#Maybe then i wouldn't be suffering like this

[strawberryblue-blog]

Period —FC BARCELONA.

summary: barca's boys reacting to your period when it is annoying or painful.

warnings: none. mention of the menstrual period, reaction, angst, pain, discomfort, cute/soft.

words count: +1.3k.

Pedri González.

When you tell him you got your period, the first thing he does is drop everything he was doing to become your special supplier. "Give me five minutes, I'm going to the store," he says as he quickly puts on his shoes.

You know it's over the top, but you can't help but smile. He returns with your favorite brand of pads or tampons, a couple of chocolates, chamomile tea, a hot water bottle and whatever else you've been craving.

"I know chocolate doesn't cure everything, but I thought it would help," he says as she arranges things on the table and hands them to you with a smile. "I got you, love."

Ferran Torres.

He knows that during your period you prefer to stay in bed or on the couch, so he takes the reins of the kitchen and the housework so you can rest.

"I know you don't feel like moving, so let me do you something tasty," he says as he puts on an apron. You hear him fiddling around in the kitchen, looking for ingredients and following a recipe that he clearly struggles with, but insists on finishing.

"It's made with love, even though it didn't come out so pretty," he says as he serves you a hot dish. The aroma and his effort comfort you more than you expected. Maybe later you help him clean up so you can finally snuggle in bed and receive a lot of his affection.

Pablo Gavi.

When he sees you squirming on the couch, he carefully approaches you and asks, "Do you want me to hold you?" Perhaps a bit fearfully so as not to disturb you or invade your space (or your sudden mood swings)

When you agree, Pablo will take you. You settle against him, and his arms wrap around you like a warm shelter. No matter how long it takes, he doesn't move or complain, even when you change positions several times.

He will walk you to and from the bathroom, comfort you, lift you up, help you. If you need to talk, he listens; if you remain silent, he simply gives you little kisses on your hair and makes sure you are comfortable.

Fermín López.

He finds you in bed complaining about colic and tiredness. He would be very sorry to see you go through something like this, so Fermín wouldn't leave you alone for a second.

He sits beside you, carefully, strokes your hair and says in a soft voice: "You can handle this, you're much stronger than you think. But let me do anything for you, I can cook, make your bed, bathe you, anything. I'm here for you."

He holds your hand, and his presence is enough to make you feel that you are not alone. Every once in a while, he says something funny or sweet to lift your spirits.

Alejandro Balde.

"Let's get distracted," he tells you as you look for something to watch together. He'll do anything to make you forget you're on your period.

He lets you choose absolutely everything: the movie, the series, even the snacks you're going to share or even if you just want to lie on his chest and rest. If you decide to play something on the console, it doesn't matter if you're terrible at the game; he makes sure you have fun. He'll even talk your ear off so you don't suffer.

"Today is your day, there are no rules. What else do you want to do?" he says, willing to go along with all your decisions.

Héctor Fort.

When he sees you doubled over in pain, he disappears for a moment and returns with a glass of water, a painkiller and a hot compress, what did he ever see you do to yourself.

"This should help you," he says as he helps you put the compress on your belly. He himself will pat your belly or hug your legs to help you. Then, he stays by your side to make sure the pain subsides.

If he sees you are uncomfortable, he adjusts the pillows or brings you more blankets without you having to ask. He would go to the store or make pastries (your favorite), all for you during this annoying period.

Lamine Yamal.

He sees you in a bad mood or on the verge of tears and decides to change your mood with a touch of humor. He takes everything with humor and of course he was going to do it for you when you need it the most.

"If your uterus could talk, I bet it would tell me to shut up but you are an angel" , he says with a smile. Then he starts making up stories or making jokes that make you laugh in spite of everything, he would pretend to fall down, snore, etc.

"See, you're the only person who laughs at my bad jokes. I'm sure that means you love me more than your hot tea." I'd say when you unexpectedly laugh together with him and almost forget about your period. Your goal in life, fulfilled.

Pau Cubarsí.

There are days when you don't need words or grandiose actions, and he knows it. He sits next to you in silence, watching you carefully. If you need something, he does it without you having to ask.

If he sees you are uncomfortable, he adjusts your pillow, brings you a blanket, or simply puts his hand in yours to let you know he is there. His caresses are soft and gentle, he cares for you as if you were fragile and delicate and maybe that's because you are. But Pau is even more so.

You would spend it in bed, him hugging your belly while your favorite series is on in the background. You can laugh or cry, you can moan, sweat, get dizzy, ache or anything but Pau is there. Hugging you like a slug.

[siri-ike]

@murderandjam I gotchu

"ALL THE ASSASSIN TRAINING IN THE WORLD COULDN'T KEEP THIS BOY SAFE!!!" Jazz thought, calmly drinking her morning tea. "HOW DID HE MANAGE TO GET HIMSELF KILLED?!?!" The kitchen TV was playing the news. “This is the first time anyone has managed to capture a clean image of the ‘ghost boy of Amity Park.’”

Years of assassin training had taught her not to show signs of disstress. If she had stayed, she could probably still hide the twitch in her eye. Could she really only keep him alive for a measly 7 years? That's only 6 years, 11 months, and 24 days longer than the Fentons would have managed.

Maybe the leagues methods were right. She should have trained him from the start... made him strong... made him... hide who he was... spend his whole life pretending. No, she didn't want him to have to live like her. He had been young enough to forget. She'd be lying if she said all the secrecy didn't wear on her. But lying was what she was good at.

Over the next couple of months, she watches him from afar. Ready to jump in, were he knocked out or overpowered. No need to mention how often she disposes of a troublesome ghost for gaining the upper hand. It seems cruel to keep so many in a single thermos. But they don't matter. Keeping her little brother safe is the only thing that matters.

But then, he disappears. Replaced by his older self. One timeline led to another and, well.

It's a lot harder to keep the idiot alive when he knows she's there. With all the extra effort she had to put into staying in character within a completely new set of circumstances, she noticed far too late that he had started acting differently. He was distant, tired, and his response time suffered. But when Maddie started talking about military school, that's when she knew she had to do something.

"Dad?" She addressed the large man across the kitchen table. A man who looked nothing like her father or any of her former carers. "Tell me about your side of the family." Sweetly, remember, no hint of ulterior motives.

After endless ramblings, including the Fenton-Nightingales, his mother's double mastectomy before he was born, and his fathers constant disappearances. Despite endless evidence, he still never realized he was the product of an affair. Although, he had also given her pediatrician the same information, so he might just not be well-versed with the birds and bees in general.

The moment he got to Uncle Harvey, Jasmine stopped him."Tell me about Harvey." Subtle, let him think it was his idea.

She knew who the man was, with his impressive arrest record and, most importantly, apartment in Gotham. Which just so happened to have a Lazarus pit. Lazarus water had a positive effect on ghosts. And there was no way she was telling anyone how she found that out.

The conversation played out exactly as she'd planned. Jack went on and on, and Maddie suggested sending Danny there instead. Despite the flawless execution, she knew her real parents would have found some error, some way Jasmine had failed.

Sam and Tucker didn't take much convincing. They'd noticed his rapid decline already. And found out about Dani. After a violation like that, they barely needed a push. It didn't hurt that they were still a bit agitated from the ecto acne.

Danny was a harder sell. She put all her big sistering and physiological tricks to work, and still had to pull out the "military school" card.

She did still make him bring a ghost thermos and a picture of the guy. Getting kidnapped most likely wouldn't improve his overall condition.

As much as she wants to be there to keep him safe, that's not what he needs right now, and she knows it. He needs to relax. And unfortunately, that's not in her skill set.

The following hours were awkward. What was she supposed to do with just Sam and Tucker?

Thank the pit for the ghost alert conveniently popping off every 15 minutes or so, keeping the kids distracted. That gave her plenty of time to deal with her 4am visitor.

Jasmine Al Ghul

silly almost crack prompt of a roll reversal story twist on the typical demon brothers.

Jasmine is an Al Ghul. I personally am imaging her as damains sister/half sister. As a girl she was never going to be heir but she trained and studied diligently. She was incredibly adapt at physicalizing her targets and strategy. Once she figured out how a target thinks, it was easy to take them apart, even easier to get them to take themselves out.

so it really isn't that surprising to realize she's expendable to the league. so she leaves, not dramatically, not with a death. on a mission to the States she cuts out all her trackers, leaves behind her swords, and heads to a random rural town.

there she's found a boy who calls himself danny and takes her home. she's adopted and throws herself into her new life. she focuses hard on psychology both because it's familiar, and because it teaches her how to act normal.

if she focuses her attention on sweet (innocent) danny, then she is repaying his kindness of taking her in. if she needs to hunt to eat, well it's nothing compared to league training, she will get enough food for both of them. if she can fix danny's problems then no one will pay attention to hers.

Jasmine Fenton. Straight A's student (because she can never be anything less than perfect). someone who's friendly but doesn't make friends (because they can't get too close). Obsessed with her future career and college (as highschoolers often are). A doting older sister (she needs to protect danny, her hands are already bloody his doesn't need to be). A teenage daughter exasperated with her parents (that one isn't exactly a lie.)

Jasmine Fenton. a normal girl. that's what she is. that's all she is. she's made sure of it. the girl with the al ghul name disappeared 7 years ago. she never existed in the first place according to the league.

Jazz plans to keep it that way.

[beloveds-embrace]

Okay so for the angst dukedom au, like what if the reader pulled a gone-girl and faked her death(which wouldn't be that hard i mean, nobody pays attention to her anymore, all shes gotta do is stage a crime scene and make it past the walls and shes home free) and ran off with Konig(in my head for this hes also a duke idk)?

And like, obviously there's not enough evidence to actually convict Duke Price, but the event absolutely destroys his reputation, destroys everything he's worked so hard to build.

Fast forward a year or so and he and his men receive an invite to a banquet from Duke Konig. And when they get there, who is there to greet them but the reader?

They get into a bit of a tizzy and eventually John accuses them turning his life and the reader is like 'maybe, but you ruined mine first' or something, I dunno. Just a brainstorm i wanted to say before it vanished lol

This would fit quite nicely for this one! Reader getting the last laugh tho- we love to see it! And she’d be arm in arm with a duke who actually loves and adores her, surrounded by a duchy that also cares for her, so it’s the perfect life for her <3

Let them suffer the consequences of their mistakes, it’s the least they deserve after everything.

[moonlight-prose]

the spilling of seeds & the eating of hearts

a/n: so this was posted to patreon in december and well i haven't done any writing as of late. so this is me just shoving an old fic into the open. there really isn't any explanation other than i watched saltburn and churned this out. did it take a year to finish? yes. ignore that. it gave me such a hard fucking reset. the movie is so horny i had no choice but to write din as a professor on his knees. the image literally wouldn't leave my head. but anyways thanks barry i guess for resetting my brain so hard i blacked out and wrote professor porn.

summary: if he could crack open his ribs and let you eat the seeds of his heart he would. he'd bend to your will without question, without hesitation, because it was you. the person he hungered for. the love he craved. you were the pomegranate forbidden to him for so long, and finally he was given a taste.

word count: 4.2k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader (professor au)

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, professor au, cannibalistic description of love, hades and persephone, the personification of hunger, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, wanting to drown in the pussy, din being tortured in the best way, they fuck nasty in this one people.

“I’m voracious for you.”

You could hear his voice even now, sitting in the middle of a room waiting for the accompanying professors in your department to deign you with their presence. The gruff rasp of his voice. The heaviness behind his words. They stuck cloyingly to the back of your throat as if he’d pressed them there with his tongue, smearing their meaning along your taste buds in the hopes that you’d understand his need.

The clock on the wall ticked away. Seconds, minutes, until you were ready to rip apart the mechanical springs and gears with your hands. Maybe then you’d be able to sit in silence. Process his words as they rolled around in your mind, pinging back and forth—dragging your attention to them each time.

“It never stops.”

Your teeth scraped against your bottom lip, tongue peeking out to wet the dry skin.

“This need.”

A trickle of heat spread between your thighs, spilling into your already soaked panties. You could practically picture him standing in front of you. His hands balled into fists so tight the skin of his knuckles turned pale; eyes darker than their normal chocolate brown. He looked like he was in pain, suffering from an agony you had caused—anguish that only you could get rid of.

A five minute conversation. That’s all he asked of you before you were due for your meeting. You figured he wanted to discuss the lecture he planned, the one you helped him with. Only for him to stand on the opposite side of the office, leaned against a desk, his hands gripping the edge. You were afraid it would break at one point. That is before he shared with you the thoughts that plagued his mind, the feeling he couldn’t claw out of his chest.

A quick glance at the clock told you waiting for them was pointless and that you’d be better off heading back to your office. Or at least attempt to stand without completely embarrassing yourself in the skirt you were wearing. His words continued to ring clear as a bell and you were addicted to their melody. You craved the essence of their cadence, how he looked unraveled at the thought of you.

“I feel like I’m going mad.”

The echo of your heels against the floor reverberated through you. Each step a different gunshot, inflicting a different wound. They reminded you of why the both of you stayed away from this temptation, why you chose to remain friendly all the while your insides were stained red. How long until everyone else saw that you were bleeding? How long until they noticed you were choking on it?

Your eyes snapped to the silver placard of his name at the front of his door. You almost laughed at the irony of them placing your offices across the hall from one another. As if you were meant to be tied together the moment you met. It didn’t help that you were completely taken by his grin that only pulled up half of his lips, the shine of his eyes as they caught sight of you for the first time.

The first time you stood in this spot you were nervous. For no other reason than it being your first day and you were one hundred percent sure the students would eat you for fucking breakfast. Having stage fright didn’t help.

Which led to him giving you tips, listening to your lessons when you needed help. Ultimately followed by dinners late at night, wine shared over jazz and blues and movies so old you could barely make out the picture at times. All of it was a recipe for disaster. A path that led nowhere else but here. But you had never laughed so hard, never felt so fucking alive before.

He’d woken up a part of you that hadn’t seen the light of day since you were in highschool. A bright light that still held an infinite amount of hopes and dreams and wondered if the world was actually scary…or if adults were just fucking with you.

Yet there you stood, hand raised to knock on his door, chest heaving with labored nervous breaths, and the realization that life was…terrifying.

But then the door swung open, his frazzled appearance showing before you, and suddenly life began to glow again. Just as it did before.

“I didn’t…” You dropped your hand, smoothing it against your skirt.

His eyes went wide, body straightening within seconds. “I was just coming to…”

“I’m sorry for leaving earlier. I didn’t mean–”

He stopped, allowing you to take a moment to gather your thoughts. It gave you a chance to finally see him like this. His hair was mussed, clothing in disarray. If you hadn’t been standing in this very office forty minutes ago you would have thought he’d been with someone. But the look in his eyes told you that was an impossibility; you’d driven him to the edge of breaking and he’d gladly go there again.

He stepped aside, holding the door open to let you pass by. A small shy grin appeared on his lips, prompting you forward—all in the hopes that you would take him up on his offer. The proximity of his warmth as you drew closer in order to enter nearly singed the hair off your arms. It was palpable enough to slice through, a burning flame that couldn’t be extinguished by mere words.

“Coffee?” he asked, running a hand through his hair to straighten himself up.

You found that you liked him better when he was messy.

“No thank you.” Unknowingly, you took the same spot as before, leaning against the edge of the table across from his desk. “I just came to sort out…what happened.”

He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

“We’re faculty and it wouldn’t exactly be breaking the rules, but I don’t want to make this a difficult space to be in.” You felt his eyes on you, could practically see them darken as you continued to speak—the words stuttered and fragmented.

“Why would it be difficult?”

The question was layered with longing. A feeling that strained against your heart, threatening to rip you apart if you chose to keep going down this path. You wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t be, that you had no intentions of letting him go, but the thought of losing him—even as a friend—broke you in two.

It made you a promise of heartache, a contract of grief and you had no choice but to sign.

You unknowingly signed the second he began the conversation earlier.

“You know why–”

He took a step forward, prompting you to squeeze yourself back against the table. Even as he remained so far away.

“I’d like you to explain it to me.”

That flare of heat broke free again, a wild spirit out in the open and you were terrified of what it would do. What harm it would cause. He however seemed curious to see how far you’d go to reign in a feeling that was so right. A longing that had a cure. He’d been burning for you for so long, begging for you to quench his need, but now that he stood before you…it was clear that he’d been wrong. He wasn’t the one to burn; he wasn’t the one who would be begging.

“Professor–”

“Don’t.” He startled you with how fast he reached you in a few steps. His hand reached out, fingers curling around your chin to tilt your head up, to make you look at him. “Don’t lock me out.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you wouldn’t keep pushing.”

He huffed. “Didn’t you hear me earlier?” His hand slid to curve around the back of your neck, the other coming up to hold your cheek. “I’ve lost all my power. I lost it the second you smiled at me. You’re fucking eating me alive and I like it.”

Sucking in a breath, you watched with wide eyes as he slid down your body, until his knees connected with the floor. Brown eyes overflowing with a pained yearning looked up at you, hands filled with reverence now pressed to your hips as he prostrated himself for you. To him…you were the altar he would pray at. The goddess he’d offer himself to. If he could crack his ribs open and let you eat the seeds of his heart he would. He’d bend to your will without question, without hesitation.

“Devour me whole,” he murmured, eyes pleading to give him something to live for. “You’ve eaten my heart baby…” You gasped when he maneuvered your hand to his hair, prompting you to curl your fingers around the soft locks. “Do you like how it tastes?”

You felt like you were in a dream state, unable to wake up. Yet you weren’t sure you ever wanted to. He looked at you like you were the human embodiment of light, the thing that would satiate his ravenous hunger. With a soft grunt, his forehead fell to your stomach, fingers gripping your hips tight enough to leave the skin tender. And you tugged on his hair to hear that sound again, giving into his need because you had a hunger of your own.

“Yes,” you breathed, too afraid that you’d wake up from whatever this was. “I do.”

A pained sound was muffled into your stomach, his body shuddering as your words washed over him. Nothing could have prepared him for your admission, for the truth to finally be set free after holding it in for so long. Pressing a kiss to your waist, he felt your body shift, legs widening in stance to give him space to kneel—to prompt him forward. A silent plea for more. A need he was more than happy to appease.

Another kiss was pressed to your thigh as his hands slid down to grasp at the fabric of your skirt. Pulling it up inch by inch, dragging it out until your nails were scraping along his scalp. He kissed every part he could see, every new piece of skin that was revealed in the hopes of permanently etching the touch of his lips against the bare skin of your thigh. He wanted you to remember him.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, mouth parting when he finally revealed the black lace of your panties. A dark stain was prominent on the fabric and he felt his stomach drop.

“You’re so wet.”

Heat flushed through your cheeks at the raw depravity in his voice. The way he stared at you felt borderline obscene, but a flicker of power seeped through, blinding you. Your hand dug into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp until you saw the shiver go down his spine; his eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan breaking through the haze of lust he was under. And you wanted to hear more.

You wanted to watch him break at your feet. Watch as his lips formed around the prayer of your name—the promise of more than just this. There remained an unspoken bond between the two of you. A force that could have rivaled the power of Zeus's lightning and Poseidon's tidal waves. You were burned into his skin like a brand and he wore it with conviction.

"Din," you murmured, watching as his eyes slid up to yours, dark with lust. "Break me."

He growled a punched out fuck, his hands quickly ripping your underwear down your legs until they pooled at your ankles. Part of you expected him to rush through this. Make you finish as fast as he could. But his eyes were trained on the sight before him—how the lips of your cunt practically glistened in the lamplight of his office. How you dripped down your thighs from a simple conversation that happened earlier.

A conversation where he never got to touch you.

"That's for me." He didn't say it as a question, or even an insinuation. He spoke as if he'd always known this. A truth that was acknowledged long before you ended up in this situation.

You were his.

Through the haze of lust and depravity that swept through you, you heard yourself agree. The word yes slipping off your tongue, sweeter than honey and just as sticky. He could taste it in the air. The ache that ate at him with a hunger he’d never felt before. You made his body scream, his cock a mess in the suit pants pressed so neatly before seeing you like this—spread out and panting for his touch to continue past your thighs.

“Din,” you whimpered it softly, eyes fluttering at the feel of his mouth on your skin, and he felt desire burn through the nerves and tendons of each limb.

Yanking the skirt higher, he latched his teeth onto the tender flesh of your thigh, grinning like a wolf with a mouth coated in blood at your cry. Your body curled inwards, legs involuntarily spreading at the soft caress of his tongue. He could see the indent of his teeth. Ridged and deep and a bruising grip of starvation that would stick for days.

“Let me,” he muttered. “I need to.”

You gasped, eyes wrenching open to see his gaze latched onto the slick that coated your thighs with a sticky cream that made his mouth water. Nodding frantically, you felt the pull of his very essence drag you in. Molding you to take whatever form he craved. You were the clay he dipped his fingers into, the water he used to shape your body around his.

The hot slide of his tongue through your folds caused your knees to buckle—body leaning against the table with a heady wet sob of his name. He moaned into you, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dug into your thighs—spreading you wide enough to encompass the width of his shoulders. Pleasure stung each nerve, slicing down your spine with a desperation that had your hips grinding down along his open mouth.

An insatiable need for more grasping onto the reigns of sense and reason.

“F-Fuck,” you moaned, unashamedly dragging your cunt across his wet and waiting mouth.

A cracked groan was all he offered in return. His lips sealing around your pulsing clit hard enough for your back to arch—nails digging into his scalp hard enough to rip out the soft curls you gripped. Spit smeared along your thighs, your slick pouring along the length of his throat. You wanted to lick it off, to push it back into his plush mouth and taste it off his tongue. Another harsh suck dragged a sharp cry of his name past your parted lips.

“Fuck I’m gonna–” Your eyes rolled back as he pressed a thick finger past your entrance, the pad of it curling along the tight grip of your walls. “Baby please.”

The shudder that ran down his spine at the ragged wailing plea nearly threw you over the edge. Brown eyes glazed with an unhinged fervor of a man starved met your half lidded ones. His gaze pierced right through your psyche—reading your thoughts as if they were tangible enough to flip through. And you let him.

You gave into the darkened glint that beckoned you towards bliss.

Another finger fit snugly beside his first, pressing up against the spongy patch you could barely reach on your own. Your mouth dropped open, a panting echo of his name spilling out into the air. It felt too much. A depth of sensations you’d never reached before. But you still held him close, fucking yourself against the mouth that promised you more—the tongue that traced your clit in letters forming a single three letter word.

Din.

The scrape of his teeth sent you over with a muffled shout—your hand slapping over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. Having a professor barge in to see if anything was awry would be too much for either of you to handle. It would ruin your reputation—dragging him down right along with you. You knew the consequences, knew the forbidden nature of this tantalizing fruit. Yet you bit into it anyways.

Din buried himself in you, eyes sliding shut as you soaked his awaiting mouth that sucked at your entrance with a throaty moan. A sound that wrapped tight around your spine—gripping where he couldn’t reach.

“Can’t fucking get enough,” he grunted, rising to his full height—fingers curling around your throat gently. “You taste good.”

His pupils were blown wide, devouring molton brown with a feral hunger you felt settle in your own veins. He wanted to consume you. Bind your soul to his without a single thought about the consequences this relationship would incur. The university would frown on their favorite professor entertaining the young new staff member who would happily fall to their knees for him.

The pink swipe of your tongue caught his attention, his eyes zeroing in on the wet slide of saliva you left behind. Gripping you tighter, he pulled you close with a rough groan—lips catching yours in a blistering kiss. It didn’t build slowly, unraveling months of tension, moments of unfathomable longing you could barely handle on your own. It scorched you to your very core. Laying waste to the stability you clung to, the sanity you relied on.

“I need you,” the words spilled into his open mouth—digging deep enough to rattle his bones. “Inside. I-I need–”

He shushed you gently, licking hotly along your bottom lip—his hands dropping to the brown leather belt you eyed earlier. The clink of the buckle destroyed you, a needy whine crawling up and out of your throat. This was your damning moment, the path split down the center and building something new. Smiling into the kiss, he shucked his pants down—cock straining against the boxers sporting a wet patch of precum.

“Up,” he demanded, tapping your thigh.

You clambered onto the table with his hands on your hips—legs spreading to accommodate his size. Pleading words lay on the tip of your tongue, but his mouth was quick to silence them. A kiss of reverence stole your breath while he freed himself with a gasp—pumping his leaking cock and sliding through your dripping folds. Coating his length with what already stained his chin.

With eyes closed and fingers lost in his curls, you gave yourself over to the sensory deprivation of the situation. Your hips canted up, clit catching on the prominent vein that throbbed with need. He pushed a moan along the back of your teeth, stretching your walls slow enough to draw you to the edge of madness.

“There’s no part of me–” The words were carried with a sharp breath and teeth scraping your ear. “That isn’t yours.”

Your walls fluttered at his words—in utter ruin from the sound of his soft rasp echoing sweetly in your ear. The pomegranate seeds lay delicately on your tongue, enticing you to close your jaws around their tart flavor. A permanent agreement of devotion stuck at the back of your throat as he pummeled into your cunt with broken grunts and soft moans. You swallowed them without a second thought, clinging to his back and muffling what sounds he drew out into his neck.

The thrust of him plunging into you felt exquisite. Each one sharp and hungry. He was a man uninhibited by the doubts that swirled in your mind. Possessed by need, held captive by your scent—your taste that still plagued his senses. You were inside his bones. A spell bound into the tendons and ligaments of his broad body to keep him tied to you permanently.

Forever bound by far more than you could comprehend at this moment.

“Yours,” you whimpered, feeling a tight grip on the back of your neck pull your head back slightly—lips finding yours as he pounded up into you. “‘S all yours Din. I’m yours.”

The muffled moan he pressed into your mouth echoed in your own chest. It said all that would go unsaid for now. The emotions you kept hidden in the casket of your heart, ready to die with them before revealing how much you longed for him. All the innocent glances, lingering touches, each time he showed up in your office for lunch or simply to walk you home.

You thought you buried it.

Never to be revived.

Until he poured himself into your lungs without mercy—consumed you with a smile coated in the thick shine of your release. He destroyed himself at your altar, pledged himself on his knees. Your lover, the other half of your misshapen heart.

“You want to cum?” he growled, grinding into you hard enough to have white flashing behind your tightly shut eyes. “Can feel you soaking me baby.”

Fighting for a lungful of air, you dared to meet his burning gaze. “Uh-huh.”

A smile curled along swollen and bruised lips. “She’s begging for it. My pretty girl’s all wet for me.”

Through the bliss you could hear it, the push and pull of his body against yours, his cock coated in your slick. It echoed loud enough to make your ears burn—your skin already hot to the touch as he dug his fingers wherever he could reach. You were dripping for him, making a mess on his slacks that would later stain, but he didn’t care. That was the last thing on his mind when he had you in his arms, mewling into his ear with pleading words of more.

The words were drowned out by the echo of skin against skin—a soft breath that punctured his chest. “I-I want to.” 

“I know,” he cooed, thumb digging into your bottom lip. “C’mon then baby. Soak me yeah? Give me a mess to clean up.”

Your mouth dropped, eyes rolling back into the mind he emptied with each punch to your walls—rubbing against heaven. Eventually in your life you knew you would break. Shatter like glass against concrete, but this felt as if every bone was fractured. Every nerve cauterized and muscle torn to shreds. You were left to float along the River Styx, the soul he stripped from your body now held in his grasp—kept as a memory of his emotions.

Sobbing a splintered version of his name, you trembled in his hold, his cock ramming into you with harsh bitten out grunts he muffled into the crook of your neck. Your walls clamped down, a splatter of your release coating the sticky skin of your inner thighs. He cried out as if you burned right down to his core—his fingers a bruising hold on your hips, teeth hooking into the tender flesh of your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he gasped, spilling into you with a rumbling noise that sprouted from his chest.

“I didn’t–” Fighting the haze in your severed mind you felt his hand slide along your stomach, dropping low enough to slide through the mixture of your cum. “I’ve never…”

The audible echo of him sucking his fingers into his mouth with a moan cut off anything else you planned to say. Whatever explanation you hoped to conjure in a mind still coming back down vanished at the sight of him feasting on the mess he longed for. An offering of more to come now cooling on your shaky thighs.

“Delicious,” he murmured, scooping more and spreading it along the twitching clit still begging for attention. You gasped as he brought it to your tongue, letting you suckle it off with a whine. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

Catching his gaze through your lashes, you let his fingers slip from the hot cavern of your mouth—the taste of him a craving you needed again. “In a bed next time.”

His cock stirred, large hands grasping your hips. “Next time huh?”

“I could be persuaded.”

Lips sought yours with a throaty call of your name. You dragged him closer—pressing your knees into his sides—and he came willingly. As if the tie that held you together knotted tighter the longer you basked in each other’s silent promises of more. Whether or not it would last was of no concern to you. His touch was gentle along your skin, tongue hot and coveted tangled with yours.

“Let me persuade you,” he breathed.

Catching his bottom lip with your teeth, you curled an arm around his neck. “You already have.”

“Interesting.” His grin felt electric against your cheek, a piece of him come back to life with the prospect of more. “I must have a gift.”

“Mm yes.” You met his smile with one of your own. “Your tongue is a skillful asset.”

“Just my tongue?”

“Well…”

Laughter shouldn’t have stolen your breath the way his did—deep and filled with a rasp you felt rocket down your spine. “Tonight?”

Suddenly what should have been a one off moment of sporadic lust grew to be much more. You knew coming here would result in something neither of you could take back. A vow unspoken between two people who shouldn’t want more, yet were unable to ask for anything less. He was tied to you from that first day—a brief greeting between two passing ships. It was only a matter of time until eventually…you collided.

“I’d really like that,” you admitted, sealing your fate in hot wax carved with his initials.

He kissed you slowly, drinking down the soft breathy moan that clawed up your throat—a future clasped between hearts that finally beat in tune. “I would too.”

[fluff-n-cookies]

DABI Warmup

Note: I haven't written in a hot minute, just a warm up to get back into the flow of things. This post is a platonic x reader.

Dabi is Reader's father, Reader has blue eyes like his. No use of Y/N

For those who don’t know, this post is related to these

Pt 1, Pt 2

---

Civiliains are silly, fickle little things.

They're ignorant, that's what they are. those were Dabi's, well, Touya's, exact thoughts as he smoked on the balcony. the cool night air stung at his bare arms and seeped into the fabric of his pajama shirt. it didn't matter much though, not when the bustling streets of Yokohama are still wide awake.

He chuckled at his own thoughts, a chuckle then turned into a strangled cough. Damn lungs.

He couldn't be the one to think of such things though, it wasn't right for him to belittle others for remaining ignorant when he himself had his own little civilian daughter who he had been keeping in ignorant bliss for her whole life.

He cannot be the one to talk when he had intentionally refused to talk about heroes with her, or even speak of his day at work with the league. he would immediately change the topic of conversation the moment it turned to heroes and villains.

Dabi flicked his cigarette over the side of the balcony, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants to see what his daughter was doing.

she had fallen asleep on the couch, elephant stuffie in hand, curled up under her favorite blanket. the My Neighbor Totoro one that was only 2 USD at their regular thrift shop.

she was a toddler by now, she had been watching him smoke on the balcony to give into his nicotine addiction since birth at this point. he would always set her down on the couch with a cartoon on and a bunch of stolen toys so she wouldn't get bored. he would then watch her from the other side of the glass sliding door that separated the balcony and living room.

it always felt a tad bit wrong though, to leave her alone like that, but addiction calls, it's hard to resist, I guess.

You know what's sillier than civilians? being a father.

it means having to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to get your daughter dressed and ready. I means having to help her choose the dress she wants to wear today and then consoling her when she can't choose, gets to overwhelmed, and cries until you bribe her with ice cream.

it means stashing her school pictures and drawings in a little shoe box under the sink because you don't have the heart to throw them away and you can't afford anyone suspecting you have a daughter if they see her picture in your stolen wallet.

it means downloading Disney and Studio Ghibli movies from a pirating website for movie night the next day. despite knowing full damn well that she'll probably fall asleep half way through and never bother to finish the movie.

Silly, so silly.

so silly and so fun to be able to ignore the pain and suffering in this world and just focus on helping her finish math homework. (the first question was 2 + 3) and then making her favorite food for dinner because she got an A+ on her spelling test.

Maybe being a civilian isn't all that bad.

---

Tags ; @red4-0 @likethegardenyk @suktoru @blurryperrtymoonlight @harkenizalone @lostiolite @rllytriedrn @mellyxqz @cupkiki @xxnessinessiellexx @dehlieee @mossysoup @ijwsbdinp @byul9158 @suksatoru @ssetsuka @savatar-de-mordor @justanotherweeb666 @frog-fans-unite

figured you guys might like some updates.

[thestargayzingetherian]

The Only Sympathetic Hordak

So here's a realisation I've had about our fav emo spacebat. Hordak in pretty much every other He-Man series is obviously a villian. Heck, just listen to his He-Man Revelations version with Keith David doing his amazing villian voice for him.

But SPOP Hordak is different. He was cloned to be Horde Prime's top general, yet it's clear service to Horde Prime is less service and more constant suffering. He built an empire of his own on Etheria, yet spent most of his time being a shut-in, desperate to return to his brother.

And he also genuinely opened up and clearly cared for Entrapta, for the first time in his life, he genuinely cared for another sentient being. And thus, his love for Entrapta was able to break him free of Horde Prime's control. His love was him being thoroughly corrupted.

And in my opinion, this makes Hordak probably one of the most intersesting characters in the show.

Yet here's the thing... I don't think you can actually do this again with Hordak. There are so many factors to this version of him specfically that can make him sympathetic... that wouldn't really apply to any other version of Hordak.

I came to this realisation upon thinking about some of my fic ideas and how to incorporate Hordak in them... and I realised that if I want Entrapta and Hordak to still be a thing, Hordak's already gonna need to be a good guy or at least on good terms with someone in the cast like Adora or Catra. Because trying to compress his rather complicated story arc in SPOP (trust me, there is an arc to the guy) feels like it could uintentionally drag a story out and away from what I would want to primarily focus on (usually Catradora).

Heck, even in canon divergent stuff, I realised unless the divergent thing is about Hordak specifically, he's not exactly gonna fair well due to how the story plays out in She-Ra. Likely, he'd end up killed or ousted from his power very quickly. Would he still end up with Entrapta in the latter option? Maybe, but I feel it could be a bit rushed.

So yeah, I think in my own stories, Hordak is either gonna have to be a full on villian or he's gonna have to already be a good guy. I can't see trying to fully replicate his show arc in one of my fics without dragging the story out. And just so we're clear, I'm saying this as someone who likes Hordak.

So I hope this ramble makes sense.

[wings-of-ink]

I, for one, would like Oswin and MC to suffer more, gimme the angst! Would he still want to be with MC if they tried to "forget him" by screwing the whole crew (and nathan to booth)? (warning them beforehand that there are no strings attached, I'm not evil! I want only Oswin to suffer)

If he were the cause of this behavior, it would make him feel worse for a time, like he'd cheapened MC as a person, hurting them enough to act out like that. He would still want to be with MC, though. If he holds MC's heart at the end of it, that is what truly matters to him.

But another few notes on that, this would be difficult to accomplish with the others.

Duri would still sleep with MC as long as they truly just wanted to (as in, acting out their pain is not the only reason).

Rune simply wouldn't without a committed relationship.

MC would have to hide their motivation from Zahn because they grow to like Oswin and wouldn't do that to a friend and would find MC's actions hurtful to themselves as well.

??? is a bit like Rune and maybe a bit like Nathan as well on this front. Also doesn't like the idea of feeling used like this, and may take a little offense.

Nathan, would not do this. He'd find it upsetting mostly just on MC's behalf that they were hurting this bad. His instincts are pretty damn good so the odds of fooling him are slim. He'd be great to talk to though.

[missaccuracy]

what would it take for azula to realize how horrible the Hundred Year War actually was? How might it be tailored to her, specifically (but different from zuko's experience)?

Well, I'm sure that Azula cares about people of the Fire Nation (she evacuated the sitizens of the capital during the invasion, after all), and the war negatively affected the FN as well (like the polluted river in The Painted Lady episode), so I think while Azula wouldn't care that much about other nations, seeing her own people suffering might lead her to realize that the war was wrong.

Maybe if there was an actual civil war in the Fire Nation, Azula could reluctantly help Zuko stop it to stop it from hurting the citizens of the Fire Nation, which would be great personal growth for her. It won't be like Zuko's journey, where he travels all over the world and sees other nations, but it would be enough for Azula to realize that the war was wrong and become something of an anti-hero.

[for-a-home-that-once-was]

I want pain.

[inkskinned]

the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.

capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.

now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.

and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.

and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.

and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".

it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"

[dykedvonte]

I think depictions of Anya being cruel to Curly or drawing out his suffering are artful and chilling but completely miss the point of the story and her character.

I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to have that "I told you so" moment with him but not in something callous or cold. Even if that is how it happened, she'd immediately feel guilty cause at that point she's not tormenting her tormenter or even the person truly at fault. She's doing something cathartic, similar to how Jimmy likely hits Curly to release rage he can't against the rest of the crew. She'd see herself as no different when she'd come back from the moment and see Curly cowering at her. She wants someone to take responsibility but how does being cruel to the defenseless help? Why would she want the power Jimmy has over her over Curly?

The idea of her extending someone else's pain is just so against the struggles she already faces and how she can't even bring herself to cause someone pain even to help them. Her very desire is to release herself from her own suffering and I doubt she'd even fine some sort of guilty release in being cruel to another.

[sygneth]

game of deduction

[countlessofvoids]

Haha Chief don't kys

[brionysea]

for the record I'm keeping my #arcane and #arcane critical tags separate because 1) it's rude to go into a show's main tag to complain about it and 2) this way I can still go into the arcane tag on my own blog to enjoy season 1 stuff without being perpetually disappointed by season 2

[yuseirra]

this is what I think's happened in the recent chapters

although things are SUPER VAGUE...

[luckydicekirby]

okay so watching the trailer. is this implying the dexter prequel show is being narrated by michael c hall bc he's narrating it as his Life Flashes Before His Eyes after he gets rushed to the hospital after somehow not dying when he died at the end of new blood. and so then they'll be able to pick up with another sequel show next year. that's so FUCKING stupid god bless <3