. Not the best at staying on key and occasionally gets lyrics ‘wrong’ (read: rewrites them to make more sense to him), but he’s undeniably a good singer and pleasant to listen to.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Unlikely to spend any time singing. Anything he could sing is just electronically-generated sound, you could just as easily listen to a recorded voice and get the same or better. …Which is not entirely true, there’s a depth of feeling and—for lack of a better word—soul in his deep, bassy resonance that no true machine could ever replicate. But good luck getting him to believe it.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): Sure, he’ll sing, whatever you want! In actuality, he hums idly more than he sings, but will definitely do so upon request. He cheats a little—or as he might put it, ‘has fun with it’—and isn’t shy about sampling from clips and songs, or auto-tuning himself in real-time for effect. He likes making music and anything he can access to do so is really just fair game.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): He likes to sing! Whether or not he’s any good seems to vary, sometimes singing beautifully and other times, just a little…off, somewhere. It mostly depends on if he’s tuned in to the here-and-now, or if he’s thoughtlessly trying to harmonize with background cosmic radiation or something equally strange that he can hear but you can’t. Regardless, he doesn’t care what he sounds like, singing is expression, not perfection!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): He loves singing and will take any excuse for it. He’ll break out the smooth, dulcet tones to sing you love ballads, to fill a silence, to make up a silly song about the cat that it can be furious at him over—anything! He’ll even sing to birds if the opportunity presents itself, with chirps and flutey whistles that make wildlife flock to him like he’s some kind of Disney prince.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): Sure, if he’s feeling it, any song that goes particularly hard might coax him to sing along with it—the kind of stuff that’s loud and fast and probably about sticking it to The Man. He’s got a good singing voice, but does tend to push it a little hard, so sometimes it’ll crack or blow out, and then he’s raspier than normal for awhile after he’s overdone it.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Unlikely to sing. He’s not in the habit of using his voice for anything but responding to commands and inquiries, so he never really developed any kind of musical aptitude. If he tried, he’d be very shy and very out-of-tune. With some space and support, he might graduate to some quiet humming while he’s occupied and he’d be pleased with that, especially if you tell him you like it!

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): No, he doesn’t sing. That would draw far too much attention to him and make him look foolish, he won’t be doing that… At least, not like that.  A soft, breathy lyric when you’re asleep, or when you have your back turned to him, a vaguely tuneful murmur more like poetry than song… Maybe that he can do, if sufficiently…moved…by emotion. Don’t expect miracles, but maybe that.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): No special enjoyment in singing, but he’ll do it freely if relevant, convenient, or in some way entertaining. His voice—warm, smooth, inviting—is just another part of his body to be used in accomplishing his goals, whatever they may be. He’s not the shy type and knows full-well when he’s good at something (note: this is very dangerous), so…don’t be surprised if he uses it for evil mischief.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Perhaps surprisingly…yes, he does enjoy singing every now and then. But he’s very selective about who gets to hear—new acquaintances need not apply, and for as long-lived as monsters have gotten, his definition of ‘new’ is long. Still, with a voice as deep and dark as the Underground itself, it’s probably worth the wait to hear him hum and then sing a few sensual, jazzy bars for you.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): Definitely, he likes to sing! He’s a teensy bit scattered, so he’s prone to trailing off if he forgets the lyrics, or trailing in if he started thinking about a song and picked it up out loud from whatever part he was at, but he’s a good singer with enough enthusiasm as to be contagious—so if you wanted to join in, he’d be absolutely thrilled.

[the-californicationist]

I need like sweet, domestic Alex like coming home from deployment or something and reader doting on him (per our recent discussion, does she give him a nice massage bc of his poor aching leg) before he's just so desperate and pent up he goes full filthy down bad for his sweet thing at home. disrespect me alex please, then go right back to snuggles i BEG

Pingu… lol bestie. Idk what happened. Something something “disrespect me alex keller”… um…

TW: throat fucking, degradation, slut shaming, gender neutral reader, pet names: baby, babydoll, pretty thing

— MDNI —

Three Wishes

—

When his deployment ended, Alex Keller told you he had three wishes: a greasy cheeseburger, a deep tissue massage, and your pretty mouth on his cock. He was working on the burger as you watched him, busying yourself by kneading his quad muscles with your hands. You were staring as the blue glow from the TV danced across his tired face, bathing him in a desaturated light. Your palms and fingers worked their way along his sore thighs, rubbing them with his trusty Biofreeze pain gel, trying to ease his strained limbs.

The prosthetic he wore for work lay discarded in the corner, still caked with sand and mud and memories of a grueling tour. If his return home was anything like his last, he’d leave it there for weeks, seemingly out of spite, much preferring to use his forearm cane to semi-gracefully amble from the couch to the kitchen to the bed and back again, moving more like an acrobat than a soldier, leaning and pulling on countertops and reinforced handles to make his way around his home. It never stopped surprising you with how quickly he could cross a room without any walking aids at all, much preferring to use his body without the augmentations.

You’d been there for him when he lost the leg. At the time, you and his mom had been way more concerned about blood clots from the injury rather than the amputation itself. It wasn’t until he was about to be discharged and you were left with an endless stream of leg-limb-cane-chair options that made your head spin. But, Alex didn’t seem to mind. He had turned his nose up at the chair, immediately deciding that if he wasn’t walking out of there on his own, he didn’t want to walk out of there at all. The doctors all hemmed and hawed, but you and Mrs. Keller stood firm. You supported him, and he made it through with flying colors.

When they’d welcomed him back to SAC, you were shocked. You’d expected him to get his Purple Heart and be left out in the cold. Since when had Uncle Sam ever wanted to put his “broken” toys back on the playing field? Hell, most veterans had to jump through more hoops than a circus poodle just to get baseline healthcare. But, Alex wouldn’t be denied. He was too good, and he made sure no one ever considered anything about him as broken. In fact, his recovery had given him extra time at the range, in the gym, and in the tactical office, honing his skills to a razor-fine edge. Alex was twice the soldier now, and you were proud of how far he’d come.

But, that didn’t mean it was easy. His work took a toll on his body, more so than his squadmates’. He’d be in pain for weeks, and you’d watch his face twist and bend in agony. It almost felt like he would only get back to normal right before it was time to deploy again. But, that was the price he paid. He kept the world safe, and he used himself as the shield, protecting you and everyone else from unimaginable evils.

You loved watching him tear into this messy burger. The juice and sauce was dripping down his hands, and there was a smear of something warm and gooey trapped in the corner of his mouth and his overgrown mustache, ready for a long tongue to swipe it away. Still, you waited patiently for him to finish. You were just as eager for the third wish as he was, judging by the obvious erection straining against his gym shorts.

Pausing your ministrations, you cleared his food away and washed your hands. You made your way back over to the couch and knelt between his legs,

“Mm, goddamn,” Alex sighed, wiping his mouth and hands with the napkin as he finished off his meal, “That hit the fuckin’ spot.”

“You ready for your last wish to come true, Lex?” You purred, digging your hands into the band of his shorts and peeling them down over his throbbing erection.

“You’re too good to me, baby,” his voice deepened as he watched you reveal his length, bending over him to suckle the shining precome from his head, “Mmf-fuck! I love comin’ home.”

You tried to take more of him, but he was impossibly hard, and your throat protested against his invasion. Gagging yourself, you choked, pulling away to catch a breath before going right back to suckle his cock.

“Tha’s it. Lemme help you, babydoll,” Alex purred, placing a firm palm on your head and shoving you down onto him, working you past your deepest point, showing you how much further you could go with his help.

“I dreamt of this fuckin’ moment,” he confessed, “This exact one. The one with your mouth full of me like this, droolin’ on me like this, suckin’ me like this… holy fuck!”

In a flash, both of his hands were on your head, shoving you down so much further onto his hard length, making your throat ache and burn.

You loved it, feeling your own pleasure building between your legs. His roughness made your mind go blank; you melted into his dumb little slut, shamelessly humping into your own hand as your brain begged for breath.

A hard fist pulled you off of him, and you gasped, rasping and wet, your shining drool swirling and pooling from your mouth, raining down onto his red, swollen prick.

“There you are,” Alex smiled, “Eyes on me, baby. Don’t look away.”

As he lowered you back onto his hard length, you obeyed, gazing up at him despite your audible struggling, the pressure and tightness in your throat making you want to wrench your eyes shut. But you didn’t. You were a good hole for him; you’d show him how much you missed him.

He moved your head up and down without your help. You were just along for the ride, breathing when you could, coughing and jerking when your body struggled to obey.

“This mouth… holy hell. Gonna make me come, baby.” Then, he noticed your hand writhing beneath you, playing with yourself as you sucked him off, “You touchin’ yourself? Oh, fuck. Fuck, that’s hot.”

He began to fuck your throat in earnest, picking up his pace, leaning his head back on the couch in ecstasy. You reached up with your free hand and lifted your shirt over your chest, pinching and plucking at your nipples, edging yourself right up to an orgasm, ignoring how lurid the gurgling noises that your throat was making sounded in the quiet living room.

“You better get that filthy hole ready for me, babydoll. Your mouth is so damn good, but this load isn’t goin’ in your tummy,” he saw your eyes widen and he chuckled, “Nuh-uh. I am gonna fuck you until you’re too hoarse to scream my name.”

You couldn’t help but moan, your eyes flashing white, rolling back into your head.

“Hey!” That same tight fist shook you at your nape, shocking you back into submission, “Give me those eyes, baby. Such a pretty little slut. So good for me.”

Then, he rewarded you by holding you down to his base, scooting to the edge of the couch so that he could shove his cock all the way down your neck, using his free hand to rub your throat on the outside, squeezing the sides to feel himself as he filled your writhing, choking body.

“Does my baby want to breathe? Givin’ up already?”

You tried to shake your head no, looking at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. You were no quitter. You’d black the fuck out before you let him think you needed mercy.

“No?” He seemed pleased, moaning as he grinded himself deep inside of you, moving your face back and forth to steep himself in his optimal pleasure, giving you brief gasps of sloppy air as he did. “So proud of you, baby. Doin’ so well. Now… Swallow me, babydoll. Mmf-fuck! Yeah, just like that. Holy fuck.”

You swallowed around him, closing your throat across his cockhead over and over, feeling the soft fleshy tip squish and squeeze in the bottom of your throat, twitching at the root of your tongue. You tried to find a rhythm, swallowing in pulsating waves. Above you, Alex was coming undone, trembling and growling like an animal, barely hanging onto his sanity.

Suddenly, he ripped himself out of you in a wet, messy stroke. You leaned into his grip, lolling out your tongue, knowing that he had lost at his own edging game. Sure enough, he began to spray hot, sticky ropes of come across your nose and mouth, covering your face in his orgasm, coating you in his mark.

He was shouting loud enough to fill the room, and he just kept coming, his body twisting and bending in mindless sexual fury. You leaned forward to seal your mouth over his head, milking him of his heavy load, sucking down his essence like it would sustain you.

“Oh, fuck!” He lamented, watching you clean his dick with your tongue, wearing his cream like a badge of honor, “C’mere, baby. Open wide.”

You opened your mouth up for him, sticking your messy tongue out as far as it would go. He grabbed your chin and began to use his other hand to swipe his load into your lips, smearing his come down your nose and across your cheeks to scoop it onto your tongue, making sure you didn’t waste a drop.

You remained stock still, feeling his seed slipping down your throat and into your belly, but you kept your tongue out, showing him you were still his obedient cockslut.

“I hope you’re ready for me, baby, ‘cause I’m still hard. Did you get that hole nice and warm for me?”

“Yes, sir,” you smiled, pleased to play your part.

“Show me,” he smiled back - all devil, no angel.

You did as you were told, turning around, leaning your chest to the ground, and peeling your underwear down your thighs to show him his prize.

His hand spread your ass cheeks apart, and you felt him spit across your flesh, chuckling with an exciting cruelty as he spread his spit around with his thumb,

“Oh, fuck. There it is. I’m gonna pump you so full of come you’ll be drippin’ for days and days and days...”

[tiagems]

So I'm not gonna mince words: the book is not good. That's not necessarily a bad thing though imo, Twilight is awful and it still got people to read, and once they started reading they found better books to enjoy.

There is a significant amount of people who hate the book just because it's easy to hate. It's easy to sling around words like "immature" and "vapid" and "convoluted", because Lightlark is all of these things, but there's a group of people who like to go out and shame the people who do like it. They are just bullies who likely haven't even read the books but just read a review or two and decided to make it a moral thing. It's not.

I'm glad you enjoyed the book. I did not.

I think that Lightlark is what you get when someone who only consumes media and never engages with it intellectually tries to write a series.

I have a lot of issues with it, enough to make my own video essay on the matter. My largest issue is that it's marketed as a Young Adult book when the plot is clearly better suited for New Adult or just plain adult fiction, but it's easier to market YA to tiktok users because the demographic there is around 13-19. There's other issues including:

- The lack of characterization in any of the characters. Alex Aster treats characters like plot devices, and has them do things just because that's what they need to do to move the plot exactly in the way she wants it to move. To avoid them doing things out of character, then, they simply don't have any character and are all cardboard cutouts. Can you describe anybody beyond their physical appearance and use in the story? Who was Aurora's sister? What's Azul's late husband's name? Why did Grim fall in love with Isla? How old is Isla?

- The twists. Having twists in your book isn't a bad thing, the problem is that there's no narrative difference between Aster's twists and Aster's exposition dumps. It feels less like putting a puzzle together and more like taking notes from a poorly edited textbook. Also the sheer amount of them are exhausting.

- The dialogue. This is just a personal preference of mine but I can't stand dialogue that doesn't sound natural and realistic. If you can't imagine hearing this conversation in real life, I am immediately yanked out of the story.

- The themes, or lack thereof. This could've been a story about so many things, about societal expectations, about what it means to sacrifice your own desires for the greater good, about violence against women and the harm it perpetuates. We get none of those things.

There's more but I don't want to lose you. I think I already have, I'm in too deep now though.

I want to reiterate, there's nothing wrong with liking Lightlark. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I hope you keep reading more books and continue to expand your tastes. Maybe one day you'll look back on Lightlark and cringe the way I do when I think about the books I used to like(Maximum Ride, the Immortal Instruments, Harry Potter).

I was very excited to look for fanart and see what other people thought of a book I was reading to see if other people enjoyed it as much as I did.....only to find....that everyone...hates it.

I'm a little bit sad because I really enjoyed it. Did I read the same book as ya'll?

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Batfam x Neglected mortal

Kombat reader

Lucid dreams III

Notes: this is part three to lucid dreams.

Warnings: child neglecting

___________________________________________

In the wise words of leonardo Da Vinci 'tears come from the heart and not the brain.' And in this very moment ,you know his words are true.

Because you know your strong... your minds strong. You've tested your mind and you know you could take anything on mentally...... So why were your eyes filling up with tears?

It must have been your heart. You've never tested or trained your heart. How could you? It's simply impossible. But still you blame yourself for the stupid decisions of your heart.

Your not supposed to cry. And it shames you to think -no it's not to think anymore this is happening. You are about to cry. And over something as stupid as words.

You search your grandfather's eyes for any sign of doubt or pity. But you find none. And sadly that only makes your eyes tear up more.

His words are simple. And to anyone else they probably wouldn't mean much. But to you? To you they mean the world.

How long has been since you've cried? You can't quite remember. But it's been years. And you swore you'd never cry agian. But here you are breaking your promise to something as dumb as words.

But you cant bring yourself to worry about that stupid promise you made. Atleast Not right now. Not when your grandfather says the words you've always wanted to hear.

'Your no monster my child. Only human. ' He says. The words are simple and direct. So why are your eyes filling up with tears? You can't look at him. You just can't. So you look at the ground ,or in your case the roof of the building your standing on...

Your jaw is clenched so tight and your hands are bawled into fist. Your eyes close on instinct ,trying to keep your tears from falling.

"You mean it?" You say. And God's ! Why do you sound so pathetic... why do you sound like you're begging for him to say yes. But then again....you are silently begging him to say yes.

But your prayer doesn't last long before he speaks up. "I do." He says. And you can tell he means it. And your chest finally stops feeling so heavy but your eyes well up with more tears..

Before you even know what you're doing you envelop him in a hug. And his hands wrap around you almost awkwardly. Because it is awkward. You've never hugged your grandfather. And he's never hugged you. But right now this hug is necessary. Both of you know that....

Although the hug is slightly awkward it's the best hug you've ever had. And suddenly you forget your mistakes and your worries ,and you feel at peace.....

As a single tear rolls down your cheek, falls unto your grandfathers jacket you don't wipe it away. Instead you let it fall.

And for some odd reason that brings your grandfather at peace.

You don't seem to notice but your grandfather's chest isn't as heavy either. And maybe you were to distracted watching your own tear fall onto his jacket that you didn't feel his tear fall onto your jacket. But it did.

And just as you wipe your eyes he wipes his. Your the first to pull back and your grandfather follows your action. As you step back your grandfather's eyes look into yours.

And you feel like your under a microscope. You probably are. You know your grandfathers eyes always find what they're looking for. You just hope he's looking for something good.

You sigh and suddenly the air isn't as tense as it was moments ago. "Thank you grandfather. " You say and your voice comes out shaky.

But your grandfather doesn't seem to care about the shaky tone of your voice. "Lets get you home. My child. " He says and you catch it. His voice is just as shaky as yours. And you almost want to smile. But you don't.

Walking back to the Wayne manor neither of you speak. It's a long walk but neither of you seem to mind. As you finally reach the gate you turn to look at him.

" you should come in grandfather. It's been a while since you've seen mother." You say and it's probably crazy to ask that since it is 2 am. But your words are true. It has been a while since he's seen your mother.

" perhaps another day." He says as he looks at the big gate. "She's still your daughter..." You say and you mean no disrespect and you hope he knows that.

" I know...but she's changed. I don't recognize her. And that scares me more than death." He says. And you understand. She has changed. And nomatter how many times you try to remind yourself that she's your mother. Your heart refuses to believe it.

You nod and quickly climb over the huge gate. Once over the gate you turn to look at your grandfather. "Goodnight grandfather." You say.

"Goodnight child." He says. As you walk back to the manor you know he's watching you. Watching to make sure you get home safely. Like he always does. And that makes you happy. Because atleast someone cares......

Finally reaching the manor you climb up the tree by your room and into your bedroom window. Your room looks the same as it did when you left it. And it doesn't seem like anyone noticed that you left. You lay on the bed and sigh. It's 3am now. They should be coming home from patrol any minute now.

But your thoughts don't stay on them for to long. Instead your mind goes to your mother. Why has she changed so much? Why doesn't she care anymore? Those thoughts are always on your mind. And more often then not they keep you up at night.

Before you know it an hour passed and it's 4 am. And just like clock work you hear your mother open Damians bedroom door. Next is Tim's. Then Dicks. And last is Jason's.

She's done this every night to ensure that there okay. That their in their room asleep like they are supposed to be.

But she doesn't do this for you. Atleast Not anymore. And as much as you don't want to admit it. It hurts. Because she did that for you first.

She used to check up on you every night. She used to make sure you were sleeping alright before ,not them. But now? Now it's seems she has forgotten you. And that?

That hurts like hell.

After what seems like eternity you close your eyes and finally fall asleep. Waking up the next day you see that it's snowing. You loved it when it snowed. And even though you feel like shit the snow brings a smile to your face ,because snow was undeniably beautiful and pure.

You go through your daily routine with showering and brushing your teeth. Checking the time it's still early only 7am. And you don't have school today or training. There's really no need for you to be up this early. You know probably no one else is. But you doubt you could fall back asleep even if your tried.

So instead you head to the kitchen and you can already smell what Alfred's cooking. You greet him with a smile and he smiles back.

"Morning Alfed." You say and he responds like he always does. "Goodmorning miss Wayne."

You hate it when he calls you that. You aren't a Wayne and you'll never be one. Still you keep that to yourself. You walk past the kitchen and into the big living room decideding to just read a book.

You'd normally read a book with jason. But you still don't have the guts to see him. He's wrapped in bandages from head to toe. And you know he's in pain. He's asked to see you multiple times and you refused. How could you see him? It was your fault for him getting taken by the joker. Atleast that's what you believe.

Sitting on the huge couch you begin reading. It was peaceful for a while then you hear the others wake up. They all come down together. Dick and Tim smiling and your mother and bruce talking while damian seems like he's in a bad mood. But then again when isn't the ten year old in a bad mood... Jason's not with them. He's probably still in his room.

It's harder for him to wake up and get ready now. But he still refuses to want help.

You notice how damian sits on the couch beside you and gives you a glare. But you ignore it like you always do.

But to your surprise he doesn't stay silent and judge like he usually does. He actually speaks up. "Have you seen Jason yet? He's already asked to see five times." His words are sharp and you can practically feel the discomfort of his words.

But still you ignore it and instead play the nice big sister role. Like you always do.

" No I haven't. Is he alright? " Your words are soft like they always are. They aren't mean or rude like his.

" perfaps if you weren't such a coward you'd see for yourself. " He says. And suddenly the room isn't as happy as it was moments ago.

But your mother or bruce doesn't stop him or correct him on his use of words. And its almost like they're encouraging him.

You sigh and stare into his emerald green eyes. You can see how much hate they hold for you. Always for you. And you don't seem to understand it. You don't understand why he hates you so much.

Biting your tongue you say something sweet as usual. "I haven't had the time." Your words are smooth and they leave no trail of hate or discomfort in the room unlike his.

"Doing what? School is out ,and your banned from patrol. Nothing your doing is of any use. So what exactly are you doing?" He asks. And your mouth goes dry because for once you don't have a nice big sister comment.

No, all you have is hatred in your thoughts for the boy infront of you. Knowing you can't say any of your thoughts you stay silent and stare into his cold eyes.

And after what feels like eternity of silence your mother breaks the awkward tension. "That's enough from both of you." She says sternly and you want to scoff and say what your really thinking but you don't. Like always.

You nod obediently and damian does the same. But his words hang heavy in the air. Because they're true. Everyone knows his words are true. You truly haven't been doing anything.

But you can't face jason. You just can't. An though it hurts to admit it. You're simply too weak....

Snapping you out of your thoughts damian begins speaking again. " stop being pathetic and go see him." He whispers just loud enough for you to hear. Everyone in the room continues doing what their doing not hearing what he had said.

And sure he's said meaner things and you've always let his words go. You've never held a grudge or said anything rude back. But this time he's hit a nerve ,and it feels like it's physically hurting you. So you don't bite your tongue like you usually do. Instead? Instead you say the words you've always wanted to say to him.

" Me? Pathetic?," You scoff and roll your eyes and you can tell he's listening Intently to your every word.

" You're Pathetic. Your the one who can't make friends. Your the one that never fits in.. You're the one that'll only ever be seen as a mistake as part of infidelity. So don't think your above anyone damian because your not." You whisper back and your words are sharp and you can tell they sting him right in his heart.

You desperately want to smile but he's only ten and that would be wrong ,right? You've never talked back to him or said anything rude so you can easily tell how much your words shock him. Because their true. And yes your words are a bit hypocritical because you are a mistake too but in this moment? In this moment you win.

His eyes narrow and he wants to something back but he doesn't have the words. He's simply to stunned to speak. And you smile. Is it wrong for smiling? Probably. Do you care? Absolutely not.

You watch as he tries to must up what he's gonna say. But he can't and it feels amazing.

Sadly this feeling only last for a moment before damian like always gets the win.

His eyes fill up with tears. And you can't quite tell if it's fake or not. But regardless of if it's fake or real tears you know you're screwed. Because he is only ten.

'Well shit.' You think to yourself and it's not long before your mother notices the tears. "What did you say!" You mother says looking at you.

She's angry as usual and you want to say something back but that'll only make things worse. So you stay silent and look back at damian.

Damians now looking at your mother and tears roll down his face. Its real tears too. You are definitely screwed.....

Your words come out shaky but they need to be said. " so what he can say whatever he wants to me ,but I have to stay silent? " and your mother looks at you like you have three heads. And you realize that's what she expects you to do.

'Hell no' You think to yourself.

This ends today.

___________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030

[cantareincminor]

Round 2: Fandom Wrapped (Writer Edition) 2024!

Thanks again to @kattyelf for the template. A blank one can be found at @twiyorbase for anyone who wants to do their own!

Detailed reflections under the cut.

This is a long, introspective post. Forgive me if I sound self-absorbed in all this reflection.

The past year has been a unique one. The last long fic I completed was more than ten years ago in the Aladdin fandom. I dabbled in shorter, more stream-of-consciousness fics after that, but hadn’t written or posted a fic since 2016. Then I got into Spy x Family in 2022, devoured tons of fics, and slowly, nervously considered writing again.

There were many reasons I stopped writing. Being busy with real life responsibilities, naturally. I got married and had kids. I had a highly stressful career. With so little time on my hands, I feared that if I tried to write after such a long hiatus, the result would be stilted and disappointing, and I would have “wasted” my precious free time feeling shittier about myself. I’ve had some version of this mindset my entire life: if I can’t do something well, then I shouldn’t bother.

I have @whateversawesome to thank for encouraging me to try my hand at writing again. After the mole hunt arc was published, an idea struck me quite suddenly—what if Yuri had died or been critically injured in Shellbury? How would Twilight deal with that guilt and how would the identity reveals unfurl in such an extreme scenario? Could Yor ever forgive him? 

For months I shied away from writing it. To do the idea justice, I knew it would have to be a long, complex fic. And I continued to have mixed feelings about my last long fic in the Aladdin fandom—regretting parts of the premise and the ship dynamics and the characterizations and just overall feeling ashamed about my writing. I didn’t want to fail—write myself into a corner and abandon the fic or something like that. Right now, on the other end, I still look back on Orpheus sometimes and wonder how the hell I managed to write it. I reread my favorite passages and wonder how I came up with those exact words.

If it may help any writers, I would be happy to share a copy of my brainstorming doc and outline of Orpheus, where I kept track of unresolved plot points, options to resolve those plot points, notes to self to go back and add foreshadowing, and calling out unexpected events in each chapter that I did not plan ahead for. It is a very long doc. But I wanted to remember everything I was thinking at the time as a gift to my future self, in case I ever attempt a big project like this again and feel paralyzed.

Orpheus allowed me to explore themes and beliefs I suppose have been marinating in my heart for years. For anyone who is still interested, below are some of my thoughts and personal experiences around the main themes.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness and redemption are always what I reach for in my serious fics. I think I fumbled it in my Aladdin fic (or didn’t really get to the redemption part), but I was able to explore it more thoroughly and with more integrity in Orpheus, with an additional decade of life experience. 

I think forgiveness is a difficult and fascinating theme to handle because it is so highly personal and often carries memories of deep hurt for ‘victims’ or shame for ‘perpetrators’. I was grateful when readers sometimes shared their personal beliefs and experiences with it in their comments. In order to treat this theme with respect, I wanted to convey that forgiveness should not come cheaply. That is not to say it’s bad to be merciful and quick to forgive—those are amazing virtues. But the act of forgiveness comes at a cost and can be incredibly painful. The cost does not simply vanish due to good feelings or an act of the will.

Someone can either withhold forgiveness and make the other person pay the cost—in Orpheus, this would have been Yor rejecting or taking revenge on Twilight and leaving him to feel horribly guilty about Yuri’s injury for the rest of his life. Or they can choose to forgive and pay the cost themselves. In my own experience it feels physically painful. It feels like extreme grief. This is what I wanted to portray, the devastation to the spirit, as well as the catharsis that can follow. Because after the cost is paid, what we gain is healing. The ability to move on and no longer feel like we’ve swallowed glass. And the mending of a relationship, if both sides are willing. In the case of Yor and Twilight, it makes their relationship even stronger, like a broken bone healing stronger than before. And it adds weight to the trials they would face together after that moment.

Forgiveness of self / Perfectionism

Of all the conflicts in the fic, “Twilight vs. himself” is the last one to be resolved. Even after the man has been forgiven by the people he loves, he still struggles not to hate himself. To find his life to hold any value outside of being a highly competent spy. I think many people go through some version of this struggle. I certainly did and still do sometimes, with regards to work and career.

I chose Orpheus as the title to illustrate the journey of someone who carries an enormous burden on their shoulders. Trying to save the person they love and having to follow a strict rule of never turning around or they will lose it all. All the while, the temptation to look back is incredibly powerful. Twilight bears the burden of WISE’s expectations as their top spy, the hero who has stopped nuclear missile launches, who will supposedly prevent the next war from breaking out. He also carries the expectations of his newfound family which call him to turn away from the ruthlessness of his mission. To look back at them, and not abandon them for the sake of world peace. And finally he carries the guilt of what happened to Yuri, and the pain of keeping all the secrets resulting from Shellbury.

In Orpheus, Twilight harbors both a very low sense of self-worth as well as a highly inflated sense of self-importance. He sees himself as a discardable tool who has done unforgivable things for his missions, with no right to love and be loved. But at the same time he sees himself as the lynchpin to maintaining the fragile geopolitical peace. Responsible for never screwing up, ever. Responsible for the fact Yuri was shot, even though he tried his best to spare him. He’s an unreliable, self-absorbed narrator, and the other characters around him also parrot his guilt back at him throughout most of the fic. Until the end, where I try to address the illusion of control and how a good portion of his guilt is unrealistic and undeserved. 

Unfortunately for many people who carry this kind of burden, no one tells us that it’s okay to turn around. That we are indeed not responsible for more than our own choices, and we certainly cannot be responsible for circumstances outside of our control. I’ve worked jobs where I’ve been asked to do the impossible. My first job out of college, the expectations were incredibly high. I got no training and was thrown into a project in a foreign language and an unfamiliar industry. I pulled so many late nights that in the second week I fainted on the way to the office. And I was told this was normal. That in order to succeed like everyone else, I would figure out a way to solve each problem thrown at me, no matter how impossible.

And what sucks is when you start succeeding. You pull off miracle after miracle and then people start expecting it of you like it’s normal. The reward for success isn’t a break. It’s more work. Harder work. And you buy into that unrealistic narrative that you should be able to do it or something must be wrong with you, you must be broken and can’t perform like you used to. And when you finally break, you get spit out and discarded like an outdated machine. They find the next, younger miracle worker to buy into the narrative.

Knowledge vs Wisdom

This is an easier one. Funny that Twilight’s agency is called WISE in canon. But what is wisdom? The ability to discern between right and wrong, to utilize knowledge effectively for the greater good, to know how to truly live life and live it well. 

Twilight strikes me as the kind of person who uses knowledge as a weapon, not too dissimilarly to Yuri who literally states “knowledge is power.” Twilight hoards knowledge like building an arsenal, so he can always be prepared for any problem. And this is how nations treat knowledge (intel) in the real world. Constantly trying to gain an information advantage on the enemy. 

But how does one know if one’s strategy to use all that knowledge is right? In Orpheus, the Ostanian state exhibits little wisdom in its pursuit of endless knowledge, experimenting on children and prisoners and animals to gain an edge over its rivals and amass more power for those at the top. At the same time the competition and backstabbing between the various arms of the state are almost childish in their motivations, the epitome of foolishness. Knowledge on its own does not build trust or confidence—but it can build hubris and confusion and distrust. 

One unexpectedly fun part of writing Orpheus was the dynamics between Garden and WISE. While there is distrust at the start, the leaders and members of both sides demonstrate wisdom in how they navigate the partnership and grant trust to each other bit by bit. And this feels very counterintuitive to spies who build careers off of lies and masks, as they find that truthfulness can unlock results so much faster than subterfuge. At least when it comes to dealing with Garden.

On a final note on this topic, I find it interesting that in canon Donovan Desmond claims it is impossible to know what other people are thinking and therefore human beings can never trust each other. And yet the highest form of knowledge (second only to knowing God), in my opinion, is to truly know another person to the depth of their soul. To know a person completely, and to trust and love them regardless. This is what all people yearn for, even people like Twilight who have made a fortress of masks around their true self. And this kind of knowledge is what requires deep wisdom to wield well.

Sigmund Authen’s gift of the Tree of Life plaque and the accompanying wisdom quote was an unexpected event I did not plan in my outline for Chapter 33. So was Barbara’s advice to Yor in Chapter 34, which I will end this long ramble with:

Before the two left, Barbara turned and patted Yor’s arm. “I know what it’s like to be married to a brilliant man, dear. Don’t feel discouraged. They don’t need their brilliance and worldly achievements so much as they need our love. I know it can be exhausting sometimes, but I’ve stuck by my Siggy this long through thick and thin. What he didn’t mention amidst all that blather about wisdom is that even wisdom isn’t the final goal of all of mankind’s striving. Love is. What is a life full of wisdom and philosophy if it doesn’t help you find love and keep it? In my simple little mind, that’s what wisdom is for. Goodnight, dear. Thank you for having us over.”

And that's a wrap for my 2024!

[httpvomitello]

Hello! Can I request TMNT 2012 with Fem! Reader as Mitsuri Kanroji from Demon Slayer? Like how they are going to react to her unusual hair color, strength, appetite and her... Unusual taste of clothes?

If it wouldn't be too much can you also write how they are giving her the high socks like Obanai did with Mitsuri?

I am sorry if this request sound rude and if it's to much for you, you are free to ignore my request!!!! Have a good day/night

Hello, hello! No need to apologize for this request that ended up making me very happy to write. However, I didn't want to put all four in one part, so I decided to do it separately. And I have to admit, it's been a while since I've seen anything from Demon Slayer, but I hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Pretty Girls Fight Like This! *⁠.⁠✧

It was late one evening when Leonardo first met you, and needless to say, your presence caught him off guard.

You had come into their lives through April, who insisted that you’d be an asset to their team. At first, Leo didn’t understand what she meant. Then, he saw you take down a handful of Kraang droids with strength that rivaled Raph’s, all while laughing like it was a game.

You were... different. Not just because of your insane strength, but also because of your look. Your long hair was streaked with vibrant shades that seemed almost unnatural, your appetite could rival Mikey’s, and your outfit choices? Let’s just say they weren’t exactly “ninja stealth material.”

Leo first noticed your unusual strength during a sparring match in the lair. He had approached the fight like any other, underestimating you just slightly—not in a mean way, but because he wasn’t used to seeing someone as strong as Raph who didn’t have a temper to match.

But then you disarmed him with a single flick of your wrist and sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Oops! Sorry, Leo!” you said, crouching down to help him up, your cheerful smile shining brightly.

Leo stared up at you, dumbfounded. “How... how did you do that?”

You shrugged. “I guess I’ve always been strong. My family says it’s a blessing or something.”

From that moment on, Leo couldn’t help but be fascinated by you.

Then there was your appetite.

It was movie night, and Mikey had insisted on ordering enough pizza for an army. You happily joined in, grabbing slice after slice, keeping pace with Mikey without breaking a sweat.

Raph raised an eyebrow as you polished off your fourth slice. “You sure you’re not part turtle? 'Cause you’re puttin’ Mikey to shame.”

You laughed, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “I just love food! Besides, Mikey’s still the champ. I’m just warming up.”

Leo watched you with a small smile, amused by how effortlessly you fit in with his brothers.

What really threw Leo off, though, was your taste in clothes.

You often wore vibrant, eye-catching outfits that seemed more suited for a festival than sneaking around the shadows of New York. Today’s choice was no exception: a bright, pastel-colored ensemble that clashed hilariously with the lair’s dim lighting.

“Isn’t that outfit a little... Too much?” Leo asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You tilted your head, your hair falling over your shoulder like a ribbon. “I guess so,” you admitted, “but I like feeling cute, even when I’m fighting bad guys. It makes me happy!”

Leo didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded, silently wondering how someone could be so unapologetically themselves.

It wasn’t long before Leo found himself going out of his way to do small things for you.

Like when he noticed you always tugging at your socks during training because they kept slipping. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but then he overheard you complaining about it to April one day.

“They’re always falling down! It’s so annoying,” you said, huffing. “But I can’t find any that stay up!”

The next time Leo went topside, he kept an eye out for anything that might help. Eventually, he found a pair of long, durable socks in a shop window. They reminded him of something a samurai might wear—simple but sturdy—and he couldn’t help but think of you.

When he handed them to you a few days later, you were surprised, to say the least.

“Socks?” you said, holding them up.

“They’re supposed to stay up during activity,” Leo explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “I noticed yours kept slipping, so... I thought you might like these.”

Your eyes lit up, and you tackled him in a hug before he could react. “Leo, you’re the best!”

He froze for a moment, then slowly patted your back, his face heating up. “It’s... nothing. Really.”

But to you, it wasn’t nothing. It was thoughtful, and it made your feelings for him grow even more.

As time went on, Leo found himself admiring all the little things that made you... Well, you.

Your strength, your appetite, your eccentric clothes—all of it was part of the charm that made you stand out. And the more he got to know you, the more he realized that you weren’t just a colorful whirlwind in his life—you were a light he didn’t know he needed.

And for you, Leo’s quiet acts of kindness only made you fall for him harder. Whether it was a pair of socks or a word of encouragement during training, he always seemed to know just what you needed.

It wasn’t long before the two of you became inseparable, your bond growing stronger with each passing day. And as Leo watched you laugh with his brothers, bright and unapologetically yourself, he couldn’t help but feel grateful to have you by his side.

[takamor]

cw/tw: dark content, afab gn reader, yandere-adjacent keigo, mentions of murder, very unhealthy relationship, dubcon with a little dash of noncon (keigo continues to bite reader after they say to stop), blood but it’s nothing super gore-y, smut, lots of biting, dacryphilia, sadomasochistic keigo, fingering, oral (fem receiving), idk this post really inspired this and it spiraled before i could even think of a plot, very little proofreading

he comes home covered in blood. it’s not the first instance of it, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it seems to leave you breathless every time he walks through the threshold of his your home, crimson mixed with gold, pupils blown wide and feathers quaking, looking every bit the apex predator his quirk allows him to be.

you don’t dare ask him who it is this time. it doesn’t really matter. as long as he can justify it to himself, no amount of tears or begging will ever sway him. you learned that lesson the first time this occurred. yelling at him, pleading, even throwing whatever you could grab only prompted him to pin you down so both of you were coated in his sin, and the smell of copper violated your nose as he stripped you of your morals and clothing. if anything, it only seemed encourage him, every time your nails nicked his skin and you begged, “keigo, please, don’t—” he was even kind enough to kiss your tears away afterwards. “you’ve got to understand,” he tried to bargain with you, but it was hard to see any shred of reason when there was still blood splattered across his cheek. “please understand, dove.” gold shining through ruby-stained skin, and all you wanted was to rub it all away with a warm washcloth, deny ever seeing it, because it was all for you.

this time, his golden eyes search your face, looking for any signs of disgust or rejection, as if that would ever be enough to make him stop. long, talon-like fingers twitch at his side, restless, still pumped full of adrenaline and murderous intent, needing to be buried in something before they seek more marrow to snap. the air between you two is heavy and swollen with so many words buried in reluctant enamel, hidden from the world and from each other’s ears, but not each other’s hearts. he knows you, knows how much you hate the metallic smell that is slowly becoming a cologne for him, and you know him, know how much your hatred for this only serves to fuel this fiery need to make it up to you somehow, to show you that there’s still good in him, he’s not a bad guy, he’s just protecting you.

“keigo.”

you somehow make his name sound a like a curse, like something shameful, something to be locked way in the back of a closet never to be seen again. his wings visibly deflate, and his fingers are wrapped around your arms before you have time to register he’s even moved. frantic gold locks onto your eyes, pleading, panicked at the thought of you being so cold towards him.

“keigo, that hurts,” you whine, and his grip loosens, but not enough for you to fight him off. you aren’t even sure if you have enough strength to even try fighting him off. it’s all slowly becoming a numbing routine.

then, the apologies start, as they always do.

keigo’s body shakes with uncertainty and the fear of abandonment, and he crumbles into your arms like a haphazard stack of cards, the weight of his body causing you to crumble as well. he’s not completely lost all sanity, not yet. he knows what he does is wrong—at least, morally it is. but, fuck, don’t you understand how cruel and thoughtless this world is? don’t you know just how corrupt and disgusting the underbelly of hero society is? he gets to see it every day, gets to go out and see how thin the line between chaos and peace is, gets to see what horrid people do to pretty little things like you. he plays the role of a hero and a villain, and that boundary blurs everytime greed comes into play. everything he does is to protect you, from keeping you in this safe location not even the hero public safety commission is aware of, to killing anyone who threatens your well-being. can’t you see that, dove? can’t you see how much he loves you? he’s sorry, he’s so sorry it has to come down to this but, goddammit, you’re worth it. he’d burn down this entire world and start something anew from the ashes if he has to. just please understand, dove, please.

“shh, kei, i’ve got you,” you coo into his blood-matted hair, because what else can you do at this point? keigo has made sure you have no other options. “i’ve got you. i’m here.”

the quaking calms enough for you to pull his head into your lap and brush the stray hair from his eyes, but the echo of fear still shakes his bones, causes his voice to tremble ever so slightly as he speaks. “you understand, don’t you? you understand why i—” he gulps and squeezes his eyes shut, as if he can’t stand the thought of not having your sympathy. “why i have to do this, right?”

you nod and run a finger through the copper-stain on his cheek. he shudders under the touch. “i know, baby.”

at that, his eyes fly open and he’s sitting upright, fingers wrapped around your arms once again, golden eyes borderline manic as they flit around your face. “see, you—you understand, right?” a pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, compliments the red on his cheek in a heart-wrenching way. and he’s so desperate for your approval, needs to hear your praise and coo over him, claws and pulls at the front of your shirt in a pathetic attempt at remaining in control of the anxiety gripping at the sides of his neck. “you understand?”

your hands come up to cup his face, and he preens under his touch, melts under the feeling of the pads of your thumbs brushing his scarlet cheeks. it twists your heart in a way that makes your rib cage feel too small. “of course i do, baby,” you coo, and it’s all he’s wanted to hear. “i understand. you’re just trying to keep me safe.” while i stay complicit with this fucked up game.

rough lips crash against yours in an enamel-shattering kiss, and you crawl into his lap to get a better angle. the taste of copper explodes on your tongue, and though you aren’t sure whose blood you’re tasting, it’s hard to care when keigo is whining so prettily under you. he breaks the kiss just to toss your shirt and bra off of your body, exposing your breasts to the heady air of the living room and his hungry mouth full of greedy teeth.

then, the sex starts, as it always does. as it always will.

you don’t even make it to the bedroom. he takes you right there, right on the living room floor, right at the scene of far too many crimes to count.

“tell me i’m good,” he pleads as his lips suck at your pebbling nipples. “fuck, tell me i’m good.”

trembling fingers bury themselves in his blond locks, a combination of a hiccup and moan leaves your lips. “you’re so good, kei, so fucking good.”

and because he feeds off of your approval just as much as you feed off of his desperation, sharp teeth pinch at your skin, embed themselves in the tender flesh of a lover that can clearly see how fucked up all of this is but is too jaded to care. compliant and mailable in the face of obsession and possession. just like how he likes. just like how he needs.

“you’d be dead without me,” he murmurs against the swell of your breast before biting another mark into it. “helpless without me. need me to keep you safe.”

your hips rut at the stinging sensation of belonging to a hero with a skewed sense of morality, and a broken moan stutters out of your heaving chest. “need you so badly, kei,” you whine, and the teeth buried in your skin pinch even harder at the admission. “nothing without you!”

“that’s fucking right. remember that.”

rows of porcelain made to mark snap at your neck while long fingers pinch and twist at your nipples, a deadly combination that has you rutting in his lap like a dog in heat, panting out his name, pulling at his blond hair, begging for more, more, more keigo, please more! he doesn’t listen however, your pleads only fueling him to keep poking and prodding at you until you bite and snap back just like how he likes. just like how he needs.

so he keeps biting, keeps pinching, makes his way down to your stomach, where he bites some more until there’s saliva and blood glistening on your skin under the harsh light of his your living room. and then his tongue soothes all of the marks he’s made, cleans the blood he’s smeared in his haste to stake his claim on you, golden eyes never leaving your face as he consumes you bit by bit.

you’re trembling in his lap by the time he licks his way up to your jugular, incisors brushing against the shell of your ear, gooseflesh running down your shoulders and arms.

“tell me i’m good,” he whispers before gently nibbling at the sensitive skin, and though he clearly has complete control over you right now, it’s as much of a plea as it was before, desperate at the edges of the syllables, something frail buried in between the words.

another whine echoes behind your lips and something akin to a sob causes your teeth-marked chest to shake. “you’re so good to me, keigo.”

the final bite to your jugular is the hardest of the onslaught, and it has you crying out loud in his arms, fingers clawing at him hard enough for his skin give way to hardened keratin, hiccups of “keigo, that hurts! please! fuck, that hurts!” echoing off of the walls of his your house. the vibrations of his groans against your neck lets you know he enjoys you fighting back, gets off on feeling you struggle against him, loves when you scratch and claw at him like a feral cat in need of taming.

he can feel your erratic pulse between his incisors, like a bird beating itself against the cage that traps it. bad-dum-bad-dum-bad-dum-bad-dum. he bites harder. kei-go-kei-go-kei-go-kei-go. salty copper splashes on his tongue, the stinging sensation of your fingernails breaking his skin open sets the tender flesh on his back on fire, and he hears the animalistic growl reverberating in his chest.

“kei—s-stop,” you sob, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. “that fucking hurts. stop! stop!” god, he loves when you’re like this—sobbing and scratching and fighting and pleading. it’s a high nothing else could possibly match. “kei—”

but he keeps going, despite how much you claw and hit at his back, how much you twist and turn in his arms, how many tears slip down your cheek and mix in with your blood on his tongue. he’s a predator with his prey between his teeth, and he intends on enjoying his kill tonight.

adrenaline pumps through your veins thick and hot. keigo is never satisfied until he knows he’s broken you a little, but you aren’t sure just how much of you there is left to break. his incisors are digging into your neck, drawing blood out and dribbling down your neck, and you’re afraid he might just drain you completely.

“keigo—stop, goddammit!”

fists pound against his back in a feeble attempt to get him to stop, but it’s the feeling of your nails breaking through the skin of his cheek that eventually gets him to relinquish his hold.

fat tears roll down your cheeks as his tongue soothes what’s sure to be a bruise, crimson smearing across your neck and chest. quiet sobs shake your frame in his arms as his fingers trace serene patterns across your bare back, a direct juxtaposition to the hot pain radiating across your hot flesh.

“shh, shh,” he coos, fingers petting the back of your head as he rocks your body. “i’ve got you, dove.”

“i hate you.”

“i know.”

and as a reward for your efforts to fight him off, he has you folded in half, knees pressed against your shoulders, bottoms to the side because he can’t starve off this hunger any longer. he needs you.

he devours your cunt as if it contains his very salvation. his tongue laps at the pearl of your clit, flattens against it until you’re preening underneath him and reaching out—to stop him? to encourage him? he isn’t sure, but he catches your hand and laces his fingers with yours anyway. with a mixture of your juices and blood swimming in his mouth as his tongue draws patterns into your cunt, he thinks he could get high off of this. he thinks he might already be.

“kei! kei—fuck! oh my fucking god, keigo!”

he hums against your heat. “i know, baby, i know.”

just a little more.

tears flow freely down your face as you feel keigo’s breath fan across your sopping pussy. your thighs are trembling, fingers shaking in his as he continues to pin you down, and you think he likes it best when you’re vulnerable like this. the hardness you feel bumping against your rear as he delves more into your cunt indicates he does. you think you like it, too. the way your heartbeat drums away in between your legs indicates you do.

bad-dum-bad-dum-bad-dum-bad-dum. his slides two fingers in your sticky walls. ei-go-kei-go-kei-go-kei-go.

“tell me i’m good,” he moans out while his fingers curl inside of you. “fuck, baby, tell me i’m good, please.”

“you’re—shit!—awful, keigo takami,” you hiccup out. “i hate—fuck! right here, please, please, god, yes!—you.”

his thumb stretches out to rub at your puffy clit, and you swear you see stars explode behind your eyes, beautiful nebulae that his hands created. “i know.”

every time he bows his back to lap at your cunt, he feels the stings of your scratches stretch and pull, evidence of your distain towards him, and it’s like having a reminder of how much of your love he has to earn. he’s so close to it, he knows it. just as close as you are to cumming for him.

“there we go,” he hums as he feels your walls fluttering around his fingers. “c’mon, give it to me, dove. give it to me.”

try as you might, your body obeys before you can resist him, and you’re cumming in the palm of his hand, cumming against the very same mouth that just drew blood from you. shame washes over you the second you come down from your high, but you don’t have a moment to dwell before keigo is coming up for air, his mouth covered in your juices and blood, porcelain shining bright through the crimson. and, by god, he looks gorgeous—comparable to lucifer himself before his fall—lapping up his fingers, pink tongue poking out and licking up any remaining blood it can reach.

it’s not fair.

and he knows he’s got you, pupils dilated, bite-ridden chest heaving, legs still trembling with the aftershock of your orgasm, heart fluttering in the base of your blood-stained throat. his fucking masterpiece.

shaking hands tug off his pants and underwear, fingers clumsily pulling apart buttons and shoving down fabric, as if he can’t even comprehend not being inside of you for a second longer.

fitting him is always a stretch, but he loves taking his time, loves feeling how your body struggles to accommodate him. he isn’t big by any means—fairly average, all things considered—but your body still hesitates to accept him, still identifies him as a threat—an intruder.

“kei—,” you gasp out.

he kisses away your tears, leaves a bloody imprint of his lips smeared on your cheeks. “i know, baby.” he sinks in a little more, testing. “tell me i’m good.”

you grind your teeth together to keep a moan at bay. “no.”

but despite how much your heart fights it, your body accepts him at last, and he bottoms out with a loud groan.

then he’ll have to earn it. just like he always does. just like he always will.

as his cock slowly, almost lazily, drags against your walls, his mouth worries at the new wound on the side of your throat, kisses and licks and soothes all of the stinging made by greedy enamel. it’s almost enough to forget how much pain he had caused. almost.

“feel so good,” keigo moans out and snaps his hips against yours. “fuck, you make me crazy.”

your hamstring burns at being kept in such a position for as long as you have been, but the pleasure keigo provides is enough of a reward for your pain. as twisted as the hero is, he knows all of the right spots to hit, knows how to angle his hips and how to cradle your body so you're just barely hanging onto your own sanity. he's had more than enough practice, after all.

“kei—please,” you mewl out. “need you!”

the bones of his hips dig into the plush of the back of your thighs, and he chuckles darkly as he hears you hiccup again. "thought you hated me,” he replies with a shit-eating grin. “thought i was awful.”

shaking fists reach up to pound at him again, but he just kisses your knuckles instead. a part of you melts a little. “you are,” you gasp out as a well-aimed thrust has you spasming around him. “and i do. but that doesn’t mean i don’t need you.”

something inside of keigo shatters at that. he pulls out just enough to lift you up so you’re no longer folded in half underneath him, but rather seated in his lap instead, so he can watch firsthand just how much you need him. there’s nothing gentle about the way he re-enters you, all needy lips pressed against bloody skin and sloppy thrusts trying to find their way to your bliss. your arms wrap around his neck, pull him closer to you, and his mouth immediately goes back to his bitemark, back to soothing the sting of needing him.

“tell me i’m good,” he begs one final time, golden eyes pleading with you as his hips thrust up into you.

“you’re so fucking good, kei,” you obey, and it’s the best phrase keigo has ever heard, his own personal hymn, especially when it’s said earnestly instead of verbosely.

spurred on by this new motivation, keigo’s thrusts become more frantic, more needy, desperate to earn so much of your approval his heart may burst into ribbons between his ribs. he fucks your body underneath his once again, lips pressed against yours, but this time your thighs are around his waist and his hands are tangled in your hair, sharing the same breath, moaning openly into each other's mouths, swapping bloodstained admissions of love and affection as you lose yourselves in each other.

“fuck, dove, you’re like a vice on me,” he groans as he feels you flutter around him. “let it go for me, yeah? show me how good i am.”

when you cum this time, you have wholly accepted that it’s keigo takami covered in blood and tears making you do so. his name leaves your lips in a series of sputtered gasps and moans and pleas, cunt gripping onto him with no intentions of ever letting go, and he loses himself in his own release as he feels your fingernails digging into his back.

he cleans you up in a shared warm bath afterwards, the imprints of his teeth still on your body and your scratches on his, and he thinks it's romantic, how you've both left your marks on each other. his nuzzles against your neck.

“i love you.”

“i know.”