#You can mock God all you want but you will face the consequences.

[spectralhero]

People really just cannot fucking help themselves.

They really out there using drag queens to mock Christ with that Last Supper monstrosity at the opening ceremony.

Just... Why? Why do that at all? I don't get why that was necessary.

[hoshigray]

hear me out🙏 imagine student body president!sukuna and delinquent!reader😍 same scenario but just switched

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i hear you, loud AND clear !!

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: student body president! Sukuna x bratty delinquent fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; you and kuna are college seniors - oral (m! + slight f! receiving) - face + throat fucking - clitoral play (sucking) - impact play (cheek + pussy slaps) - fingering (f! receiving) - standing + piledriver positions - unprotected sex - overstimulation - dumbification - degradation (brat, cumslut, pig, slut, whore) - blackmail - dick piercing (frenulum) - mention of drool/spit and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k

If there’s one thing that Sukuna loves more than anything, it’s power.

For Sukuna, the pinnacle of power is not just a status but a destiny he believes is his alone. In his heart of hearts, he knows he is the one who can keep this school in check, his control palpable in every corner of the campus.

Having Ryōmen Sukuna as the student body president of the senior class was either the best or worst thing, depending on who was asked. Although intimidated by some faculty and professors, they saw him as a significant influence on maintaining the students’ behavior for the college’s image. As for his peers, some would vouch that he was the scariest person they've ever met within their college student’s behaviors on campus. As for the students…whether they made sure not to get in the salmon-pink-haired man’s way, did as they were told, or generally avoided getting in his bad side all around, the truth was known in the air: Sukuna is a force not meant to be reckoned with. 

So, dealing with people who stand in his line of power will be dealt with — especially brats like you.

You were the biggest thorn in Sukuna’s side, a true innocent fool who dared disobey him without fear of consequence. For one, you were such a disrespectful minx, always speaking to him with such a foul mouth as if his aura that frightens others doesn’t shake you down. You bat your eyes at him during his lectures, dumb doe eyes that flutter with dull eyelids as if not a single word from his mouth was processed in that mind of yours as you’ll just wound up doing the exact shit again within a week or less. You have no amount of respect for his superior status, treating Sukuna like some big shot. 

“Tah, you don’t scare me, Prez!” You mocked with a laugh. “You and your little tattoos can go somewhere and make the other babies piss their pants and leave me the hell alone. Mind your business and stay outta mine.”

God, to say you were insufferable was scratching the surface. Sukuna can admit that nothing in his last year of college would allow him to experience absolute euphoria than crushing that childish grin off your face. It’s all he can think about whenever he has the misfortune of seeing your name or catching your face in the halls on his way to lectures and meetings.

But then again, if he can’t discipline you in the way he wanted on school grounds, it doesn’t mean you’re safe from him on the outside.

And then, like a miracle to his prayers, he finally had the dirt to give him all the more motivation. His second in command, Uraume, had found some evidence of your inappropriate behavior on the school’s campus. Pictures and videos alike, his smile grew bigger the deeper he looked into it.

Images of you flashing your bare tits in what seems to be a party in one of the dormitories and some drunk guy motorboating your chest, another of you smoking weed in one of the laboratories, which were undoubtedly smoke-free, and one portraying you fingering yourself in while sucking off one of the basketball athletes in the gymnasium men’s locker room. And the cherry on top was explicit videos of yourself that would tarnish the school’s reputation and have you expelled in seconds — absolute music to Sukuna’s ears. 

The thought of destroying your image and exposing you to the filthy bitch you have put a spark of joy in the student body president’s cruel heart. But what would the fun be if he threw this evidence out all at once? He was a man who loved to drag out the torture of his victims. So, when he pulls you aside, to your dismay, and showcases the dirt he has on you, the look on your face? Not even a picture would be enough for him to enjoy such a glorious reaction. He never thought he’d see where you’d beg and plead to him on your knees, only fueling the superiority within his stance.

However, he likes to play with his food. So, he’ll put his hands up, “Alright, fine, I won’t take this to the higher-up…” yet the smirk didn’t match the comfort expressed. “On one condition.”

And for said condition? To use you and see your talents for himself.

“Damn, this mouth really knows how to work, huh?”

Oh, to be fucking your face in the student body government lounge isn’t something he’d expect. But holy shit, is he not fucking complaining. He throws his head back as his pelvis relentlessly smacks the plump of your soapy lips. His hands grabbed your head and forced you onto his length, which you were crying on like crazy.

Tears roll down your face; the harshness of his ruts sting like hell. You could only grip his jeans to steady, yet the more he bullies his dick into your throat, your train of thought becomes more impossible to follow through. 

He slaps your cheeks, “Pay attention, bitch,” he curses from above and yanking you by the ear. “Loosen that jaw of yours and suck me off like the cumslut you are.”

Your glare gratifies him, watching you obey his words and hollow your cheeks. Jesus, the tightness of your throat has shivers crawl to his shoulders.

“Mmmff! Mmmm!!” Your muffled whimpers were all his ears could pick up on, and they made him sigh heavenly. He peers down to meet such a naughty image: your lips coated in saliva and his precum bubbling and piling with every snap and pull of his hips. Your tears and furrowed brows gave him the hugest ego boost of his life, making the devilish superior push feverishly into your mouth. 

“—Mnnph! Yesss, yeah, that’s right; keep cryin’, you fucking brat.”  Fuck, he’s so fucking close; your mouth and tongue were doing mad work for him to release, busting his load into your throat and succumbing to you to drink and accept his semen.

Balls deep to your lips, saliva mixes with salty tears, striking down your chin. You swallow every bit of him with a satisfied hum, eyes rolling up when he grinds his pelvis for his dick to go deeper.

But that doesn’t mean you should rest — hell no. Sukuna rips his erect limb out of your mouth and pushes you to your back with a kick. You couldn’t interject as he pushed your legs to your chest. An exotic position that exposes the damp spot of your thong from your lifted skirt. 

The president tsks at the display with a sneer. “Fucking slut, so wet from just sucking me off.” He slides the underwear and is welcomes to your scent and taste when he glides his tongue to your clit. “You really are a fucking bitch in heat, huh?”

His tongue pets and laps around your labia, lubing your vagina with his spit while slurping your essence that messes around your inner thighs. You’re choked up, whining from his tongue fucking the entrance of you and licking your clit.

“—Ohoo! Hoohh, Sukunaa, pleaseee,” you slurred from the suck of your clit, his tongue pushing it and grazing his teeth with the delicate bud. “Hahhhfuckk, put it innn, ‘Kuna, I want—Daaahaa!!” You cried at the slap of your cunt, stinging your sensitive clit from the rough palm of his hand.

“Don’t tell me what to do, brat,” another smack to your slit as you cough up spit. “Such a broad, only thinking with just your pussy.” Although, he had to admit, seeing your pussy wink from his hits and teases made his pride sing. With a low chuckle, he straightens up, your anticipation climbing up when he brings his middle and forefinger to wet with saliva.

Yet a record scratches at the feel of something wet around your asshole, the digits pushing and teasing your puckered entrance. Begs fly out you’re mouth, but they substitute with a scream when his fingers manage to insert inside and massage around your walls.

“What, you thought I was just gonna play with that pussy like you wanted?” He laughs at your cries, stroking his ego from your anus, clamping onto him with the scrape of his fingernails. “You got some nerve; only dirty pigs like you get dirty rewards.” You gasp at the withdrawal of his fingers, and he whistles at the sight. “So here ya go, little slut…”

Sukuna aligns his cock to your rear, pushing it with no care for your lack of preparation. You scream at the insert of his cockhead and piercing, and the stretch that comes along his inches burrowing inside causes more tears to fall. But not in pain—the expression on your face showed no sign of resentment. 

“Haaahh, yeeesshh,” your hands come to the back of your ass to help the position you’re in, the angle making your writhing figure jolt. And it gets better once Sukuna’s hips go at a mediocre pace. “Shooo goood…!!”

Your hands find Sukuna’s ankles when his frenulum piercing jabs you with precision with the increase of his erratic thrusts. High pitches and shrieks fill the student body lounge, skin slapping against each other, creating an inappropriate sound. Like Sukuna cares, though; fucking your ass on the floor with no grace — so much for a president.

“—Khheh, hooohshiiit, pig can’t even speak properly, making such a ruckus.” It’s true; you showed no restraint in concealing your wails. If anything, they get louder and louder with the clasp of your butthole on his length, drool spilling from your agape mouth. “Noisy ass acting all dumb on my cock.” 

The graze of his piercing gets worse every second; shit feels way too good, like his balls smacking down your ass. But you couldn’t foresee his next move; Sukuna slipped his middle finger inside your chasm and wiggled around your vagina. A strong yelp erupts from your body from the “come hither” motion that scratches your upper walls, and you can’t help but let yourself go.

Your climax has you howling, your holes contracting with force from every passing wave that rocks your core. You pant heavily, milking the dick that continues to plunge into your ass, Sukuna groaning at the grasp of your anus and the walls around his middle finger. 

He then pulls his digit out and brings it to his mouth, sucking your liquids with a smirk. “Not bad, broad.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[sparklingblu]

Eroverse

Pt.5 - Eclipse

Chaewon x Male Reader (ft. Kazuha)

The nightmares won't stop.

Ever since your return from the underworld, you always find yourself back in the gloomy land of the death in your sleep. The unnerving faces of the skeletal warriors haunt your dreams and sometimes even the three headed beast. The drawbacks of being chosen by the Mark of Asmodeus are just as powerful as its upsides.

These horrible dreams are just one of your numerous problems and it's not even the worst one. There's the fact that you have become the underworld's most wanted and you don't want to think about what will happen if Hades found out you have banged his wife and stolen his helmet. In a way, she's the one who started it all but you doubt you can reason with an angry god. You might have just booked a guaranteed spot in the fields of punishment. Or even somewhere worse. Dying is the last thing on your mind right now and that's speaking from experience.

Having the mark seems like a blessing at first but you are starting to feel the consequences of bearing such power. Sure, it helps you screw angels and godesses but on the other hand, those are all the glamours to hide one single truth. You are just a servant of Eros. Maybe not like the cherubims but you have to carry out his so called quests and that blonde brat doesn't even explain the reasons behind all this. A god stealing another's god possesion doesn't really seem like a good prank. Or maybe Eros thinks it is.

After going through the quest and bearly coming back alive, you seriously start to reconsider the choice you have made. Eros have given you the life any mortal would wish for - one where you no longer need to worry about surviving everday and making ends meets. You don't even need to jerk yourself off anymore if you get horny. You can just call Lisa to do your bidding. Now, they don't really seem like a fair compensation for the job you have to do. You might sound like an ungrateful bastard but after dying, resurrecting and losing sleep for a week straight, anyone would start to get agitated. The feathery bed isn't much help and neither are Lisa's blowjobs. You even start to get tired of waking up to your dick shoved in the angel's throat and that's a lot coming from a pervert like you.

As you wake up in cold sweat from the usual torment of your dreams one afternoon, you decide you have suffered enough and set out to find a way; anyway to fix your problem. You would have asked Eros for help if he has not been missing for over a week since you return from the quest. (Fuck you, Eros) None of his angels have any idea where he is. Not even Kazuha. The only contact you have had so far is that message about 'taking the virginity of a goddess'. Frankly, you are not in the mood to use your lightsaber dick again. The helm of darkness you have stolen is nowhere to be found either. Your best guess is that Eros took it with him.

As if to mock your suffering, a storm have been raging outside forever. The building might shift from one place to another but the weather doesn't seem to be getting better anytime soon. The rhythm of raindrops splattering the glass along with the roar of thunder make an ugly backdrop as you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up.

Looking at the mirror, you find yourself looking like a ghoul - sunken eyes and ghostly pale. The insomnia have taken quite a toll and you wouldn't be surprised if your heart just stop beating at some point. Even the mark can't save you from that.

You let the cold tap water wash away the drowsiness though you know it will eventually return at some point. Still, it's better than nothing. You desperately need some kind of escape. Something to stop you from being a dead man walking. The jacuzzi might help except the fact that you are too tired to set everything up. The television is just as useless, playing rom-coms or lovesick songs in every channel. (Fuck you, Eros)

There's your phone too, which might have just become the most useless gadget after Eros have restored it. Apart from the lovey dovey wallpapers that change without your consent, the connection is awful here. A literal god owns this place and he can't even afford a decent wifi. Totally ironic. Maybe Eros can live off watching Titanic everyday but he can't seriously expect others to have the same horrible taste as him. (Fuck you, Eros)

With the lack of entertainment, you are left with the only choice to wander around the building. So far, you have discovered a corridor in the hall that leads to a sauna and another to an art gallery full of paintings by different renowned artists. There's even the Mona Lisa which looks too real for a replica. You wonder how Eros manages to get his hands on that one. However, all the doors that line the wall apart from your room's are locked tight and they are all diffetent designs and colours. There's even a vault door. The strangest thing, however, is the fact that even though the building easily looks more than ten storey tall, you can't find a way to go to the other floors. There are no stairs nor elevator. When you asked Kazuha about it, she simply shrugs.

Speaking of Kazuha, you have found a couple other angels apart from her and Lisa. Obviosuly they are all in the forms of idols from different gens. You even saw a few first gen ones. Most of them tend to stay away from you like some sort of infectious disease and you are ok with that. You have had your fair share of experience with their kind who wants you dead and you are not ready to relive the experience. So far, Kazuha is the only one you can communicate with and for Lisa, she uses her mouth in other tasks.

After freshening up, you put on one of those designer shirts and khakis in your wardrobe and exit the room. There's no need to lock the door because there isn't even a doorknob. It swing opens when you get near. Just another thing that doesn't make any sense around here. The marble statue of Eros in the hall with that smug grin on his face gets you even more riled up. You already have enough reason to hate the god and adding another to the list doesn't exactly help.

You turn the narrow corridor into the main room, where you have first landed on your arrival. The room is eerily quiet — the silence only penetrated by the ocassional crackling of thunder. All the lights have been turned off —the flashes of lightning momentarily illuminating the room, derived of its usual cheerful atomosphere now replaced by a dreaful one. The whole thing reminds you of the gloom of the underworld and the thought makes your stomach churns.

Near the glass wall, you spot a dark figure with its back turned, peering over the landscape of ancient Pompeii with the volcano that brought the city's demise looming in the distance. Turns out the building can teleport to lost civilizations too. Arcs of electricity flare through the dark sky and the brief glow reveals the figure as Kazuha.

In her white sport tops that display her figure perfectly and the raven hair flowing over her back, she really does look like an angel. In normal circumstances, you would have gotten hard seeing her tight ass in those jeans but currently, your hazy mind won't allow you the pleasure.

"You are awake" Kazuha says without turning her back, the sudden intrusion catching you off guard.

"I doubt you can call me that" you reply, pouring yourself a glass of water from the jar on the kitchen counter. Hopefully, it isn't sweet like the rest of Eros's snacks here.

"Still having nightmares?" Kazuhas asks, though her tone lacks the sympathy.

"They won't stop since my return from the underworld" you admit. "I just wanna die"

"Trust me, there are worst things waiting for you after death. You won't really be the most welcomed soul in the underworld"

"I guess so" You take a sip from the glass. Thankfully, the water tastes normal.

"What you have done have serious consequences" Kazuha turns around, arms folded. In the dim light, her expression is unreadable. "You have stolen the power symbol of a god. That's like putting pineapples in a pizza. You have insulted him"

Kazuha's serious tone makes you hold back the protest about your opinion on pineapple pizza. You don't want to get smitten. "Hey, it's not my fault.That was all Eros's idea"

"It might be his idea but you are still the one who did the deed. You will be pointed out as the culprit regardless if you intend it or not"

"Wonderful" you sneer. "I'm starting to hate this 'apostle' job even more. It should have been called 'errand boy' "

"Think positive. Not many people gets to fuck the queen of the underworld"

If Kazuha is trying to comfort you, it's not helping. "Sure because it turns out great. I shouldn't have taken this job in the first place. Congrats! You have the mark of Asmodeus! Now you can go around banging gods and stealing things for me!"

Kazuha doesn't flinch at your sarcastic remark. If it's possible, the darkness of the room looks thicker around her. "It's too late to back out now. And it's still your first real quest. Eros still have many plans for you"

You snicker. "Let me guess. More quests that involves burgling? Won't be surprised if I have to steal the holy grail next. Anyway, where's Eros?"

"No idea" Kazuha replies, furrowing her brows. "He said he's out to plan the next part of your quest but I haven't got any contact from him"

"Would be great if he never comes back"

"Watch your words" Kazuha scowls and thunder roars, lighting up the sky. "The gods are angry. They are searching for you in every corner of the earth. You would be dead already if you are in any other place"

"Should I be honoured?" Yet another saracstic remark. At this point, you don't even care anymore.

"Are you kidding me? We are in serious trouble right now. Gosh, that idiot Eros. If he gets caught somehow......" Kazuha drifts off and the fear in her voice gives birth to a strange sense of distress within you. If an angle is panicking, you are in even more trouble then you initially thought and even that's a shit ton of trouble already.

"Hold on. Are you actually worried about Eros right now? That dick?" It's no way to address your boss but it's not like he's around. On one hand, perhaps he is. Afterall, he's a god. He might have super hearing or something. You push the thought aside. No use cramming your brain with one more dreadful thought.

"You don't get it" Kazuha exhales, her stoic face softening just a notch lower. "Sure, he's not exactly the boss of the year but it's not like I have a choice. Being an angel is not all rainbows and sunshines like you mortals think. Especially not when you have to serve a god who's always finding new ways to brew up trouble. If the gods find out Eros is behind all this.... ." Kazuha pauses, conisdering her choice of words. "Let's just say it will have dire consequences on me too"

"What do you want me to do then?" You ask, being rational for once.

"Obviously try not to get you killed. Without you Eros's big plan will go up in smoke-" Kazuha quickly stops, realizing she has slipped her tongue but it's too late.

"What plan?" You ask. You are already sick and tired of this mysterious game Eros's playing. If you are gonna be a part of it, at least you need to know your role in it clearly.

"Look, it doesn't matter. What's important is that you stay alive and complete your quests with the help of your mark. Everything will be revealed at the right time"

"So what? Am I just some kind of-" Your complaint is cut short as the whole building shakes as if an earthquake has come out of nowhere. You would have fallen face first if you haven't hold onto the kitchen counter. Kazuha isn't so lucky. The angel is thrown off balance and land with her back onto the hard marble floor. Seeing the wince on her face, it seems like angels are no different from humans when it comes to tolerating pain.

"Fuck" Kazuha curses as she gets up, rubbing her back. "They are here"

Without a doubt, you know 'They' could be nothing but trouble. Anything that brought an earthquake along with their entrance couldn't be anything pleasant. But you ask the question anyway. "They?"

Kazuha must have been thinking the same thing because her expression shifts between uncertainty and panic, finally settling on fear. "The Hunters. They-" The building shakes again and this time, the power cuts off. Every single source of light dies out, leaving you surrounded by darkness in every corner. Strangely, the experience reminds you off the darkness that comes before you pass out when you use the 'Ero' app. You can't decide whether it is a good thing you are not losing your consciousness this time.

"Stay still" You hear Kazuha's voice from somewhere in front of you. It's hard to say where exactly because even the flashes of lightning can't seem to penetrate the murk. Sensing Kazuha's the best chance in whatever is happening, you obey without questioning.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be back" This time the voice comes from behind, sounding more and more distant as Kazuha leaves the room. You are left alone in the dark room with nothing to do but stare at the skyline of Pompei beyond the glass wall. Your terror is nothing compared to what those citizen might have felt when they saw lava raining down on their city. Still, you are barely containing the urge to run after Kazuha.

A minute passes, then two, then a couple more. The silence is deafening, only interrupted by the splatter of raindrops and the ocassional claps of thunder. As you start wondering what's taking Kazuha so long, the building trembles once again and you, deep in thought, isn't able to react fast enough this time and go sprawling across the floor. Luckily, you land on your knees and the fall isn't too painful though it leaves your legs feeling like jelly.

Somewhere far away, you hear something explode followed by the clashing sound of metal against metal. As you lift yourself off the floor, battle cries flood into the room as if a battle is taking place right at this moment. The corridor is light up by a momentary burst of white light and what you see in that split second confirm your thoughts.

Kazuha has her gladius pressed against the blade of a female dressed in black, the flickers of light dancing around them whenever their weapons clash. It's hard to say who's winning because all your eyes can catch are bits and pieces of the duel. But it doesn't seem to be the only one because farther behind, you can catch glimpes of numerous colourful gleams that vanish as quick as they disappear. If you are doubting before, you know now. The place is under attack.

And what do the chosen one with the mark of Asmodeus do? Stand and watch, of course. It's not like you can just activate the mark anytime. And even if it does activate, you doubt you can fuck your way out of this. At this instant, you really wish the mark provides you with some sort of power apart from being a universal impregnator.

The gleams from the clashes scattered around the building becomes more frequent. From time to time, you would see white humanoid shapes of light combusts with a sound like a thousand firrworks exploding at once. Light means angels and if they are blowing up, it's deifinitely not good news.

Kazuha's still locked in clash with the warrior dressed in black. Their duel is moving dangerously close to where you are standing and you back off until you are pressed against the glass wall. Kazuha's opponent doesn't give her any time to think, bringing down strikes after strikes which Kazuha's barely managing to block with her own weapon. With the glow that Kazuha's gladius continuously cast, you finally manage to make out the features of the warrior. She looks no older than 25 with bob hair that sways with each of her fluid movements. After seeing the cheetah like facial features with another glow, you have no doubt. It's Chaewon, the leader of Le Sserafim, trying to kill her own member. You know both of them are obviously not the real idols but still, it's pretty fucked up.

You have no time to make the whole thing make sense because Kazuha's getting closer and closer to the glass wall with every second. Chaewon doesn't waver, each strike of her sword precise and deadly. On the other hand, Kazuha's momvements are growing sluggish. Any moment now, she's gonna be impaled by Chaewon's sword.

Sensing the impending doom, you do the stupidest thing possible. "Hey" you call and Chaewon, oblivious of your presence in the dark, turns her head just for a split second. Kazuha seizes the opportunity, kneeling Chaewon in the stomach, the force throwing her off-balance and down to the floor. Kazuha raises her gladius for the finishing strike until-

"Enough!" A woman's voice booms and the whole building flood with light. Not from the overhead lighting though. It is as if the place has been enveloped in a silvery cocoon of light; warm and pale.

Before you can process what's happening, a sharp cold edge press onto your throat. Chaewon gives you a wistful smile, moving her blade father up your chin. Your eyes dart to her feet, where Kazuha lays sprawled out. As she begins to get up, Chaewon points the gladius in her other hand at Kazuha. In this millisecond, she has managed to tackle Kazuha and seizes her weapon. How she did it, you have no idea. "Follow me" she orders. "Both of you"

Left with no choice, you oblige, walking along the narrow corridor into the circular hall with Kazuha as Chaewon follows closely behind. You wonder why Kazuha can't just snap her fingers and teleport both of you out of here. Afterall, she's a fucking angel. But seeing her worn out face and her slumped shoulder, you doubt she can even summons a spark.

The whole hall smells like someone have forgortten to turn off the stove. Multiple bodies of unconscious idols aka angels, scatter the floor. Inky scorch marks imrpinted on the floor where they lay. You cough, trying to eject the smoky smell that enters your lungs. The statue of Eros in the center has been sliced in half so it now looks more like a mixture of amputated legs and a wing. This might just be the only benefit this whole destruction brings. To you, at least.

The strangest sight, however, are the warriors. There's at least 10 of them, postioned around the disfigured statue of Eros, swords strapped to their backs. All of them wear the same outfit as Chaewon; black crop tops and jeans. Then you realize it's not just their clothes that match. Everything about them does. In other words, all of them are Chaewon. Each one a perfect replica of the other.

There's one that stands out though. She's also Chaewon but in a different outfit; an emerald green mesh top and a leather skirt. A chain necklace dangles over the opening at the upper part of her top. She doesn't have any weapon but that doesn't make her any less intimidating. You can feel the pure energy radiating off her, making your skin tingle. Instantly, you realizes she's the one who has stopped the battle with the slivery glow. Beside her kneels none other than your boss, Eros, his toga ragged and dirty. His once beautiful face is now full of cuts and his blonde hair a tangled mess. A golden chain bind his hands to his back. Nevertheless, the god gives you a smug grin as soon as he spots you like this is a very normal occurence.

"My Lady" The Chaewon holding you hostage walks forward and kneel before the different Chaewon. "I have brought him"

The green top Chaewon moves forward, her eyes fixed on your exhausted form. "So, you are the infamous one" she muses. Much to your surprise her voice comes out deep and cold, different from the warrior Chaewon. "You give us quite a lot of troubles upstairs, you know. Not gonna lie, I was kinda impressed. Coming back from the death is one thing but raping a goddess and stealing a possession of a god? That's pretty badass"

You don't know if she's praising you or being saracsstic. It's hard to tell with that stoic expression on her face.

"Hey, don't give him all the credits! I did most of the work" Eros calls from behind. This guy is still cracking jokes in a life or death situation. You wish you have that kind of courage.

Chaewon gives him a glance and the corner of her lips nearly curves into a smile but she quickly sheathes it. "Sure, you do. If you haven't sneaked up to my dimension with that little helmet of yours, it would have taken me longer to find Michael here. Thank you"

"You are welcome" Eros replies, his face showing no sign of fear or anger. "Maybe you can get me out of these chains, if you are actually thankful"

Chaewon ignores him and continues. "It would be such a shame to get rid of someone so powerful. But the mark brings nothing but trouble. This time is no different from the last"

"What do you mean?" You ask, confused.

"You are not the first one to possess the mark. The one before you..." she trails off. "Nevermind. It's not like you need to know. You are going to die anyway"

Your tongue loses the ability to speak. Normally, you would have begged or try to strike a deal. But this time it's different. Chaewon isn't like all those otherworldly beings you have met before. She shows no signs of hostility yet you know she will stay true to her words. A moment of silence passes before you gather your thoughts again and ask.

"Who are you?" The first question that comes to your mind. You are not even sure if you have the permission to ask someone as powerful as her. Nevertheless, curiousity killed the cat.

"Artemis" Kazuha interrupts before Chaewon can answer your question. "Goddess of the hunt"

"And the moon" Chaewon adds. "Very good, dear. You did your homework"

Not the first goddess you have met but you feel like this is the first one who lives up to her status. The last one you have met is pretty powerless apart from being able to summon some plants. Artemis is a stark contrast compared to Persephone.

"And them?" You ask, gesturing at all the other Chaewons in the hall.

"They are my hunters" Kazuha explained . "My soldiers and my sisters"

If she means sisters literally, you absolutely believe it because they look no different from each other.

"You speak too highly of your group of virgins" Eros voice appears once again. Chaewon shoots him a sharp glare and you realize Eros have struck a nerve there.

"Don't you dare speak ill of our pure maidenhood" The fury in Chaewon's voice makes you take a step back. If she starts doing whatever a goddess do when she gets mad, you don't want to be in the line of fire.

"Oh, come on. Where's the fun in living for milleniums and not getting laid even once? I get you hate men and all but you don't need to go this far" Eros pushes on and Chaewon's brows creases into an icy stare.

"We are hundred percent better than you filthy men" Chaewon snaps. "All of you are no different from pests compared to us. Fragile and weak. You, a minor god, have no right to question my choice"

What Chaewon's saying is starting to sound more and more like a feminism lecture. And if she's a goddess, that means she might be the oldest feminist in existence. An alpha feminist? The idea wrecks your brain cells.

"Oh, really? Hmmm...let's see. The first person to walk on the moon is a man. So is the one who invented electricity. Not to mention every single president of the United States are men. What else?"

For the first time, Eros words doesn't have any of his usual mischief. Hearing how he retaliates Chaewon (or Artemis, whatever) insults factually, you feel a tinge of admiration for the guy. Maybe even a bit of respect.

Chaewon's face turns a deadly hue of red, clearly not expecting a sensible retort from Eros. "I should have finished you long ago. You talk too much for your own good" Chaewon extends her arm and out of thin air, a faint silvery glow starts to manifest, soon taking the form of a recurve bow; curved out of what you guess is a mixture of bronze and gold. She holds the grip tight and pulls the string, summoning a glowing arrow of light along the path.

Chaewon has resort to violence, not being able to make a comeback from Eros's argument. She aims the luminous tip of the arrow right at Ero's chest, ready to strike down at any moment. Anyone would be terrified out of their wits if they were at arrowpoint but apparently, it's not the case for Eros, who's still smiling like a madman.

"Aren't gods like...immortal or something?" You whisper to Kazuha.

"They are" Kazuha replies. "That is....until someone take them down with the sufficient force"

"Must suck"

You are beginning to see the true nature of those otherworldly beings more clearly. Angels and gods; the figures of power are just as fragile as any mortal.

"Seriously, Artemis? You bring a weapon to a debate? Come on" Eros whines and Chaewon pulls the bowstring so taut it threatens to snap in half.

"Spare me your nonesense, Eros. Your job here is done. You are no longer needed" With those final words, Chaewon prepares to strike Eros down until-

"Woah woah woah. Hold on" Eros falters, his tone no longer mocking though it still has a mischevious edge. "How about we make a bet?"

Chaewon scoffs. "You can stall all you want Eros. I have all the time in the world"

"Look, we both have our opinions and views. Let's see who can prove their point"

If Eros is blabbering more gibberish to delay the inevitable, it works because Chaewon lowers ber bow. "Go on"

"Let Michael participate in your tribunal games" Eros says. "And if he can defeat your hunters, you have to let us go"

Chaewon is speechless for a moment then breaks into laughter. Even some of her hunters join in. "Eros, I know you are an idiot but this is beyond madness"

Eros ignores the insult. "Michael is a male so if he can defeat your hunters, that will prove my point. If he's defeated, then I will admit you are right"

You feel like a toddler in the middle of adult talk. As usual, you have absolutely no idea what they are talking about. They might as well be speaking in a foreign tongue.

"Hold up. I have no idea-"

"Think again Eros" Your interruption is reinterrupted by Chaewon. "I can give Michael a painless death here. If he's in the games, well, not so much"

"Scared?"Eros questions, tilting his head.

An expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement flashes across Chaewon's face. "Your little friend Michael is the one who should be scared. You are sending him to a place of no return"

With each word of the conversation, your panic level rises. Whatever place they are talking about, you are certain it's not an amusement park.

"Why don't we just get to the point? Yes or No?"

"Alright, if you are that eager let's do it" Chaewon instantly shoots back.

"I hope you keep your words, Artemis"

"Speak for yourself"

"Oh, I'm a man of my words" Eros says it like something so obvious.

Chaewon raises her arm. "Alright, I will-"

"Wait!" Eros calls. "There's one condition"

"What is it again?" Chaewon glares, the frustration evident in her tone.

"Michael will be up against ten of your hunters and you, a goddess. Don't you think it's a bit unfair?"

"It has always been the way" Chaewon answers. "And it will always be"

"But Michael isn't like the rest of your tributes right? He's not a rapist nor a cheater" Eros complains.

"Yeah, like he didn't rape a fucking goddess"

You hear Chaewon swears for the first time and for a moment, you almost want to chuckle. The sound of a curse on the ever well mannered goddess's tongue comes out so odd.

"Yeah but it's not completely his fault" Eros inists. "And don't you have beef with Persephone or something?"

Chaewon thinks for a moment. "It's not like I like that snobby underground goddess anyway. Fine, Michael can choose a partner. If there's a partner for him to choose that is, and obviously not you, Eros"

You are surprised at how quickly Chaewon changes her mind. It's like Eros knows just the right keys to turn to bend people's well. Maybe it's a part of being a love god.

"Fine by me" Eros replies. "Since you murdered all my angels except one, Kazuha, you accompany Michael in the games"

Is that fear you see in Kazuha's eyes? You can't be sure but there's no denying what's up ahead can't be anything pleasant.

"What's happening?" You ask Kazuha but she just purses her lips as if muffling a scream. Not a good sign at all.

"Don't worry, Michael. Kazuha will explain it to you once you are in the games. For now, goodbye. Don't die"

With that last message, Eros turns his eyes down to the floor.

"Alright" Chaewon turns towards you. "Let's begin"

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

After a week, you finally get to be in some place other than the shifting alive penthhouse of Eros.

With a snap of her finger, Chaewon blurs the surroundings and when your eyes come back into focus, you find yourself in a different place.

The first thing, you notice is the silence. So silent that it's deafening. It doesn't sit quite right with the forest that looms all around you. Dark wouldn't be the right word to describe the place despite the fact that not a spot of sunlight penetrates the violet leaves of pine-like trees that rises to the sky. The entangled branches reminds you of old withered hands. It doesn't make the place any less creepy.

A dim glow like the one back in Eros's place envelopes the whole place, casting faint shadows here and there. The air is cool but not pleasantly so. It's the kind of cool that gives you the chills before something disastrous happens. The air smells like a mixture of freshly baked cookies and toast. Compensation for the whole haunted atmosphere of this place, perhaps. You look down and find yourself knees deep in the tall grass that covers every single inch of ground. Thankfully, you didn't choose to wear shorts.

"Over here" Kazuha voice snaps you out of your thoughts. She stands, propped by a tree nearby. Her eyes dart around as if a predator will emerge at any moment and that can possibly be the case. You make your way towards her, which is not really easy with all the grass brushing against your legs.

"Alright. I'm sure this isn't where Artemis send people for vacation. Can I get some explanation now?" You demands. If you are going to be a part of whatever game Eros made you play, you are gonna need answers.

Kazuha looks around like she's checking for anyone eavesdropping. "We don't have much time so listen carefully" she begins. "As you already know, Artemis is a maiden goddess which means she vows never to give up her virginity"

You remember Eros's message about taking the virginity of a goddess. Did he mean Artemis?

"So are her hunters. They vow their absolute loyalty to Artemis and to preserve their maidenhood. In return, they gain eternal youth and immortality"

"Does being turned into Chaewon comes with the package?"

"I don't know. Ask them next time" Kazuha shrugs off your question. "In the old days, when a man commits a crime against a woman; say a rapist or a cheater, Artemis makes them play her tribunal games"

"Is that like the ancient vesion of hunger games?"

You can swear Kazuha almost smiles. "In a way, yes. She takes them into her 'verse' and-"

"Hold on. Verse?" You ask.

"Dimensions created by the gods. Remember the places you get taken by the 'Ero' app? They are the verses of Eros. Or Eroverses, like he calls them. This place, is a verse of Artemis"

"Ok, get it"

Seriously, Eros should take notes from Artemis how to actually create a verse that's not a tiny room or a boxing ring with a deadly angel.

"So, here's how the tribunal games work" Kazuha continues. "Artemis takes her chosen prey into her verse and her and her hunters hunt down the unlucky guy"

"Great, how do we beat it?"

"That's the problem. We don't. The game ends when the guy dies"

"Wonderful" you remark in saracsm. "So we just wait till they kill me?"

"Don't be rudiculous. We need to keep moving. At least until we find out what to do. Afterall, you are the chosen one"

Right. Chosen one, you think. The chosen one with a magic dick that's pretty useless most of the time.

"Aren't you an angel? Can't you just get us out like you did when Yeji tries to kill me?"

"I can't" Kazuha answers. "This verse has its own rules set by Artemis. Apparently, they don't favour angels. And even if I can get you out of here, I won't. Because then Artemis will kill us all"

"Well...let's take a walk" You stride ahead into the forest, trying to enjoy nature for perhaps, the last time ever.

"Wait up" Kazuha calls, running after you. You stop to turn around.

"This whole place is full of traps. One wrong step and you are doomed. After me" Kazuha walks past, each of her steps slow and calculated. You follow her pattern as you wander deeper into this deadly playground of Artemis.

After a few minutes, you notice the place isn't completely silent like you thought before. The faintest rustle of grass would emerge evert few seconds. Earlier, you haven't noticed it but now with the air eerie with the threat of making one wrong move, it's as clear as ever.

"What's that sound?" you whisper to Kazuha.

"Shhh" She brings her index to her lips, gesturing you to shut up. "Just keep moving"

A few more minutes go on. There still isn't a change in scenery. The place stays cold and haunted with the gloom the pines cast. The silvery light a reminder of Artemis's absolute power.

Despite the cool of the place, you start sweating. Maybe it's the fear. The fear of not knowing what to fear. You still haven't run into anything dangerous or lethal till now and you feel like your luck is going to run out anytime.

After a few more minutes, your whole body is drenched with sweat. Your feet feels like they are on fire. "Can we stop for a while? It's getting.....tedious" you pant. Kazuha gives you a look that means seriously?

"Fine, we can rest. But just a few minutes" Kazuha plops down at the base of a tree, her eyes still scanning the surroundings. Even now, she's still as alert as ever.

You follow suit, taking your place beside her. You blow out a puff of hot air. "Why aren't they grouping up on us yet?" you ask.

"The hunters? Oh, Artemis likes to take her time. Waits for her victims to feel safe enough. She strikes when they least expect it. That's why I'm keeping my eyes and ears open" Kazuha answers and you can't help but notice the fatigue in her voice. She's tired too. She just hides it better.

"So does Artemis hate men in general or is there a specific reason?"

"No idea" Kazuha's eyes land on you. You know it's not the time but you can't help but admire her gorgeous facial features. And her exposed tummy.... "All I know is she rejoices in proving herself better than your kind in quite.....brutal ways"

"Forget I ask" Then you suddenly remember what Artemis have said. "Artemis said I'm not the first one to possess the mark. Is it true?"

A solemn expression loom over Kazuha's face. Her fingers toy with the grass covering the ground. "It's better if you don't know. Trust me"

Just then a cold breeze brush your face. The feeling is pleasant, almost soothing enough to make you forget about the danger you are in. Not a second apart, a sound similar to a boiling kettle emerges.

"Duck!" Kazuha yells.

A silvery arrow cuts through the air with alarming speed and if you were just a nano second late, it wouldn't be the tree's trunk the lethal tip impales in.

"Kazuha, you are an angel" you praises.

"Run!" Before you know it, Kazuha is sprinting ahead and you have to use every ounce of strength left to match her speed. It doesn't help that more arrows are heading your way and it's getting harder and harder to avoid them.

Your speed wavers and another flock of arrows rain down on top of you. You embraces yourself for the pain but with a shimmer, all of them go up in flames. No doubt the work of Kazuha.

"Kazuha, you are an..."

"Shut the fuck up" Kazuha catches an arrow in mid air and snaps it in half. "Keep moving!"

You don't stop running. Neither do the arrows which keeps chasing you down. One grazes your shoulder and you stumbles from the stinging pain. Nevertheless,Kazuha grabs you from the arms and keep you moving.

Your lungs are on fire. Your legs are on the verge of giving out. The will to survive is the only thing that keeps you going and even that's starting to fade. Surprisingly, you find yourself wishing for the mark of Asmodeus to emerge. Not for sexual purpose but rather for protection.

Suddenly, Kazuha halts and you run straight into her back, sending you sprawling on the grass.

"Why do you-"

Your question is cut short when you realize why Kazuha has stopped. Right in front of her, standing on a small hill is none other than the goddess Artemis herself.

"At last" she makes her way slowly towards you. "Eros's little pet is cornered"

You get back to your feet and when you turn around, you find out she's right. The hunters have formed a ring around you, their bows drawn.

"So much for Eros's talk about men being superior" Chaewon flicks her wrists and silvery light dance between her fingers. "Such weaklings"

You search Kazuha's face for any sort of reassurance. But there's no hope. She has already told you she's pretty much powerless here. Is this finally the end for the great one?

"Finish the angel first" Chaewon orders. "I will take care of our little Michael here"

The hunters act instantly. All of them draw their blades and charge towards Kazuha. Amidst the chaos, you can't help but wish for the mark to emerge. You are at the brink of death once again, why has it not shown itself?

Kazuha summons a blazing sword of light in an attempt to reflect the rapid strikes of the hunter but even she can't hold out against ten angry feminists. One slash cuts across her arm and another graze her abdomen. Golden blood pours out from the wounds.

Meanwhile, Chaewon is making her way towards you gracefully, taking her time. In her hand, she twirls a double edged sword. Her gaze icy cold, a hint of amusement within them.

"You know, I thought it would be harder" Chaewon muses. "With your mark and all"

Yeah, the mark. The blessing which betrays you in most desperate time.

"Where's your little mark, hmm? Or is it too scared to make its appearance?"

"You are not playing fair" you replies. Nearby, a hunter kneels Kazuha in the ribs and she stumbles.

"Who said anything about playing fair?" Chaewon steps slow as the distance between you narrows. "If you want to blame, blame Eros"

She stops and studies you like a predator capturing its prey last moment. Then with a flick of her fingers, she sends you flying upwards.

Your back meets the trunk of a tree with a loud thud and you land with your face on the cushion of grass. You feel like every single bones in your body have turned to powder. A shar pain creep up your legs and you groan in agony.

"What's wrong chosen one? We are just getting started"

You lift yourself up wearily at Chaewon's challenge. You can't feel your legs but you manage to stand up. A few feet away, Chaewon stands, her hands on her hips. She gives you an exaggerated smile.

"You are not already giving up, are you?"

"You little-"

You are not able to finish your words because once again, Chaewon lifts a finger and an invisible force drags you backward until you crush into another tree.

You stumble, kneels shaking and your face graze the grass. Your mind is a jumble of anger and fear. But it is soon overwhelmed by the pain that leaves your mind blank.

"Get up"

For some reason, Chaewon's voice seems distant. You use the last bit of your strength to lift your face off the ground and your eyes catch a blurry sight of Chaewon and the sword in her hand. Your eyes move further back and your heart twitches painfully.

Kazuha has been overwhelmed by the hunters. Golden blood is pouring out of even more wounds all across her body and her gladius has scattered off away. Her only futile attempts to keep alive are the blasts of light she often summons to drive away her enemies. But it is obvious that shes going to fall victim to their razor sharp blades very soon.

Maybe it's the power of friendship. Maybe you are just scared out of your wits. Neverthless, you feel the all familiar burning sensation that originates from your pelvis and spreads through your whole body. However, this time, lust isn't the only thing that accompany the mark's wake. There's another feeling that you can't quite put a finger on. All you know is that it's ancient and have been buried deep inside you for god knows how long. Now, it's finally making its presence known and you happily welcomes its emergence.

All the pain in your body have been washed away. Every broken bone and raptured vessels heal. You bring yourself back to your feet and crack your neck. Strangely, it gives you a sense of contentment.

"What's this madness...?" Chaewon mutters, her pupils wide like a deer in the headlights.

You look at yourself and mutter the same thing. The warm golden glow that envelopes you is there. A reminder of the invulnerability the mark offers. It's a sight you have grown accustomed to. However, there's an addition to the package this time. Every single vein in your body is glowing and humming with power. You can see the tiny rivers of gold that wound all over you. In this moment, nothing else matters except the fact that you have become one of the most powerful beings in existence. You feel invisible, untouchable. You feel like a.....god.

Chaewon spreads her palms, shooting out silvery tendrils towards your direction but they quickly diminish once they reach a few feets away from you. She tries to summon her bow and launch a volley of arrows but they follow the same fate as her earlier attempt to harm you.

"Don't waste your efforts. We both know it's not gonna work" You muse as you slowly close your distance to Chaewon.

The hunters attacking Chaewon has frozen with shock; all of them staring at the scene unfolding before them. How dangerous are they now if even their mistress is powerless against you?

"What are you staring at? Charge!" Chaewon's order break the hunters out of their trance and all of them charge at you at once, their blades drawn.

A voice inside you orders and you clasp your hands, sending out a radiant wave of red that wash over the hunters. For a moment, everything is still. Then, the hunters start acting in the craziest way possible.

Their faces flush a deep shade of red like those caught comitting a deed they are not supposed to. Their legs start trembling. "Fuck. No. What-" One of them mummur as she tries to stop her legs from quivering like crazy. Another cover her mouth with her hands to muffle a moan. Much to your surprise, a wet stain is growing at the crotch of all their jeans.

Not a moment later, all of the hunters have collaspe onto the ground, desperately pulling off their jeans. Some even rip the fabric apart. Thats when you see your handiwork. All of their pussies are wet and glistening; clenching around nothing as if asking for something to fill them up. Some of them start to dig a finger or two into their wet holes, pumping to compensate for the pleasure that only a cock can bring. The others are still trying to hold on to their dignity but it's clear as day that they are fighting a losing batttle. Without a single movement, a geyser of squirt erupts from a hunter and she lets out the most primordial scream. The less composed ones even start to make out with each other; their bodies pressed together and their fingers digging deep into each other aching cunts.

You feel like you are in the wet dream of a Chaewon stan. Not a single Chaewon but ten are giving you a free webshow. All of their dignity have been thrown out of the window. The only thing that matters now is to satisfy the need their pussies demand. In this moment, those hunters are no different from camgirls.

"You fool! What have you done?" No matter how much she tries to mask it, the panic in Chaewon's voice is crystal clear.

You shrug. "I don't know either but it seems like your hunters are horny"

Her face twitches in anger. "I will kill you" She unfolds her palms, sending out tendrils of blinding light in your direction. You close your eyes to avoid getting blinded and when you reopen them, nothing have changed except the fact that Chaewon stands, dazed.

"What- what the fuck?" Chaewon swears and you almost want to laugh but you gotta assert your dominance.

"Well, I thought you already know. The mark makes me invisible"

"It's not possible. The last time I-"

'The last time'. Once again, you can't help but wonder what she means by that.

"Last time?" You ask for the second time. This time, Chaewon doesn't brush off your question. Instead, she stutters.

"No...no...it can't be. That power. It's impossible.."

"Well, as you can see, it's not"

Wasting no time, you advance on Chaewon slowly, each step calculated and measured. There's no need to rush. It's clear who's the victor here.

It doesn't take long for Chaewon to realize her disadvantage. Wasting no time, she pulls out a dagger from her belt and lunge at you with inhuman speed. That's her mistake.

As soon as she reaches a few feet away, she's thrown off balance like an invisible barrier has stopped her. The mark doing its job very well.

"For someone who knows a lot about the mark, you are pretty stupid" You say as you hover over her limp form that lies on the ground.

"Stay away from me, you filthy animal!" The goddess threatens but both of you know it has no real bite to it.

You hear a loud moan and your eyes dart to where Artemis's hunters are having the craziest orgy. A couple is scissoring, their pussies rubbing against each other in a frantic and almost animalistic way. Their faces distorted like bitches in heat. One Chaewon is eating out the other who lays sprawled on the grass while another take a seat on her face. And one lays propped to the tree, her fingers deep in her pink hole and squirting a fountain with ever pump. It's a sight to behold.

Further back, Kazuha sits under a tree, panting. You feel a pang of worry after seeing all her bloody wounds but at least she will live. And you have another task to focus here.

Chaewon takes your distraction as an opportunity and throws a jab from down below but you quickly grab her waist and pin her hand to the ground.

"I must say, I do admire your persistence"

"Let go of me!"

Her voice is so desperate, so demanding you almost let out a chuckle.

"What is it you say again? Men are filthy? Well, now that filthy man is going to take away your precious virginity"

The reality of your intention dawns on Chaewon and her pupils contract with fear. No more is the triumph, cocky goddess. What lies beneath you is nothing but another immortal who has fallen victim to your power.

"You can't be serious"

"Oh, I am" You touch her top with a single finger and in no time, it burns to ashes, leaving her upper body bare. You can get a clear view of her pink perky nipples that seems to be demanding your mouth on them. But that can wait.

"Stop it!" Chaewon's free hand strikes you again but you repeat your earlier motion and pins it down to the ground. Now, both of her hands are trapped. She spits in your face but you couldn't care less.

"Snappy, are we?" You take one of her now erect nipples into your mouth and bite down with just the slightest force, eliciting a mewl from her.

"I swear I will - mmph" Chaewon's protests are silenced as your teeth sinks once again, this time a bit more harder. Your tongue swipes across the pink bud then around her aerola.

"You little - fuck!" Your mouth makes its way to her other nipple, which is no less stiff than the other. For someone who's being all defiant, her tits are telling a different story. You take your tine tasting every inch of Chaewon's nipple before finally pulling back after a particularly forceful bite.

Chaewon's face no longer have the initial fury. Instead, it has been clouded by a lust filled haze. She pant, beads of sweat trickling down her temple. Her mouth has been parted slightly but her vocal cords betray no sound.

"How is it, hmm? To be used by a man?"

You ask, closing your indexes and thumbs around her nipples before giving them another pinch. Her body jerks upward, legs trembling.

"You....you...have no idea....what you are..."

Her voice is so low it can be mistaken for a breath. Her chest heaves with each word, as if talking has become the hardest task in her life. Her lips part again but before she can mutter more nonsense, you shut her up with your own lips.

"Mmmmph" Chaewon's words get slurred, reduced into nothing but jumbles of muffles and moans when your tongue invades her oral hole. Your tongue explore, tracing every inch of her warm wet hole before it finally found its mate; her very own tongue. Your muscles interwined, greedily lapping up anything Chaewon can offer: the drool, the warmth, the whole squelching wet mess.

Your hands aren't mandatory either. A single touch with your index on her pants and much like her top, it burns away to crisp. As much as this new ability of yours is handy, you really wish it wouldn't be activated all the time. You don't want to end up stripping someone acciidentally.

As soon as her lower body is bare, your fingers snake their way along her inner thighs - tracing the supple path of skin on your way to her core. It doesn't take long for you to find her unprotected pussy despite your lack of vision. The wetness and these smooth folds are unmistakable.

You stop the finger fucking, just to imprint Chaewon's expression in memory before you fuck her up in all the right ways. The goddess is left panting like a bitch, lips parted and drool spilling. Not a trace of pride left in those silvery irises.

Your middle and ring fingers dig into her folds and even before you get their whole lengths in, Chaewon's already moaning like it's your cock which has entered her virgin hole. Perhaps this is a sample of what she will be like when you actually pound her to oblivion; screaming your name, begging and begging until she can't anymore.

It's the perfect revenge.

"For someone who hate cocks, you are already leaking like a faucet"

You mock before pulling your fingers back and ramming them back into her hole, earning another mewl from her.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Another thrust and thsi time, she actually speaks.

"Stop....stop....I..."

"Can't hear you"

And with that, your fingers go back to work, pumping her hole steady and in rhythm. Her pussy really lives up to its reputation of being a forbidden treasure to man. It's apparent in the way its tighteness engulf your fingers in a deadly grip.

The first few thrusts are tedious, her walls blocking the way with their millenial old tighteness. But after a few more pumps, all the protection crumbles and her hole becomes nothing but a playground for your fingers. And perhaps, for the first time, start spilling her womanly fluid.

You add your index, now fucking her with three fingers and it produces the most sinful of gasps and breaths from that shrewd tongue. Her cheeks are red; not a blush but rather an indicator of the heat you are pumping into her with every thrust of your fingers.

You allow your eyes to waver your attention from Chaewon's slut face just a moment and see the strangest scene unfolding. All of Artemis's hunters; all the Chaewons, who are acting like whores just a moment ago has now reached a new level of ecstasty. All of them lay sprawled out on the grass, their moans combining into a orchestra of lewdest sounds. Their legs are spread open and every moment or so, a geyser of squirt would erupt from their dripping pussies.

Wanting to test something, you abruptly stop the finger action on Chaewon. Then everything go still. The hunters stop being the rowdy ones they were just a few moments ago. The panting is still there but no more squirting. You almost burst out laughing.

Just as Artemis has said, they are really 'sisters'. They are 'one'. Not like you are a psychologist but you recognize they have a hive mind, which helps them coordinate their attacks perfectly. But the downside is, it also works when one of them is getting treated like a slut. If their mistress gets fingered, so will they. A brilliant flaw for you to utilize.

Eager to try out this new feature, you waste no time digging your fingers back into Chaewon's soaking cunt, instantly producing groans and moans from her hunters. Meanwhile, their mistress is far gone - pupils dilated and mouth hanging open like a fish on land. Even when your thrusts increase with each second, all the reaction you can get out of her are the momentary jerks and writhes of her legs. You have completely broken this goddess.

Nonetheless, you don't need anymore sign to realize that she's teetering on the edge. Her pulsing walls, the increased quaking of her thighs - all give the approaching end away. It doesn't take long for you to finally give her the release she so desperately seeks. With one last pump of your fingers, you make her crumble.

It seems to never end - the shower of juice erupting from her wet depths. It gets all over your clothes and your hair. But you just stand there, smiling like a madman as you take in the view of another goddess becoming prey to her own pleasure. Just another day for the chosen one.

When her orgasm finally subsides, Chaewon is left a mess - chest heaving and eyes rolled up. Her body is slick with sweat, glistening despite the misty haze of this place. Further back, her hunters has followed the same route. Their bare bodies lay limp on the grass, spent. You admire your handiwork for a moment before you move on to the next step.

If anyone thinks you are finished here, they would be wrong. This is just the prologue to your grand plan of deflowering the goddess. And even if she weren't a virgin, you would have still done the same. Because the mark of Asmodeus is hungry. And the lust it has brewed up in you needs to be satisfied.

And the mark knows it too. Because with a single will, all the clothes on your body shimmer in a blinding light and disappear. And that's when you see it; your cock, which has become the hardest material in the world. All your throbbing veins have become visible, glowing plae gold and enveloped by a faint halo. Not to mention the mark, burning a deep shade of scarlet. This is no longer a male sexual organ. This is the weapon of a god.

Triumphantly, your fingers entangle in the goddess's raven hair, bringing her face close to yours. Is that a slither of resistance you see in her eyes? It doesn't matter. This is your hunting ground and she is the prey.

"Tired already? We are just getting started dear"

Chaewon mutters something that sounds like something between a moan and a huff. It's hard to say with her broken voice.

"Say something bitch"

You spit in her face, a revenge for earlier. Still, the goddess is silent except for incoherent raspy gasps. She just stays there, her pupils dilated like a lifeless doll.

You should be proud of the job you have done. How thoroughly you have ruined Chaewon with your fingers alone. But seeing her this broken ruins your mood. Sure, you are still gonna fuck her. But where's the fun when the only reaction you can get out of deflowering her are bits and pieces of sound. It's a complete turn off.

And then there it comes again. The voice inside you. No. A tug would be more suitable - an urge that manifests so suddenly. Without thinking, you touch Chaewon's forehead with your index finger.

Much to your horror, a line of red starts to burn just below her neck. It wounds into a circle on her skin then trace a straight line across it. After a while, you realize. The mark of Asmodeus is being carved on her skin - the very mark on your plevis.

After the imprinting is complete, the mark flares to life. But unlike yours, it doesn't glow scarlet. Instead, it shines a brilliant blue. Chaewon's eyes open and for a moment, you panick.

Have you acidentally transferred your mark to Chaewon?

"Master"

The words that leave Chaewon's lips leave you confused. It's like the goddess have become a different person. She kneels, looking up at you with eyes full of life. The silver of them replaced by blue.

"How can I serve you?"

That's when you understand what this new mark actually does. It has turned the goddess into a slut by completely altering her will. Just how powerful have you become?

You decided to leave the question for later, focusing on your new servant instead.

"You can start by putting that mouth of yours to good use"

"As you wish, master"

Chaewon's fists close on your cock, starting off with a full fingers handjob. She pumps your pole slowly, admiring all those veins glittering gold. The pace is slow and yet, you find her touch addictive. Maybe this is what a goddess's handjob feels like.

"Master cock is so big....so beautiful..."

With that praise, she brings her face a sucking distance from your cock. Her lips are hovering just above your tip and you can feel her warm breath that tickles your length. If this is foreplay, it's doing its job very well. After a couple more languid stroke and tantalizing breaths, you can't take it any more.

"I think I told you to suck me off"

"Sorry master"

Her soft lips finally closes in around your tip and there isn't any words to describe how heavenly the feeling is. The way those pink things drag along your tip only to pull it back in - it's the emboidment of ecstasy. You could have just let her focus solely on your tip and blow a load into her mouth. That's how good it is.

But Chaewon have different plans. Her mouth suddenly takes more than half of your length in one swift bob. The action causes her hair to fall in strands around her face but she looks even more beautiful that way. Messy face, all her assests exposed and mouth stuffed by your pole. This is your favorite form of art.

"Fuck, Chaewon. Don't stop"

A moan reasonates around your cock - the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. You don't know if it was a muffled sound of graitude or a planned act but you enjoy it nonetheless. If not, you want her to do it again.

You take a moment to study your surroundings as Chaewon works her magic. Among the tall grass, propped by the pines are the hunters, who have been now tied up with translucent lassos. Not like it's necessary. They are too horny to even lift a finger.

The work is, without a doubt, done by Kazuha. And speaking of Kazuha, she nows sit on the ground, looking no less ragged than before. At least the bleeding have stopped. Her eyes are fixed on the scene of Chaewon blowing your cock. No sign of shame or embarassment on that cold face. The same face she has wore when you fucked her fellow angel Yeji.

You turn away from your audience back to the slutty goddess who's worshipping your cock. Her blowjob has become a total mess all this while - spit bubblig and drool spilling. Ever so often, a gag would comes out distorted whenver your cock hits the back of her throat. You look into those watery eyes and praise.

"Look at you, Artemis. All whiny about being allergic to man before and now you are letting a man shove his cock down your mouth. You must be the biggest liar ever"

Chaewon doesn't seem to understand any of your words so she just keeo bobbing her head. She has been brainwashed into a whore whose only will is to serve your cock. And you can live with that happily.

Chaewon doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. She just keeps impaling her hole on your cock again and again and again. Gag reflex seems a million light years away. Is this another perk of being a goddess?

You are becoming too consumed by Chaewon's sloppy head. It's filthy, wet and messy. A perfect brew of your darkest desires. If she keeps on with it, her pussy wouldn't be the place you are storing your load in.

It'd be so easy to get lost in the bliss her skillful tongue is providing but you have other holes to take care of. A s much as it's difficult, you grab a fistful of Chaewon's hair and stops her.

She looks up, chin drenched in her own drool. She almost looks disappointed about the abrupt halt.

"Let's take a look at that tight virgin hole, shall we?"

You ask and Chaewon nods in return.

"Is master gonna take my virginity? Finally fill my pussy with his hot load?"

If the Artemis in the distant past can see the brainless whore she hae become, she wouldn't have even tried to touch you. But now, it's too late.

"That's the plan. Turn around. Show me that ass"

"I can't wait for your cock to stuff me full, master"

And with that she turns, getting on all fours to display those pale cheeks. Her back is slick with sweat and it only gets you pumped up even more. You have no time for foreplay. Not with how drunk on arousal you are. You need to pound her cunt. Hard and fast.

"Ohhhhh fuckkkkk"

Chaewon lets out a carnal groan as soon as your tip part her lips, easing its way in inch by inch. Despite all the juices she has wet herself with earlier, you are surprised to find the grip of her pussy still unyielding. Her walls clench on you in a vice grip and if it's not for the mark, the pressure would have been unbearable.

You start off with a few slow thrusts, getting accustomed to the topography of her unused hole. It doesn't take long until your dick mold her insides to its shape. Getting the first taste of a man's dick, her pussy has already become addicted to the rigid foreign body stretching her out. Her walls are pulsing as if begging you to go deeper.

"Master. I need you to fill me up. Make me so full...nghhh"

You cut off Chaewon's breath by inserting another extra inch to suffice the goddess's thirst for your cock. The fingering earlier has done its job well to coat her walls with a natural lube. Her juice slicken walls allow you to ease in inch by inch.

The initial tighteness was no more. All it's left to do is stretch open the rest of her uncharted depths. You are in no rush. The only thing better than being the first time of someone is being the first time of a goddess.

The goddess who just tried to kill you.

It's sick but the thought is an unbearble turn on that gets your cock throbbing even more. All her daggers and arrows and blades are useless against your cock, opening her up like a gift.

"More. Give me more. Yes, stretch my cunt. Yes yes yessss"

Chaewon's past the point of saving. Cock drunk would be the only word to describe this new toy of yours. She won't stop begging even when she's getting impregnated by the gloriest cock to exist.

And the needy mewls go on when you finally bury your whole length to the hilt. You hold there, balls deep. A second passes. Then two. New status of Artemis: deflowered.

"You are filling me up so well master. I can feel you getting even harder. Are you gonna paint my insides? Put a baby in me? I-"

"Shut up, slut"

The constant nagging of Chaewon's get on your nerves in a twisted way, urging you to show no mercy to this goddess whose holes are the only use she will ever had. With a tight grip on her bangs, you pull her face up, looking into those rolled up bedroom eyes as you pound her hole without mercy.

The verse opf Artemis has become nothing but a backdrop for your impudent act - squelches of your pelvis against her cheeks echoing in every direction. It becomes even more harmonious combined with the raw unfiltered sounds Chaewon's producing.

So this is what it's like to ruin a goddess, you think. Taking Persephone anally was one hell of a ride(quite literally) but it's nothing compared to this. Artemis is a completely different breed. And this time, you don't have to worried about getting caught. You have all the time in the world. And you will spend it wisely.

Your tip kisses Chaewon's cunt as you ram your length into her with increasing force if that's even possible. Her cheeks jiggle like jelly each time you make contact and you can't resist the urge to spank that pale ass.

"Fuck!"

Chaewon mewls as soon as the first slap of many to come lands on her right cheek quickly followed by another to the left. You are memorized by the way her flesh ripples, which leads your palm to work relentlessly. Left, right, left, right and left, right until her round ass has turned scarlet - the proof of your ownership imprinted on her.

Getting pretty bored of her ass, you stop of a moment to turns her around in a missionary position. You give each of her tits a harsh slap before you ram your cock back into her snug cavern again.

"Yesssssss"

Eyes rolled up and tongue hanging out in a perfect ahaego face, Chaewon is no different from a cheap slut anyone can pound with a few bucks. That's how much she has come to love your rigid mamba violating her cherished hole in every way possible. And the best part is, she's loving it.

"Master. I'm gonna...."

You grip her thighs and opens her legs even wider to put yourself in a mating press position. This way, you can spear into Chaewon as deep as you could. When you start pistoning your hips, Chaewon shows her gratitude by spilling her juices for the second time.

You fuck her through her orgasm, not giving her a single moment to catch her breath. Afterall, she's your toy. And toys are supposed to stay there and be used whatever way their owner likes. And Chaewon is a perfect example.

You can feel the mark growing hoter, its red glow bathing Chaewon in a vermillion veil. As if in response, the blue mark on her chest shimmers even brighter. The sight of those two marks; an unbreakable connection pushes you over the edge.

If this isn't ecstasy, you don't know what is. You can feel the adrenaline inside you reaching the peak for a final time as you pump her cunt full of your hot, sticky cum. The first few spurts go straight to her womb soon followed by the remaining seeds in your balls, which are perfectly smeared all over her midriff and tits.

"Master's cum. So hot..."

Artemis mutters dreamily as you spill the few last drops on her face. Her fingers dig into her loose hole, digging out your cum before bringing it into her mouth.

"Mhmm. Delicious"

She collects more of your fluid all over her body, tating it like her favorite meal. On second thought, its no surpirse a slut like her can live on your cum.

You can feel the power already draining out from your body. The mark dims and fades until not a single trace of it is left on your skin. Then comes the fatigue, which hits you like a truck.

The world does a 360 degree around you and you have to hold yourself up on your palms. You could have just lied there and never woke up again. The mark has done its job and leaft you weak and frail.

Surprisingly, the mark have faded on Chaewon too. Her chest is back to the smooth canvas it once was. A stream of cum leaks out of her used hole as she lays there, heaving.

The scenery around you starts to shift. The wood has gone lifeless. The cold calm it once held has been replaced by an uncanny lifelessness. It makes your skin crawl.

Then cracks start to appear out of thin air like glass walls being fractured. The ground rumbles and a loud wail rises up from it. You panick, desperately seeking for something to hold onto.

"Hold there"

Kazuha's voice splits through the air.

"It will be over soon"

Who are you gonna trust if you don't trust an angel?

So you obey, trying not to scream as the whole place starts to crumble. More cracks have appeared and soon the world around you is covered by messy fractures.

Then the rumbling stops and with a sound like glass breaking, the scenery around you shatters to pieces.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

You blink and you are back to the hall of Eros.

"I would have clapped if my hands weren't tied you know"

Eros is still there, not an inch moved fron his position before with hands bound. That stupid grin has beem plastered on his face - displaying his pearly whites.

"You are welcome"

You retort before realizing you are butt naked and instinctively cover your manhood with your hands.

"Kazuha gets to watch but I don't? No fair"

You would have punched Eros in the face if you don't feel like you are gonna pass out any moment. The audacity of this little fucker to joke around after putting your life on the line.

"Kazuha? What are you doing? Get me out of these"

Kazuha looks like she would have left Eros that way if he doesn't speak up. Reluctantly, she brings down her arms in a wide arc and slash through the chain.

"Thank you"

Eros's tone sound almost mocking as he stands and stretches his arms. After cracking his neck, he looks straight at you with those brilliant blue eyes.

"Well done, Michael! You have accomplished what I exactly hoped for"

"What? Fucking another goddess?"

"Her? Shush. No way"

He gestures to the right and that's when you see Artemis and all her hunters, sprawled out all across the hall with their bodies bare. None of them seems to be conscious.

"Do you know the reason I get caught? Because I intended to"

Another flex. Typical fucking Eros.

"Can you just get to the point? I can't promise you my mind and body will be in contact after a few minutes"

"You always skip the good parts Michael" He sounds almost regretful. "The thing is I enter Artemis's verse with the helm of darkness on purpose to lure her here"

"Wh-"

"Why? You may ask. Because I want her to kill you"

You are really starting to hate that habit of Eros that always seems to refuse giving a straight up answer. The god has to get a little 'creative'.

"Wh-"

"Why? To awaken the mark fully. To bring out its full potential. And you saw it didn't you? All the pain is worth it. It's a small price to pay for absolute power"

You hate yourself for believing the same thing. You would gladly traded all the blood you spilled to unlock the mark's secrets. Only you know what that power, that total certainity was like. It's like nothing else.

"So.....all the torturing Artemis did help the mark to reach its full power?"

"Exactly" Eros snaps his fingers.

"What about the helm of darkness then? Don't tell me you lost it"

"Oh no" Eros spreads his palm and the power symbol of Hades manifests with smoky tendrils. "I gave her a decoy"

Did what Eros said explain everything?

Not at all. This love god looks all jolly and easy going on the outside but sometimes, his action reminds you that you have no idea how twisted he actually is deep down. He has helped you obtained all this power and for what? And also something Artemis had said about someone else possessing the mark before you.....

"Why-"

Your question is interrupted by a loud chime reasonating around the hall. You have absolutely no idea this place has door bells.

"Who......"

Eros trails off before his eyes fix on a single door of many that circles the hall. This one is a set of tall marble doors with numerous designs of flowers and swans engraved on its surface. Seems like something Eros would absolutely love. But the god doesn't look so happy right now.

"Oh...shit"

The doors swung open and bright rays of light flood the room. You have to put up your arms to shield your eyes. The glow finally subsides to reveal a figure, standing with arms crossed.

Anger lines are eteched onto Karina's face - offering a strak contrast to its otherworldly beauty. The leader of Aespa looks like she's going to explode any moment.

"Eros!" She grumbles. "What are you doing?"

The usual carefree look on Eros's face is no more. All you can see is fear and dread.

His lips part and seal rapidly like a seabass, unable to make a sound. After a while, realization dawns on his face that he can't escape this. And that's when he speaks.

"Mom?"

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

(This has been in my drafts for so long and I'm just too lazy to finish it. Might have gone a bit overboard with the word count. This is probably the longest fic I have written lol. Enjoy)

[papaya-twinks]

maybe a bit of intoxicated thigh riding w lando? <3

Warnings: smut, 18+, degradation, thigh riding

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

“I don’t care, Y/N,” Lando said, a smirk across his face as you sat on the bed, desperately trying to pull an orgasm from yourself with your hand, your finger trying to fulfil the feeling of Lando’s dick. He’d made you ride his cock into you were desperately close, before Lando had pulled you off, telling to ‘do it yourself.’

It was near impossible to replicate the feeling of his cock drilling into you repeatedly, your own fingers trying to pump as quick as he could move his hips, your other hand fiddling either your sore bundle of nerves. “I need you,” you whined, trying to tug his joggers down. 

“You can take them off, Y/N, but I’m not giving you my cock,” Lando said, shaking his head as you made another noise of protest. But you removed his joggers anyways, and suddenly, his muscular thighs looked a lot more appetising than your own fingers. 

“What’re you thinking?” Lando asked, knowing fully well why your gaze was latched onto his thighs. “C-Can I..?” you asked, your eyes never leaving his tan legs, your body subconsciously moving closer to his him. “I said anything but my cock,” Lando repeated firmly. 

You didn’t need telling twice as you moved to sit onto his lap, your heated core making contact with his warm skin, your body shuddering at the direct contact. “I’m not gonna do anything, Y/N,” Lando said as he rolled his eyes. 

Oh this bastard, he was not letting you have his cock, and that too, he was making you do it yourself? You were tempted give him a whine of protest or bite down on his collarbone like you did usually when you didn’t get what you wanted, but you refrained. 

You needed this, and there was no way he was going to let you have his thighs if you didn’t behave. You bounced a few times, a damp patch forming on his bare thigh as it flexed beneath you, your sensitive bundle of nerves running over his skin. 

You only needed to look at his face once to see that he was going to make you bring yourself all the way. Not a bit of help, nope. And it had all started because you had thought it would be a brilliant idea to comment multiple times how muscular one specific engineer of Lando’s was. And it had not pleased your boyfriend. 

You were stuck with the consequences of your own actions, it was your fault anyways. Your hands grouped his shoulders as you tried to chase your orgasm, his thigh slick with your juices, you cunt sliding over his easily. “You’re pathetic, Y/N,” Lando said with a scoff as you whined, nails digging into his shoulders.

You couldn’t say anything but whimper as you sped up your movement eye, your legs becoming weaker and more sore as you carried on. God, this was why Lando was usually the one in control. “Can’t even carry on, can you?” Lando said, his eyes deep onto yours. 

It was almost impressive how he could tell just by looking at you. You whined, still trying to grab that friction, finally finding a spot which made your head spin. “Need some help?” Lando smirked, to which you nodded quickly. Lando sighed mock-dramatically but didn’t decline. 

His hands clamped down onto your hips as he held your body to him, bouncing his thigh so you could feel the friction, whilst guiding your body down onto him. It was almost worrying that he knew your body so much better than you did. “Close,” you gasped, head falling onto his shoulder as he hummed. 

Your body went into small convulsions as your orgasm hit, your eyes rolling back, lashes fluttering as your lips parted, no sound coming out, before you bit down on his neck. “That should teach you,” Lando said, “not to act like a little brat,”.

[authorhjk1]

https://www.tumblr.com/coldfanbou/713193109093285888/yerin-looks-so-hot?source=share

Possible red idea for your colour challenge?

Light Red

(Jung Yerin X Male Reader)

Yerin's cute moans echo through the restaurant. The small sushi place near your house has become your favorite. The food is great. But that's not the main reason. The main reason is lying on the table you sat at, a couple of minutes ago.

That main reason's tight hole is squeezing your cock right now as you trust into her again and again.

You met the young singer a couple of weeks ago for the first time. Right here. After dinner and some rough sex in the restaurant's bathroom, the two of you came to an agreement. Whenever you called, she would come to this place. Whenever you wanted her immediately, she would send you a video or picture of her asking the address you are at.

You called Yerin today. An hour ago, to be exact. She did send you a picture.

"Can't wait to get used!"

Her text made you groan, desperate to finally do what you wanted to do to her during work today.

Just like right now. Yerin's dress is bunched up around her waist, revealing her tight snatch. Your thumb plays with her clit, making her arch her back off the black wooden table.

"Oh, god! Harder!"

She is in no position to voice her demands and so you put her in her place. A loud cry, filled with a mixture of pleasure and pain is, the result as you slap her left cheek. Not too hard, but she makes a surprised face, her hand holding the red cheek.

"Quiet."

You groan, afraid you are going to get caught. She is always very loud, always begging you for more.

"What do I have to do to shut you up once and for all, hugh?"

Yerin is about to give you a cheeky reply as you forcefully bottom out inside of her. It makes her yelp instead, her hips lifting off the table. Holding her down with one hand, you reach for a piece of sushi with your other.

"One piece won't be a challenge for you, slut. Right?"

You mock her, pushing the sushi past her lips.

Yerin is unable to reply. Your thumb on her clit and the food in her mouth stopping her from doing so.

Another piece quickly follows the first and a third one joins as well. Both of Yerin's cheeks are now bulging. You slap both of them respectively, making them sting.

"Are-you-finally-quiet?"

Moans are replaced by sobs. Her lustful stare turns into watering eyes. Her pussy tightens around you and you decide to give her the final blow. Yanking the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders, you expose her chest.

With every thrust you take, her tits bounce slightly. Without warning, you slap the right one. Before Yerin can even let out a cry, you hit the left one too.

The result is Yerin's climax. You'd found out that she has a thing for pain a couple of days ago. She likes getting punished.

A couple of pieces of rice escape her mouth as it forms an O shape. Her body quivers atop the table. Her nails digging into the wood. One leg escapes your grip, knocking over a bowl of rice. With a thud, it hits the carpet on the floor, making a mess.

"Horny idiot."

You growl at Yerin, reaching forward to wrap a hand around her throat. Increasing the pace of your thrusts, you don't give her time to calm down from her orgasm. Your hand on her thigh squeezes her so hard that it's gonna leave bruises, while the one on her throat starts to cut off her air supply.

Yerin starts choking, more food flying out of her mouth and landing on the table, her hair and her face.

"I've had enough of you, slut."

Both of your hands leave her body and your each for the red dress around her waist. Without even thinking about the consequences for a second, you grab the hem. A loud, drawn out tearing sound echoes through the room as you tear Yerin's whole dress apart. A huge rip at the front. From top to bottom.

You lean over the now naked woman, trapping her in place with your weight as you start pulling out the remaining sushi in her mouth. Once that's done, Yeri tries to talk again, but you quickly shove her torn dress inside her mouth. It also covers her face once you let go of it.

The sight makes you fuck her harder. Yerin, completely naked, her torn dress stuffed into her mouth. This is what she signed up for. She gladly excepts whatever you throw her way.

"I'm gonna ruin you, you know? Little by little. Everytime. Until you actually want me to use you in public. On stage, on the streets, during a fan sign. Everywhere."

You can barely hear her muffled moans as you keep fucking her. Her tight pussy sucks you in like a black hole. Always hungry. Never satisfied. Just like you, whenever she sends you a half naked picture, or a video of herself.

"Gonna cum, fuck!"

You groan, rubbing across her clit for a little longer, enjoying the fullness of her thighs one last time, by squeezing them harshly. A moment before you climax, you pull out. Wanting to paint her whole body with your cum. The first streak hits her stomach. From her navel, up to her tits. The second one hits the red dress. It's already ruined anyways. The third rope of your cum hits her chest and the last one, as your legs buckle from this insane pleasure and beautiful sight, lands on her dark hair.

Your masterpiece is finished. And you are drained completely. You are satisfied. And as you start getting dressed, you don't even think about how Yerin is supposed to get out of here.

[percervall]

I'm not a woman (I'm a god)

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Horner!reader Words: 3194 Warnings: Greek Mythology AU, descriptions of misogyny and sexism, Christian Horner is painted the villain, implied age gap (both are legal adults), smut, masturbation, p in v, loss of virginity, no beta we die like my sanity during f1 silly season

In which you claim what's rightfully yours

---

As the meeting progresses, you can’t fight the urge to speak up any longer. Had you still been at RedBull, you would’ve; you would have bitten your tongue until it bled because your father didn’t much care for your opinions, as he called it, despite the fact you had spent years on getting your Masters and then spent another three years on studying all the strategy calls the team had ever made to see where things could improve. No, your father allowed you to sit in those meetings just so he could keep an eye on you. But you are no longer under his watchful eye and scrutiny; Toto Wolff made sure of that. Oh, people like to say that you were stolen from the RedBull garage, your father playing the role of victim like he was born to do so, but nothing could be farther from the truth. You weren’t stolen like the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; no, you chose to be claimed by Mercedes and their team principal. Thus, here you are, part of Lewis’ team as a strategy engineer, about to do the one thing your father always reprimanded you for: speaking out against a figure of authority.

“Are you going to say what’s on your mind or do I have to make do with your facial expressions?” Toto drawls, making your decision for you. You can feel your heart beating against your ribs as nerves flutter in the hollow of your chest.

“With all due respect, sir,” you start, the room breaking out in a mocking chuckle but you will not let that deter you, “With all due respect, but this strategy will cost you points. You are all so sure that this race will lead to a safety car while experience tells us that the chances of that happening this weekend are 2% at most, and all safety cars deployed in the last six years have been due to car malfunctions. If you want to end up in the points, I would propose a two stop strategy, allocating at least two sets of mediums for the race on Sunday and forgoing softs all together seeing as how much they suffer from tyre deg at this circuit.” The room is dead silent when you finish. Toto’s eyes remain on you, his face a stoic mask.

“Check my numbers if you want,” you add, growing in your confidence the longer this staring contest continues. Toto looks at one of the other engineers, eyebrow raised with a silent command. You hear someone frantically typing as they run the numbers. Leaning back in your chair you take a sip of your coffee, willing your hands not to tremble despite how nervous you feel. Whispers of she’s right flitter around the room as more people join in with re-running your calculations. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling smugly at being proven right four times over. 

“Very well, Ms Halliwell,” Toto says, silencing the room once more. “We’ll try your set up with Lewis’ car and stick to what was already decided on by the senior members for George.” This is as much of a win as you are going to get right now, and you will gladly take it, but there’s a twinkle in Toto’s eyes that has your stomach in knots. You’re not sure whether it’s pride or awe; either way, it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite place yet you know you will crave it for weeks to come.  

When Sunday rolls around, you pray to whoever will listen that your numbers check out. You have gone over the statistics of this grand prix so often that you could probably recite them in your sleep at this point. Had it been any other race, you would have accepted whatever outcome, but this one means more. You need Mercedes to do well here in Austria, but more than anything you need your father’s team to suffer the consequences of their misogyny and ignorance. As you walk into the garage ahead of the race, your heels clicking against the cement, your eyes lock with Toto who gives you a slow smile as his eyes rake over you, taking in the way the stark white fabric of your team issued blouse and your tapered black trousers show off all your assets; you know you look delectable, and you know he knows it too. From the moment you met him for your job interview (which you landed under false pretences, using your mother’s name), there’s been an undercurrent of tension. It should’ve made you cautious, fearful even, of powerful men in powerful places, but Toto has been nothing but gracious, always indulging your retorts and meeting you tit for tat, a flirtatious game of cat and mouse that you’re enjoying immensely.

“I want you next to Bono during the race. You decided on the strategy, it’s only fair you get the recognition –whether it works or not,” Toto tells you. Nodding your head, you put on your headphones and take your place at the centre console. No more hiding in plain view, your father will see exactly what you are capable of –what you could have given him. Fighting the urge to chew the skin around your thumb, you keep your back straight and shoulders back as the race starts. You keep an eye on the weather satellite, scanning for any changes that could mess with the chosen strategy while listening to Lewis’ feedback for Bono, making suggestions for minute corrections to the set up of the car. Bono graciously forwards your ideas to the driver who slowly but surely climbs his way through the field. The RedBulls are still leading the pack, but you’re certain that your father’s confidence will be his downfall. As you had predicted, there is no need for a safety car during the race and, judging by the call to pit by your father’s golden child, they had been betting on one by using the softs at the start of the race.

“You were spot on with the tyre deg stats,” Bono tells you and you can’t help but smile wickedly back at him. There’s five laps left, and both RedBulls are on the hard tyre, which will never warm up in time to benefit from their longevity. George seems to be suffering a similar fate while Lewis is fighting with one of the McLarens for P2. Your eyes remain glued to the feed of Lewis’ on board camera as he begins the final lap. He is quickly gaining on the McLaren and in what can only be described as a masterclass, overtakes it to secure a P2 finish. Lewis’ radio message doesn’t even register; all you can hear is white noise as it dawns on you that you have shown everyone just what you’re capable of. It has whetted your appetite for more –for destruction. 

The team is celebrating a podium finish as if it’s a win, and you suppose to them it most definitely feels like one. You’re standing on the edge where the garage meets pit lane, watching them with a smile on your face when Toto comes to stand behind you.

“I want you front and centre when Lewis climbs that podium. You have earned this accolade and should be rewarded as such. Let your father see what he’s done,” he murmurs, voice low. It sends a shiver down your spine but you manage to nod in agreement.

“Good. Oh, and as part of your reward, I think we should celebrate accordingly in private, wouldn’t you agree? The choice is yours, take it or don’t. No hard feelings either way,” he adds, chest brushing against your back as he leans closer. Swallowing thickly, you nod once more, not trusting your voice as heat pools low in your belly at the insinuation. You can feel him slide something into your back pocket and you don’t have to check to know it’s the keycard to his hotel room. 

During the podium celebrations you stood front row, eyes steadfast on the podium with a smile so wide, your cheeks ached. You can only imagine the tales Crofty and Martin are spinning about you; no doubt making inferences about how distraught your father was to have his only daughter working for the rival. Let them spin their fairy tales, you had better things to get on with –or, more accurately, a better man. Sliding the key card into the lock, you enter the hotel room of your boss. Once you take this step, there’s no turning back, but you are willing to eat the proverbial pomegranate seeds. 

Toto turns around when he hears the lock click and you lean against the door. He looks incredible; sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a few of the top buttons are undone. 

“Wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle from the desk. 

“Yes, please,” you respond, accepting the glass he hands you. Toto smiles, and it’s so sly, bordering on debauched, that it has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Still some manners left in you. I wonder how long that will last,” he muses, raising his glass at you as he sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“They claim you have stolen me from RedBull, much like they claim Hades stole Persephone,” you say, straddling him before taking a sip of your wine. He can’t help but laugh when he sees the twinkle in your eyes, one of his large hands coming to rest on your hip.

“Oh, Meine Liebe, we both know you were not some prize that could be stolen. You saw the hell they created for you and thus you fled so you could set the world ablaze.” His use of a term of endearment is not lost on you, and you crave to hear more of it. 

“Stolen or not, I am here. What are you planning on doing to me?” you ask him, holding his gaze. 

“Oh, I plan on doing everything, darling. Every depraved fantasy you could think of and more,” Toto says as he puts his glass on the nightstand. You grow hot all over at his words. Despite your sharp wit –and even sharper tongue, if your father’s word is anything to go on–, you are about to enter previously uncharted waters. Of course you heard stories from your female friends while at University, devoured smutty book after smutty book, but actually doing any of it? Your father would dig himself a grave so he could roll in it if he ever knew what his little girl was about to do. The nervousness you felt earlier today is back in full swing as you try to find the words to tell him your biggest secret. 

“I-.. I’ve never done this before. I attended Oxford so I could live at home, remain under his watch,” you confess, not even able to say the words out loud. Toto studies your face, filling in the blanks with how your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

“No man has ever touched you?” You shake your head as you bite your lip. 

“Have you touched yourself, darling?” Toto asks and while he says nothing that could be construed as dirty, you gasp as if he has. Nodding your head, you can’t help but roll your hips against him, inadvertently grinding your pussy against the hardened bulge in his trousers. Toto swears under his breath, gaze darkening as he tightens his grip on you. 

“Will you show me, Liebling? Will you show me how you make yourself feel good?” 

Even if you wanted to, you’re not sure you could ever deny this man any request; not when he asks so caringly, as if your pleasure is the sole purpose of all of this. Breathlessly, you nod, letting Toto take your wine glass from you while you strip out of your work clothes. As you slide your blouse down your arms, you hear Toto groan as he takes in your figure clad in nothing more than your pale lilac bra and panties. It’s not the sexiest set you own, but it’s one of the few that doesn’t show through the white fabric. Before you lose your nerve, you climb back on the bed, eyes locked on Toto who leans against the footboard of the bed. He gives you a look, so openly full of desire that it makes your head spin and your pussy throb at being the object of his lust. Closing your eyes, you lean back into the pillows while your hand wanders. You can almost pretend you’re alone, your brain quickly supplying all the sordid fantasies you would never dare to say out loud. As your fingers inch under the elastic of your underwear, you can’t help but bite your lip as your hips writhe on the sheets. The tip of your pointer finger rubs against your clit and you gasp at the sensation, head thrown back. You’re already so sensitive, it won’t take much to send you over the edge. Applying the slightest bit more pressure, you begin to rub tight little circles, letting out the neediest whining noise.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Toto groans. 

“Please,” you whisper, lifting your head so you can look at him. His legs are spread and he palms his bulge while he watches you pleasure yourself, and that sight alone sends your head spinning. 

“Let go for me, darling,” Toto orders gently, and who are you to disobey him? Your body arches, head thrown back as you come undone under his watchful eye. 

When you open your eyes, you can see movement to your right. Sitting up on your elbows, you watch how Toto strips down to his underwear, and walks into the ensuite. You can feel your cheeks heat up when you spot the foil packets and the bottle of lube in his hands. Toto drops them on the bed before climbing on. Hovering over you, he brushes a strand of your hair back behind your ears.

“I want this to be enjoyable for you. Please tell me when you feel uncomfortable, tell me when something makes you feel good.” You nod, breath caught in your lungs. Toto smiles so tenderly at you that it makes you forget about everything else. He moves his hand from your cheek, down your neck to your bra strap.

“Can I take this off, Liebling?” he asks quietly. You can only nod, too enthralled by him to form words.

“Need to hear you say it, darling. I will always need to hear you,” Toto murmurs.

“Yes,” you whisper, swallowing down your nerves about him seeing you naked. He gently unclasps your bra, moving the straps down your arms before pulling it away completely.

“Beautiful,” he says softly, his eyes taking you in and you fight the urge to cover yourself up. Toto’s hands caress your skin, as if he is trying to commit every line and curve to memory. You arch up into his touch as he cups your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and it sets something alight in your core. Toto’s hands move lower, fingers curling around the elastic of your panties.

“What about these?” 

“Yes,” you reply quietly, lifting your hips to help him. He sits back on his knees, hands sliding down your thighs and his fingers are so close to where you’re aching for him, it makes you whine. Toto chuckles, moving his body over yours once more.

“You want it so bad, don’t you Liebling?” he murmurs in your ear, and the only reply you can form is a quiet uhu. He smiles against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before moving away to fully strip. Biting your lip, you watch him tear open one of the foil packets and roll it down his hard cock. Anticipation and nerves flitter low in your stomach; he’s definitely bigger than the vibrator you have hidden away in the back of your closet.

“We’ll take it slow, okay? You decide how far we go, you’re in control,” Toto reassures you, moving closer so he can lean down to kiss you.

“Okay,” you whisper before his lips are on yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair while he drags his cock through your folds and over your clit. Toto moves his lips down your neck, kissing and sucking gently, sure to leave marks. Your body seems to have a mind of its own as your hips grind against him and you feel a desperation taking hold of you.

“Please,” you sigh.

“Tell me Liebling, what do you want?” Toto murmurs.

“Please.. Need you- need you in me,” you all but whimper, “Fill me Toto, please..” He groans against the skin of your neck at your request. Toto fumbles blindly for the lube and applies a generous amount to his cock and your pussy. Biting your lip, you lean up and watch as he slowly, so very slowly, sinks himself inside of you. The stretch has you panting and you feel how you clench around him. He holds you close, letting you adjust to the sensation of being filled completely. 

“Need you to move, Toto,” you moan, fingers clawing at his back. 

“Doing so good for me, darling. Taking me so well, fuck..” he groans against your skin as he sets a languid pace, and while it’s slow, his thrusts are so deep. 

“Ha-harder.. I can take it.. Please..” you whine, Toto eagerly complying with your demand. The only thing you’re able to do is cling to him as he keeps fucking you, whimpering every time he hits a spot inside of you that brings you just that teeny bit closer to the edge.

“Need you to cum, darling. Can you do that for me?” he asks as rubs his thumb over your clit. 

“Uhu,” you whisper meekly, unable to form a single coherent thought as you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Close.. Toto… Please.. Need.. Need to-..” 

“That’s it. God, you look so beautiful, just taking my cock like this. Come for me, darling.” And with that something snaps, your body arching as you feel your pussy clenching around him in waves. Toto keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release, but you’re too far gone to pay attention. He keeps pressing kisses to your temple and hairline as he carefully pulls out, making sure the condom stays on. The loss has you whimpering.

“I know, I know,” Toto coos, “I’ll be right back. Did so good for me, so proud of you.” He gives you one last kiss before getting up to dispose of the condom and returns with a flannel to clean you up best he can. He throws it down by the side of the bed, and takes you in his arms. Your body feels completely boneless and you try to stifle a yawn. 

“Take a nap, Liebling. We’ll get properly cleaned up in a bit.” Nodding you allow sleep to pull you under as Toto whispers sweet nothings against your hair. 

written as part of @footballffbarbiex’s kink bingo challenge

It's not the 10k fic I joked about, but I finally managed to write the Greek Mythology AU I've been thinking about since early last year. Wanted to get this done and up before more information comes out during this delayed silly season, so if things feel rushed, it's because they are. This fic was heavily influenced by Bea Fitzgerald's Girl, Goddess, Queen; if you love retellings of Greek mythology, please check it out

Please let me know what you think; you comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me! 💜

[flowerandblood]

I don't like many of the authors' decisions here – sometimes their tropes, sometimes their choice of how they present events, dialogues, sometimes their characters, relationships between them or their appearance. It's not a bad thing. I have a right to feel this way.

But I would never tell them about it. Not because I don't have the courage to do it but because it would give them nothing, nothing good. You criticise when someone asks for it – when someone doesn't, then you should keep quiet.

Why? Because perhaps someone does not want this criticism and it's their right too. I, for example, don't care and I don't want to know how much someone dislikes something in my work. I don't need the fake appreciation of others, just as others don't need mine.

If I don't like someone's stories, I just leave them alone. God bless all of them! Write and be happy.

No one here is an oracle or judge, and some people feel that way. If you don't like what the authors are writing and their choices, give them a holy peace or else all you'll achieve is that they'll be discouraged from writing – they'll think: maybe nobody wants to read this after all, look at my characters, maybe it's pointless, maybe everyone thinks about me and my writing this way.

Sowing doubt and passive humiliation is very popular here for some reason and I find it incredibly annoying. People don't know when to shut their mouths and when their private opinion to which they are, after all, entitled hurts others, making them uncomfortable.

Our right to free speech should not cut someone's wings and mock them. This is an expression of disrespect and basic culture.

Not everyone has to want to change, to develop if it is not their profession but a simple hobby.

Anonymity does not make malicious gibberish sound any smarter, and a large audience or reactions under posts does not make anyone entitled to post an opinion in which they criticise works of others for their choices.

"Why do you write with only small letters? It's so annoying. This character would never do this, are you dumb? Aemond would never betray his family! Oh nooo, next Visenya on a big dragon? Why these OC's are so boring? Reader insert is just for you because you are desperate to fuck. Why do your OC is fat? Why do your OC is slim? Why do make your OC look like this, why won't you try something new? Why do you put Alys in your story as a third wheel when she is Aemond's real love interest?"

Shut. The fuck. UUUUUUP. GOD.

You say – you don't agree, don't read, I have a right to my opinion. Well, I say: your right does not absolve you from thinking about the feelings of others.

You are hypocrites. You cry and make a hiatus when someone sends you a nasty anon writing that you write crap, but you devote 2,000 words on your blog to why a certain trope doesn't make sense, why other authors don't have a right to make their OC's look the way they want.

What you write is not private, it's public. Who are you writing it to? Is it an expression of your frustration? Those you write it about can read it. They may feel very, very bad about it, they can think to stop writing at all or make themselves to do something against their will. But that's not your concern anymore, right?

Taking responsibility for your own words only when it's convenient for you is an expression of immaturity and that's what I see in this fandom – most people here are afraid of adulthood and the clash with it. Because in adulthood everything we do has consequences to face.

But it's easier to say that we simply have the right to express our opinion, no matter how hurtful and unfounded it may be.

I want to be clear – I will see anyone reblogging or write this kind of posts – I will block them. Even if I like you, if you are with me for a long time. I don't want to see this kind of toxic behavior on my wall ever again. Enough is enough.

[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 2

~ ch. 1 here ~

content warnings: f! reader, fluff, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex (m receiving), smoking, religious trauma, bisexuality

word count: 7.1 k

When I meet Matty the following Thursday, it’s in the city center. Feeling nervous and awfully out of place, I cover my eyes with my hand as a kind of mock-visor and search briefly for his familiar face in the square that’s packed with older gentlemen gossiping and families blowing bubbles each bigger than the last. I take a seat on a bench near the middle of the piazza when I don’t see him, hoping I’ll be somewhere he can spot but not as awkward-looking as I might be if I stood still watching the scene like some sick, American voyeur.

Matty walks up with the gait of a bad Mick Jagger impersonator. I can see now that he’s all limbs though not in a bad way; in a way that exaggerates his movements and announces his presence to the world around him. He seems comfortable with the reality that people will look at him. I suppose it makes sense, given his choice of career, but it still mesmerizes me.

I watch him as he walks towards me. He’s wearing a fitted t-shirt that exposes his arms to me for the first time. They’re golden and covered with a variety of tattoos in different styles; from his biceps all the way down to his wrists. Eventually, he notices me looking and his face breaks out into a smile. He nods up to the cathedral to my left as he approaches me, giving me a quick, fraternal hug.

“How do you like it, then?” he asks, eyes trained on the holy building.

“Matty, that’s a church,” I state plainly, “I spent my childhood in places like that, and I’m pretty sure I’ve learned that God doesn’t like girls like me.”

“If God exists, I promise you’re one of his favourites,” he laughs as he says it, as if it’s not one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me in my life.

“What do you know about God?” I ask.

“Oh nothing, really,” he concedes, “Just that he’s the most vicious, generous bastard in the world.”

I eye him as he says the words. I suppose that must be true for him. I resent the idea that our accomplishments and qualms are all consequences of our virtuous or sinful behaviors. It’s asinine. But if God is real, he’s certainly blessed Matty – with beauty, intelligence, love, money. 

If God is real, he’s cursed me to be something immutably unlovable. Damned to rot from the inside out for the rest of my life. I don’t believe what Matty says, even for a second. There’s no way I’m one of God’s favorites. 

Matty waves his hand in front of my face, snapping me from my thoughts.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I didn’t consider that you might have…religious trauma or something,” he assures me.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I say, though truthfully I’m less sure than I say. I wonder if entering the cold, marble palace will transport me back to my youth; to standing primly in church as a child, scared to make a wrong move. Scared to think a sinful thought. Considering each older woman around me, their beautiful hair covered by cotton squares in a performance of modesty. I envied them, how easy they made it look to live by the rules. How little they seemed to struggle with keeping their mouths shut and their shoulders covered and denying themselves the indulgence of imagining another woman’s warm, sweet lips on their own.

Matty seems to clock my hesitance. He takes my hand and leads me in and I was so wrong. 

It’s not cold inside, it’s breathtaking in a way that makes me feel welcome. On the outside of the central atrium are alcoves, each decorated more elaborately than the last. My senses are overwhelmed by the smell of incense, the sounds of hypnotic Latin chanting, the sight of refracting, colorful light. It feels Heavenly. I suppose it’s meant to. 

Matty draws me towards one of the scenes that’s painted on the perimeter of the nave. It depicts a woman washing Jesus’ feet. Her head is bowed in submission, focused completely on the task at hand. In her hands is her long, black hair, which she uses to wipe at the top of Jesus’ feet. The chiaroscuro of the scene illuminates the action; everything else is noise. All that exists is her devotion.

“She was a sinful woman,” I say, “A prostitute, I think.” Matty raises his eyebrows in consideration.

“Was it like a punishment or something? Making her wash his feet?”

“No,” I breathe, “She did it to show him that she knew who he was. Knew he was worthy of being revered.”

“So her taking care of him was a sign that she understood him? Or what? Loved him?” 

I shrug. “Isn’t that what we all do for the people we love? If we’re loving them right?”

“I suppose so,” Matty turns his head to look at me. He must see something on my face – a flicker of an emotion or a thought – that he recognizes because he adds, “But it’s no one’s fault if they haven’t been loved right. It doesn’t make you unloveable. It makes the other person a bad lover.”

“Well I suppose we can’t all be as easy to love as Jesus, can we?” I sigh, moving away from him, towards the center of the church.

I sit in one of the pews towards the back. In front of me are tourists and locals; people of all backgrounds, colors, and ages approaching the altar. Some of them have brought candles, hold rosaries. They appeal to God, beseeching his benevolent will. I empathize with them, even though I have serious reservations about the efficacy of their methodology. It’s beautiful how much they care about their fellow man.

When you see a woman wearing sheer tights, gray hairs combed perfectly into an updo, and kneeling on the cold tile floor with her hands pressed together, twins conjoined in supplication, you know that her motive cannot possibly be her own wellbeing. As selfish as we humans can be, it would be blasphemous to come to God’s house and light a prayer candle for yourself.

Matty sits down next to me, close enough that our legs are touching: his corduroy pants to my bare legs, pebbled by the cold air. I remember sitting in church with my crush as a girl, feeling wretched for wanting to inch closer to her. When I finally let our legs touch through layers of wool fabric, the excitement of touching faded instantly, giving way to the all-encompassing shame of the sin I’d committed. I reject the shame now, gently pushing my thigh further into Matty’s to prove to myself that it’s something I’m allowed to do, even in church. I’m allowed to touch him. I’m allowed to look at him and be distracted by his handsomeness. I’m allowed to think about his lips, plump, rosy, and left open wantingly. I’m allowed to think about his hips, how easily they swayed to the music the night I saw him in the club, and how deeply the rhythm seemed to be embedded in him. I’m allowed to think about his sculptural arms and nimble, calloused fingers. I’m even allowed to lust after him, to daydream about how good he could make me feel, if he wanted to. If I wanted him to.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, breaking my train of thought. 

“I don’t know,” I shrug, trying desperately not to feel caught, “You?”

“Thinkin’ about the people who made this place. All of the gold light fixtures they had to weld. I mean fuckin’ hell look at this,” he points to a sconce on the wall. It’s carved in the shape of winding vines and inlaid on the front are mother of pearl accents positioned in the shape of a cross. “They did it with much more primitive technologies than we have as well.” I nod along. 

“The devotion,” I muse. 

“What’s that?”

“Think about the devotion they must have had to God in order to create such a beautiful thing for Him. It would show if the constructors didn’t believe. They would have phoned it in; cut corners on the carvings in the pews and the intricate architecture of the dome,” I tilt my head to get a better view of the dome in question. Inside of it, windows filter perfect yellow light into the building and angelic sculptures stand guard over the heavens. 

Matty throws his head back completely, looking up towards the sky like there’s something up there that will save him or give him a more profound understanding of the place where his feet dwell. It’s misguided; I’ve spent enough time looking up to know that. There’s nothing good God can teach us that we can’t learn on our own. It’s nice to imagine sometimes, though: that if you look a little harder or listen to the silence on your knees for a minute longer, all of a sudden the answer to your problems will be revealed. 

With his head towards the sky, Matty’s neck is open and vulnerable to me. A strong vein is prominent on the right side of it and his Adam’s apple protrudes, a silhouette that’s so thrillingly masculine. It feels intimate that he would let me see him like this: all awed and curious and unguarded, like a dog that’s rolled over to offer me his belly. I’m flattered that Matty feels safe getting lost in front of me.

I admire how open he is to the beauty of it all. It’s because churches aren’t places that make him instinctively put his guard up. On the other hand, churches for me are places where I was fed lies, Sunday after Sunday. Where old men seized upon my innocence and insecurity and forced poison down my throat until I swallowed every last drop. I’d had to go through withdrawal when I finally got the antidote. It was arduous, sweaty, painful. I learned to question everything a little too well. I don’t believe in any kind of magic anymore; I can no longer believe anything that’s not right in front of my eyes. God took that from me. Matty is lucky God didn’t take it from him, too.

I look up, following his eyes. It’s all so beautiful it almost loses its meaning. Everything is marble or silk or stained glass. It’s too much all at once. I can tell it’s all spectacular but in the flurry of everything, each individual marvel loses its luster. As I tip my head further and further back, I get a little dizzy and the colors that float above me begin to bleed into each other in a kind of kaleidoscopic haze. I snap my head back up; back to reality. I reach out to hold on to Matty’s arm.

“Can we go now?” I whisper to him, still wanting to preserve the sanctity of the place for the other patrons. 

He nods in wordless understanding and leads me out.

–

The scorching heat of midday eventually breaks and yields a brisk night. When the sun sets, my skin remains sensitive, showing temporary, pale markings when I press my fingers into it. It hurts a little; a reminder of the fun I had that made me forget to reapply my sunscreen.

I sit at a table with Christina, Nina, and her friends. Some of us indulging in an aged wine from the region and others vying for an Aperol even though the sun is long past set and the orange bittersweet liquid now looks opaque.

“You know the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new,” says Nina, grabbing another glass of the chianti. 

“Like I’ve never tried that before,” I answer. It comes out meaner than I’d expected; though how could it not? I’m not a teenager dealing with a first kiss who pied me off for a blonder, more popular girl, I’m an adult who built a life with someone and rearranged my guts to fit her into every place that was important to me. Who introduced her to my parents and friends and was now having to wait for the dust to settle in an explosion that blew the whole thing to pieces. 

There are so many life-or-death questions that remain unanswered: Which friends will take my side, and which will take hers? If I have a fling with a toned Italian Adonis this summer, which of our so-called friends will stop inviting me to Dyke Night at Ginger's? Which of them will forget I exist just because I’ve left the city?

No, getting under someone new won’t help any of that, I decide. 

“Sometimes we all need a distraction,” remarks Nina. “Look, the truth is that a breakup uproots your whole life. You don’t know which way is up, you don’t know which places are safe from them, especially in New York. I remember when Mason and I broke up, I didn’t go below 16th Street for a whole month, just because I knew I’d be safe from him if I stayed uptown. My point is more that you don’t have to worry about any of that. You’re in fucking Italy and she’s gone back to Michigan while she figures out her next move. So do exactly what you want for once, it’s not as though you can do that when you’re in a relationship.”

Exactly what I want. The words echo in my mind as the savory wine causes my neurons to sing. What exactly do I want?

–

It’s just past ten when I meet Matty at a cafe near our homes. A late night up with the girls means I’m cursing myself for not arriving early enough to order a cappuccino. Matty is leaning up against a chair with his sunglasses on, looking down. He holds his phone in both hands, a cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right. He exhales some smoke from his lungs and looks up to see me walking towards him.

“Y/n!” he smiles, immediately putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek, “How are you, darlin’?” I can feel my cheeks getting warm due to our proximity and his openness. 

He has a European self-assuredness to his movements. I’m not stupid enough to think that all of Europe is the same, but there’s a facility with which he takes my hand. Whereas, if I were to touch somebody, I would pause and hedge and overanalyze before reaching out. Even more so if it was someone I liked—which I’m slowly realizing I do.

“I’m good,” I smile at the dark lenses of his sunglasses. I hate those little pieces of plastic for keeping me from seeing his brown irises in the sun. I bet they would sparkle. I want to steal them from him and hide them so he can never wear them again and I’ll always be able to see the magic that happens in his eyes. Maybe it would hurt him, maybe his crow's feet would become more pronounced but I don’t care even a little bit. I want to know what it feels like to look into his soul again. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask.

Matty nods toward a light pole a few meters away. Propped up beside it is a shiny black Vespa. 

“Thought we’d take a little day trip to the lake,” he says.

“Oh no, I can’t,” I say out of instinct. 

“Oh,” he deflates a little, “why not? Have you got somewhere to be?” I look at him embarrassed. 

“My mom would kill me if I got on a motorcycle,” I say. Truthfully, I’m scared more by the feelings that bloom in my stomach at the thought of holding onto his waist than the thought of riding the vehicle itself. He breaks into a toothy smile and crinkles sprout at the edges of his eyes.

“Your mum’s not here. How old are you, again?” he asks. I decide that doesn’t deserve an answer, instead opting to roll my eyes pointedly at him. “Besides,” he continues, “it’s a Vespa, not a motorcycle.”

“Do you have a helmet?” I question, timidly. He reaches out to my tote bag – embroidered with the familiar emblem of Shakespeare and Company – and tugs my silk scarf from it. His hands move tentatively towards my head, face questioning softly if he can touch me. I give an imperceptible ‘yes’, and soon his warm hands are cradling me. He places the scarf lightly on my head and then moves his attention down to my chin, tying it in place delicately. He reaches out to caress my jaw.

“There you go, princess,” he coos. The nickname doesn’t have the sting of taunting it once did. It feels sincere; like Matty really believes I should be treated with the utmost care. As soon as I can begin to smile up at him, he’s gone again, throwing his leg up to straddle the bike. With his Wayfarers covering his eyes, slicked-back hair, and tan skin, he looks every bit the rockstar Nina’s friends say he is.

I find myself skipping to him and straddling the bike behind him. I can’t see his face but I imagine it must be twisted into that ridiculous, self-assured grin I witnessed on the first night I met him. Where it once produced acrid bile that stained my throat with hatred, it now endears me to him. It’s indicative of a boyish playfulness, a thrill-seeking tendency that I so admire. Girls can’t afford to be silly and I’ve been surrounded by them for so long. I want to walk around in Matty’s skin for a day and learn what it feels like. 

What does it feel like to him when he walks home alone at night? It must be how I feel when I walk during the day. No– it’s even more free, it must be. Even during the day, I cringe imperceptibly away from every man I pass on the street, no matter what part of town I’m in or whether I have my headphones on. 

When Matty meets a girl and chats her up, he must not feel any of the apprehension that I do. No poking and prodding to see if she’s the one straight friend that’s tagged along to the gay bar because she’s just “so tired of men” or the sweet, bi-curious loner who’s looking for her first girl-on-girl action. He can just approach them without pretense and genuinely try to get to know them. He can entrance them with the arcane physics of his adorably curly hair and the spellbinding timbre of his speech.

When he speaks up, people must listen to the deeper, commanding pitch of his voice. They must be piqued by the melody of his Mancunian accent. They must believe him, perhaps even when they shouldn’t.

Do I want him? Or do I envy the ease that seems to come with being him? 

Do I want to feel his insides? Or do I want to feel him inside of me? 

I snake my arms around his middle, trying not to dwell on the soft cotton and lithe muscle that cover his torso. I clasp my hands together just under his ribs.

“You ready?” he asks. I press my cheek to his back, bracing for impact. I nod against him.

“Yeah,” I whisper. He chuckles at my hesitance and hits the accelerator.

And we’re off, bumping down old cobblestone roads, bathing in daylight, and meditating to the sounds of the city – babies crying, birds chirping, music playing, meat mongers yelling like showmen – and it’s not scary. Matty is solid underneath me, resilient. He runs a hand through his curiously straight hair like it’s nothing to him. 

On our way to the lake, Matty slows down at a fruit market packed with old ladies haggling with one another. He puts the kickstand for the Vespa out, twirls the keys around his hand, and pockets them. Then he strides over to the gaggle of nonnas greeting each of them in due course. 

“Come stai, Matteo?” 

“Come sta l’america?” 

“Che rockstar!” 

They clamber for his attention like he’s a grandson they haven’t seen in several years. 

“Tutto bene, grazie,” he manages, his English tongue contorting around the Italian. He still sounds anglophonic when he pronounces the words, but they cheer and coo all the same. Matty beckons me from the bike over to the fruit stand. “What do you want, darlin’?” he asks when I arrive next to him. 

I look down at a ripe selection of fruit that’s bursting at the seams with juice. Apricots the color of the sunrise, jewel-toned berries, and peaches: fuzzy, soft, and yielding – not unlike human flesh, I think. My thoughts wander to Matty’s hands and cheeks and thighs. What would they feel like if I touched them? Would they give? Would they warm me? Could I squeeze him hard enough to make him burst?

“Andiamo a Lago di Garda,” Matty explains. The nonnas grab a paper bag and begin pointing to the selection of fruits. “Albicocca, pesca, frutti di bosco,” they gesture to each in turn. Their voices undulate and vary in pitch as they describe the fruits. It sounds like verse to my ears: romantic, melodic, and exquisitely idyllic.

Matty turns to me, “They want to know what you want.”

I look at them – their pink noses and wiry eyebrows and floral aprons – and smile. I mime how many of each I’d like and they pack our bag to the brim. They pass the fruit to me as Matty pays what he owes, bidding them farewell. He runs up behind me as I approach the Vespa and takes the bag from me, setting it at his feet. Then he reaches into his pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. He grabs one with his teeth and lets it stay there, nestled between his lips. My eyes remain trained on his every movement and he notices, tossing me a lighter as he starts up the bike.

“You light it for me, sweetheart?” he asks. My hands fumble with the lighter, bringing it to the end of the cigarette and idling there while Matty inhales. When it doesn’t light right away, he brings his hands up, cupping them around the end and they graze my fingers on the lighter. We look like two school children telling secrets and the moment feels as intimate if not more. How I’d love to know his secrets, each and every last one.

I release the lighter and Matty lets the cig hang languidly on his bottom lip.

“You want one?” he asks.

“I’m good,” I say. 

“Too right you are,” he replies, “hold on tight darlin’.”

–

Matty drives calmly down the motorway as I clasp my hands together as hard as I can. The breeze whips against my face and chaps my lips but I don’t mind. With the sun on my face and Matty underneath me, I feel unreal, unstoppable. As we reach the lake, the trees become more abundant. They flank the roads that lead to the beach and smell like fresh-squeezed lemonade, refreshing and revitalizing.

We finally slow down and sit on the rocky shore. Matty hands me a basket of berries and I immediately pop one in my mouth, enjoying the sweet juice that explodes on my tongue. 

Next to me, Matty bites into a peach. The juices run down his chin and he uses the back of his hand to wipe them off. 

The sticky juice glistens on his hand as he puts it down on the rocks to support himself. I’m mesmerized by the way the sheen that covers his hand catches the sun. I’m like a magpie drawn to anything shiny and ripe and sweet, not content enough with the fruit that’s bursting in my own mouth. I need to have his too.

“Can I try it?” I ask. Matty turns to me mid-bite and hands the peach to me as he chews the bite in his mouth. With the fruit in my hand, I inspect the marks his teeth have left, the place where his tongue has been. The thought that the tangy, sweet flavor will be laced with the taste of Matty’s mouth is absolutely delirium-inducing. It intoxicates me like a drug: the thought that I want him inside of me, that I could have him inside of me if I only lick the spot in front of me. I take a bite out of the yellow flesh and suck the juice into my mouth before passing it back to Matty. 

It’s better than I expected. Warm from being outside, not cold and refrigerated and sterile like the fruit Claire and I used to buy in New York. It’s soft, yielding easily to my teeth and tongue. And it’s sweet, sticky. The surface of the flesh is covered in Matty’s saliva and it seems to make me hungry, truly hungry, for the first time in months. I want to devour the peach and then the berries and then every other perfectly imperfect food I can find. It tastes like vitality. It tastes like desire. 

“That’s really fucking good,” I declare. 

Matty inspects the dents I’ve left in the fruit. Then he runs his tongue over the fuzzy skin and yellow flesh before biting into it. My skin burns from the sun and the eroticism of the situation. We’ve each been inside of one another now, him in my mouth and me in his. I want to taste him properly, from the source.

“How come your hair is straight today?” I ask, reaching my hand out to touch a strand that’s fallen over his face to partially obscure his eyes. It’s stiff and crunches beneath the pressure of my fingers.

“My natural hair would have fallen in my face and gotten us into an accident, especially given the fact I have to drive on the right side here,” he answers, leaning back on a boulder on the beach. I consider his face, trying to imagine his absent ringlets. 

“I wanna see your curls,” I say. I kneel next to him to get a better vantage point. From above, I see each gray strand of hair that invites the light into his mop of curls. I hold his gray streak up to the light and let my hand linger as it falls into his hair and then down to his face, feeling the rough stubble beginning to form on his cheeks.

“Yeah? You like my hair curly?” he teases, a blush gracing the tops of his cheeks as he looks up at my face. 

“A lot,” I nod. 

“I’ll never wear it straight again,” he says to mollify me.

“Good,” I state. I stand up and take my sundress off so I’m standing before him in a white cotton bra and underwear. Matty’s eyes go wide as I remove my clothing and hold my hand out to him.

“Come on then,” I encourage. He stands up smiling, unbuttons his shirt, and removes his trousers, leaving him more naked than I am. 

I thought I was beginning to know Matty, but seeing his bare chest reminds me of how much I have left to discover. It’s littered with poems and phrases, crests and colors. His shoulders are broader than mine and they’re covered in sturdy muscle that continues down to his pectorals and upper abdomen. I’m staring, I’m sure of it. He’s hard in all the places I’m used to softness and wide in the places I’m used to encircling in my warm, small hands. I grab his arm and drag him towards the lake, submerging my head in the cool water as soon as it’s deep enough. When I emerge, I push my hair back and toss some water in Matty’s face.

“Oi! What was that for?” he exclaims.

“You said you’d never wear your hair straight again,” I remind him, “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Matty kneels before me as I scoop handfuls of water onto his head until he’s totally soaked. It feels thrilling, having a man on his knees before me, at my mercy. I’m not used to gentleness from boys; only jeers and catcalls and hands obnoxiously placed at the small of my back in clubs. But I don’t want to use my position for anything other than sweetness. I rub his curls lightly, removing the gel from each strand. Matty looks up at me as I massage his head watching my eyebrows scrunch.

“Your hair is soft,” I tell him. He smiles up at me and moves his arms around my hips to hold me as I continue my ministrations on his hair. He breathes through his nose and I feel the warmth that emanates from him as it seeps into my skin. He’s centimeters away from my core, no doubt feeling my heartbeat wildly in my chest and smelling the faint, musky aroma of the wetness that’s beginning to gather between my thighs.

“Thanks,” he says, lips kneading the soft flesh of my tummy as he does. It tickles and my eyes snap to his, gasping. His gaze remains trained on me as he moves his mouth to kiss me there. He uses only his lips at first, pecking and rubbing at me, but soon he grows impatient. He leaves open-mouthed kisses just above the waistband of my panties, sucking the skin below my navel, nipping at it, and smoothing his tongue over to soothe it. He moans into my stomach as he does, letting out a sound muffled by my belly.

I whine in response, grasping tightly at his hair to keep myself steady. He jerks back quickly.

“Ah!” he hisses. 

“Oh fuck, sorry,” I duck down to him, holding his face to make sure he’s alright.

“I’m fine, sorry,” he shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s okay,” I say, “actually, you’re all good now if you want to, um, rinse off.”

Matty ducks into the water, smiling brilliantly at me when he meets my eyes again. I crouch down, reaching out to him, wringing out his curls, and scrunching them up onto the top of his head.

“Better?” he asks, standing up. Beads of clear, freshwater pool in his collarbones and race across his torso down to his hips. They catch on the sunlight and make him glisten. I want to lick them off his body, trace their path, and make him whimper.

I smile and nod, standing up to more or less even our heights. He wraps his arm around my neck, looking down at my body once we’re close enough that I can’t follow his eyes. I tremble. My arms are decorated with goosebumps, my breasts are peaked from the cold, and my white undergarments are soaked, plainly revealing what lies beneath them. 

“You chilly, huh?” he asks. I nod into him. “Let’s get you warmed up.” Matty drags me back to the rocky shore and covers me in his button-down shirt, beckoning me to sit between his legs. He envelops me in his arms like my own personal human-sized blanket and holds me until I stop shivering. 

–

“Oh shit, have you ever been in one of these?!” Matty shouts. He doesn’t need to yell to be heard, I’m right behind him on the Vespa. But he’s so excited at the thought of the old 35mm photo booth that stands tall on the side of the road. He leaps off the Vespa and digs around in his pockets for the 10 or 15 cents he needs to get it to work. “This is so fucking sick!” he exclaims. “Y/n! Come over! This is amazing!”

I dismount the bike more methodically than him, taking care not to get my skirt caught on the seat. I push the velvet curtain to the side and am met with a very eager Matty. He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bench, instantly winding me up in his arms and tickling me. I’m caught off guard as the bulb in the center of the wall flashes, CLICK. I push Matty off playfully, turning back around to him – CLICK. I look at him, chest heaving for a moment – CLICK. It draws his attention and Matty’s eyes flit to my breasts, I notice – CLICK. I launch my body towards his, unable to contain myself anymore. His lips catch mine as I bring my arms up and around his neck – CLICK. Matty’s hands reach around my shoulders, feeling my bare skin, warm from the sun. I move my mouth hard against his, eager to taste the leftover juice from the fruit, tobacco from his cigarette, anything. Anything as long as it’s Matty. I reach into his soft frizzy curls and hang on to them to steady myself and push further toward him until he’s completely up against the wall of the photo booth. Matty’s hands find the smallest bit of my waist and pull me into his lap. His hands fall to my knees and rub all the way up my thighs, caressing the velvety flesh and stopping only when he’s reached the top to grab two handfuls of my ass. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes as he releases me slowly. 

Using my newfound leverage, I push his head back onto the wall and attack the exposed skin on his neck and chest. I lick his Adam’s apple and kiss the ink peeking out from under his button-down.

“Fuuuuuuck, y/n,” he moans, lifting his head up to watch me as I unfasten each button on his linen shirt. His abdomen is hard under me and it feels so divine; almost painful but in a way that I deserve, that I revel in. I caress each tattoo on his torso with my tongue and his hands fly to my hair, massaging my scalp. I look up at him when I reach his ‘we are kings’ tattoo, partially concealed by his trousers. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as my eyes question him. “Please, go ahead,” he says, needily. His pupils are blown out and his hair sticks up in places it shouldn’t.

I hook my fingers under the waistband of his trousers and boxers, feeling giddy and nervous with anticipation. It’s hardly my first time – boy or girl – but it’s new in the sense that I’ve been used to one person for so long. How she sounded and tasted. Seeing his cock spring out, hard and red, makes me feel like a schoolgirl. I’m intoxicated by everything I don’t know about him and what I’m about to learn. I move his clothes down below his knees and tentatively kiss his inner thighs. The skin there is thin and warm and it smells musky. I reach my hands up to touch the hair that grows at the base of him. Then I lean my head towards the same spot and kiss the skin there. I run my tongue around the bottom of his cock, wetting him as much as I can and kissing him everywhere as I make my way to his tip. When I get there, I look up at him. His head is backed up against the wall and he’s sat on his hands, surely in some semblance of politeness. I move the left one up to cup my jaw. 

“Show me what you like,” I plead, “I wanna make you feel good.”

He groans through his lips as he pushes his thumb into my mouth. I wet it the same way I wet the rest of him and then I suck on it, just a little, moaning as I do.

“That pressure’s good,” he tells me. I nod and he takes his thumb out of my mouth and rubs it against my cheek. “Honestly though I really wasn’t expecting this. I don’t think it’s gonna be an issue for you.” 

“Is that your way of saying you’re turned on?”

“Very,” Matty chuckles.

I smile at that: an innocent, sweet, reassured one. His words give me the confidence to cover his tip with my mouth, my right hand falling to the base of his length and encircling it. 

Matty’s hand flies to the back of my head, under my hair and grips it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. My eyes fly up to his face as I take him further in mouth until I meet my hand. I move up and down on him, relishing in every whimper and squeeze and twitch he unleashes.  

I begin to feel Matty stirring under me, and I look up at him, surprised at what I see. His eyes are open watching me with religious devotion. His right hand travels down my shoulder, blindly searching for the straps of my dress and bra and pushing them down until my breasts fall out, spilling down my chest. Matty wastes no time grabbing a handful of one as I continue my pace on his dick. He squeezes me gently but soon opts to pinch my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out teasingly and keeping time with me. It feels fucking delicious and spurs me on. I remove a couple fingers from him and take him down further, hollowing my cheeks and moaning around him as he twists my nipple with sadistically erratic pressure.

“Please,” I groan around him. It’s possible he doesn’t understand what I’ve said, but he gives me what I want anyway, touching me rhythmically and gently fucking my mouth as he chases his orgasm. 

“I’m almost there,” he pants, reluctantly bringing his hand to my face and pushing it off of him, “You can stop.”

I keep his tip on my tongue and shake my head side to side. 

“Please?” I look up at him begging, “Want it in my mouth.”

“Fucking hell, okay,” he breathes, manouvering himself back inside of me, fucking my face harder than last time but still shallowly enough that I can take it without gagging. I need him. I don’t know why or what I even expect to gain from it but his release is the only thing on my mind. It consumes me. I move my hand from his thigh and squeeze his balls gently, then cradle them in my hand. I taste him not long after, salty, warm, and pooling on my tongue. I can feel him pulse in my mouth, giving me more and more. Though the load gets smaller, and each burst further apart from the last, I find myself hoping it won't end. I feel content, consumed by pride and pleasure.

I hold him in my mouth until I’ve caught every last drop, savoring the feeling of him filling me up and the flavor of him on my tongue. I swallow and lap at his tip and shaft to clean him up, and then I tiredly lay my head on his left thigh. It's been a long time since I let someone drip down my chin and licked them up, desperate to get every last drop. It feels good to need someone like that. Like water. Like medicine.

 He leans over just a bit to cradle my head with his hand, pushing the front pieces of my hair behind my ear, dragging his thumb to my lower lip, and lingering there. I breathe heavily while my eyes pierce his, mouth wantonly open. 

“Fuck, that felt so good, thank you,” he breaks the silence. I take his thumb in my mouth in answer, sucking at it delicately. I release him and kiss the pad of his finger gingerly. Matty takes hold of my hands and lifts my body back to his, holding me in a hug for what seems like an eternity. Time stops for a moment in the booth – it could be the year 3000 or the 80s, there could be a parade outside or a silent street that echoes with each of our breaths – it’s just the two of us, chests pressed against each other, the air thick with elation and longing.

Eventually, I have to peel myself off of him. Matty stands and stretches his arms above his head, displaying his toned triceps and delts. He bends at the waist to retrieve the strip of photos, fingers over each frame as he admires them. He folds the strip just before the last still, hiding the photo where our lips are meeting. Then he rips it off completely.

“There you go, princess,” he places the film with the first four photos gently in my hand. I look up at him confused and just a little sad. “This one’s for me,” he amends, tucking it into his back pocket. “So that I know I didn’t dream it.” He holds my face between his hands as I gaze up at him.

“Angels usually only visit me in dreams.” I roll my eyes and try to avert my gaze from his. He doesn’t let me, tilting my head up toward his by putting his finger under my chin. His eyes search mine with a fervor that would scare me if it came from anyone else. He closes them as he slowly leans forward to catch my lips in a slow, sweet kiss that tastes like goodbye. 

“Don’t make me leave,” I mumble into his mouth.

Matty wraps his arms around my back, pulling me further into him, and rests his head on mine. He’s warm and wet and smells like sex. 

“Why did you want to do that?” he whispers into my hair.

“I don’t know,” I say. I don’t really. It wasn’t logical, it was more instinctual than anything, a natural progression of my feelings and of the direction in which I was kissing him. I wanted to kiss him there; it felt natural.

“It wasn’t to, like, get over your ex or something was it?” he pulls away to look at my face as he asks, “I’m fine if it was, but I just want to know if you like me or if you’re just going through something.”

“I try not to make a habit of blowing people I don’t like,” I tell him teasingly. He chuckles, rubbing his nose against my cheek, tickling me with his five-o’clock-shadow. He kisses the edge of my face, right next to my ear.

“I like you, too.”

For a moment, I allow my mind to run free with the knowledge of his admission. To imagine date nights and naps on his bare chest on the sun loungers at the villa. My stomach flutters. I want it so badly.

I reach my arms up around his neck and touch my lips to his. 

“Will you take me home, now?”

[proshippers-against-censorship]

Long ask incoming so i really apologise for that lol.

in my honest opinion yaelokre is going about this incredibly wrong. but the way people have been talking about not only their characters (to be clear im not saying this because of "blah blah they're children" fake morality stuff or whatever lmao im a proshipper myself—but one of the main characters is quite literally meant to represent/be keath themself) but about them themself (sending them rape threats, threatening to draw them having sex with their characters?? I've seen a lot on the internet these past couple days, especially in proship spaces, which is so upsetting to me because I had so much more faith in our community 😭)... All this is incredibly disgusting to watch. and disheartening.

Are they going about this incredibly irresponsibly? Yes! Is it naive for them to expect that no rule 34 is created whatsoever? Yeah, probably! But they did explicitly say they dont want the characters directly representing their own childhood (including one who's basically their own persona) sexualised, much less have it sent directly to them (which it was—that's how we even got to this point, anyway) and going ahead and mocking this boundary directly, and then encouraging people to do it out of spite feels... off to me. dunno. (To be clear i think, once again, their actions are incredibly dumb and irresponsible. They're not justified in doing any of that and im not trying to say they are lol.)

(And, while we're here, there's a difference between gigantic heavily funded capitalist projects like disney, and Some Guy working on one deeply personal thing all by themself for free. Do whatever you want with like. Thousand dollar franchises with no specific human faces behind them, but it feels so weird to tear into someone's passion project theyre making out of love for free. Idk where else in my message this point fits so I'm leaving it here.)

I can't help but be reminded of antis tearing into my own work to "fix" it simply because i was a proshipper. On paper people can do whatever they want with fiction, can't they? Of course—but taking a story i made to cope with my trauma and spitefully twisting it to their own wants for no reason other than because I was a proshipper is still harrassment, still done with malice, and—proship/anti stuff removed—an objectively fucked up and mean fucking thing to do. Artists making shit for free do not owe you anything and that includes not owing you their comfortability with people interacting with their personal projects they are sharing with others (for free!! When they don't have to!!!) in certain ways. The same way they also don't owe you being comfortable with unprompted criticism and whatever else.

The "fiction is fiction" argument doesn't hold up when it starts to hurt real people. They aren't a bad person simply for not wanting their personal project sexualised (which—you could argue "that's not the problem, the problem is how theyre going about handling it it," which i agree with; but there are several posts on this very blog and countless others mocking them entirely for simply wanting their work not sexualised, and several posts encouraging others to make sexual content of their characters out of spite. Im not saying it's sexual harrassment but god it does start to feel like it's somewhere in that realm.) This isn't the first time anything like this has happened in their community, ive been here since the beginning, and in the beginning they were so unbelievably calm and polite about their boundaries and then people started directly dming them nsfw and things spiraled and here we are.

I've used the pottery analogy to explain this before—imagine someone puts a ceramic sculpture down on a table. It belongs to them, and they're very clearly proud of it. You could push it off the table and break it if it makes you happy, you won't even face any real consequences if you do. They'll just be really upset, rightfully so—it's their thing that they physically made. Maybe they even made it as a coping mechanism, only they know for sure. And they ask you to handle it gently if you decide pick it up. There's a billion things you theoretically could do, having now been made aware of this clear boundary, but only two are right—either handling it gently, or simply not picking it up in the first place.

You're a shitty person if you push it off the table. Using excuses like "there are lots of people in this room, someone was going to decide to break it eventually" doesn't suddenly absolve you morally because you are a sentient being, not a mindless robot slaving to statistics. Maybe statistically it was going to get broken eventually, it still doesn't make it right because you chose to break it yourself, directly going against what they asked you to do when handling their property, simply because it made you happy. I know full well you would not purposely damage or otherwise ignore clear boundaries or guidelines when it comes to someone's physical shit in real life. The concept of having boundaries about your own things that you made and own is not new and having to follow others' boundaries is not you being oppressed it's just being a decent human being.

Fictional characters' feelings don't matter more than real peoples'. But your own real person feelings of Mild Disappointment at not being to make porn for something you (evidently) don't even like that much ALSO don't matter more than the creator's massive upset and discomfort at direct representations of them (real person!!!) being sexualised.

TL;DR: yeah it's stupid of them to try to Anne Rice this whole situation. And yes they deserve to be called out for it and face the consequences for their actions. But let's... not treat them like it's so bafflingly unreasonable and evil of them for simply not wanting people to sexualise characters who are meant to be a direct representation of them (real person!!!!) as a child and let's EXTRA not break their boundaries even further. Their actions are stupid, yes. But their desires are like. A perfectly normal thing to want, if a little naive. harrassment is still harrassment. Being spiteful and vicious isn't suddenly okay when you're on the "right side" with the Right Opinions doing it. Being anti-harrassment doesn't only apply to people you like.

This ask isn't meant to come off as hostile or mean or anything so I sincerely apologise if it does. Wishing you the best. I also apologise if anything in this ask reads wrong it's late at night and im recovering from a concussion lol.

Fair enough.

I'm team 'break rules, not boundaries'.

By all means, show their Anne Rice approach is stupid by creating nsfw and properly tagging it and posting it to proper spaces. Fill R34 with that. Create nsfw fanworks on AO3 with proper tags. Go ham. But they clearly don't want to see it, so don't send it to them.

You wouldn't send porn of characters to any other creator without them asking. And you shouldn't be sending rape threats either. That's fucked up.

There's a difference between acting out of spite and acting out of malice, and I won't dispute the fact that some people are taking things quite far and doing the latter.

You can say a rule is dumb without taking steps to directly harm.

[honestsycrets]

The Brat | [Ivar the Boneless x Reader]

❛ pairing | king Ivar x wife!Reader

❛ genre | drabbly bits

❛ summary | he loves the blood, you hate the blood. but you do so love him. maybe he can persuade you.

❛  warnings | mentions of violence, sexual themes, fulfilled request, king!ivar.

Ivar reeks.

And he loves it. Whether fresh from the battlefield or dealing with insurrections at home, he loves the scent of iron. It embodies his accomplishments, a cruel overcoming of the sort of men who would have mocked him if not for his noble father. They all cried Ragnar when they encountered there could be so-- so much worse. 

He was worse. 

And so, blood-soaked, battle-worn, and revved up-- he looked for his honeysuckle. His sweet honeysuckle who just so happened to detest the scent of blood tacked against his skin. As he pushed apart the flaps of the tent, he spotted your face furrowing. Ah, yes, another fight to be won. 

“Ivar,” you hissed. “Why bother washing in the stream if you are only going to wipe the blood off your eyes?” 

He cackled and brought his bloodied war hammer to scratch the side of his head. Then, moving forward, he dropped his weight on his crutch with every step. “So I can see. The blood blurs my sight, my sweet. And I am but a lowly--” 

“It also reeks.” 

“An unfortunate consequence.” 

You folded your arms. A jingle of foreign bracelets met his ear. It was adorable the way you stood there donned in gold, silks, and furs and made a mockery of the exact thing that enabled him to dress you so richly. Such a brat.

He collapsed on his favorite chair to remove his calibers. You’d surely waste the next day scrubbing out of pure aggravation for his defiance. “Ivar the Boneless,” you threatened. Closer now. His fingers thumped against the blood spattered metal. 

“My name sounds beautiful from your lips.” 

“Have you not had enough fighting for one day? Not enough bodies sent to the gods?” 

“Mm,” he sucked on his teeth. “Never.” 

“Go bathe,” you implored. “I’ll fetch the water myself. You’re making a mess.” 

He drew his tongue along his upper teeth. He knew you hated it when he dragged the rank of the battlefield home. It wore on his skin in a delicious scent of sweat, blood, and fear. Or shit, whatever. His hand came upon his thigh, ringing a loud sound throughout the tent. “Nevermind that. Come sit down.” 

You moved with your hands affixed to your hips. Oh, he knew this game. Your long, flowing gown tickled his dusty boots with the lightest of teases. Yet your face peered into the distance. A tease… as if this repulsive man had no chance to have a delicate princess on his lap. 

“Come here, I said.” His fingers grazed the ties of your dress. He turned his ties in circles around his fingers.

“You’re wet!” Bloody.

“What of it? You act as if these clothes will stay on long.” Moist, bloody, nasty. All the things that he knew you hated to love and loved to hate. Although you bitched now, he knew it would eventually turn with the soft caress of his cheek, caressing the stubble that you so loved. His eyes searched the soft curve of your waist, smoothing up, then down again. You flushed in embarrassment. “Undress.”

“Taking off clothes solves nothing. If I want to love you,” you whispered. His smile gathered wider and wider. “I’ll be loving every other warrior that you’ve slaughtered today.” 

“Don’t excite me.” 

The man was impossible-- his affections, his interactions, unbearable in his very nature. Yet, you loved him for it. The slightest chuckle slipped form his tongue, hissing delightfully as you slid over his thighs while drawing your skirts over your knees. Oh, he already knew he won his fight-- yet again.  

His hands slipped underneath the tumbling fabric and shifted it over his firm arms. Through his thick fabric, you felt his bulge against your trimmed curls. His thumb prodded your lips, smearing dried blood across your nub as he rubbed you with soft, patient thumbs. The care, tinted by his usual feral nature, made you slick. In place of fear, comfort. “See? And you wanted me to go.” 

“Why are you like this? You are so arrogant.”

“And you’re beautifully spoiled.” Ivar settled a kiss upon the pendant beating at your chest. “Is this blood not what provides for this? Or secures your safety?” 

It was. But perhaps that wasn’t something you readily addressed. Rather, your lips pursed in response to his words as your hands curled on his armoured shoulders. He found himself laughing again, and again, and perhaps it was that laughter of your princessly charms that drove Ivar’s excitement. 

“Shhh.” 

He slid away from your sweet spot. As if on cue, you lurched against him, trained as you were. Perhaps you talked a great deal, but when it came to it, you longed for his touch all day. Ivar leaned back in his chair to enjoy the fruits of his efforts.

After a long day, there was nothing so right as the warmth of a beautiful wife to come back to. Your complaints, slight as they were, faded into meer murmurs of submission. At last, he hushed: because per usual-- Ivar always won.

[brineoffire]

Uuuuuuh hi, hi howdy! I've been super possessed by the need to see more male centered fics with the poly!141 soooo here's a bit. I honestly haven't played the games, but I've been looking into the lore because I'm so hyper fixed on the 141 rn. Bare with me, I haven't posted fics here before and definitely never written army anything. Please please please lemme know if you like it even a lil and I'll type up some more.

Fic notes!

So I saw someone talking about a reader who's in it for the money and I liked that idea- tweaked it a little but the basic jist? Mc loves vidio games so much they went to school for it, can't pay, joins the military to pay it all off. I'm writing this chapter ambiguous on gender so far, but I'm writing with a trans!masc reader here because fuck. I can't find much so better make it myself.

-Edit I forgot to put the title here rip

The Right Price

You can't help but stop to think about how you needed to stop biting off more then you can chew. It's been a few months since your recruiter told you all about the joys, wonder, and honor that comes with serving. You where in the second she told you about the pay. Too many student loans, too much microwave ramen, the list went on, but fuck it yeah? You where the one that said that in the first place when you signed up for your courses. The basics, programming, coding, digital design a bit of physiology because of personal interest. You where over the top when it came to studies. Didn't bother you none when you couldn't have a social life. If you weren't busy studying you where quite literally inhaling any game you could get your hands on. But now when you had to fork over the bill money? You started singing another tune.

So here you are. On the training grounds with the rest of the folks recruited at the same time as you.Your sargent was barking out orders for you all to start your runs one by one, but some smart ass was holding up the line. You actually agreed with half the shit he barked back at the your troop leader, but damn it, you didn't want the consequences.

"That's it! You wanna run your mouth? You can all run double to catch up with Marco's mouth! Now!" He yelled white fisted. The remaining lot of your groan and grumble, starting the run together now at double time to hopefully finish before lunch call. Seven miles was what you had all gotten used to. Seven miles of uneven terrain, hurdles and dives, inclines and ramps now lengthened to fourteen.

"Oh fuck off Marco!" One of the recruit remarks, smacking said recuit behind the head before taking off on a spint. Several others join in on mocking the guy before bolting trying to get it over with. You shake your head as you catch up to him and clap him on the shoulder.

"They'll chill out later man just gotta grit and bare it more y'know?" Marco yanks was shoulder away from you, giving you a nasty glare before taking off too. You raise your brow at that, curious to what set him off before shrugging, taking the course at your normal pace with a hand full of the others. Better late then fatiged. The little spat dosn't bother you anyway. You'll all be split into your first teams in less then a week. You doubt he'd even be grouped with you anyways.

Oh how wrong you where. How very. Very. Wrong. It was actually laughable at this point, because you where either grouped together because your Sargent knew you got under Marco's skin for some reason or because fate wanted to see the drama unfold. You took that as a personal challenge either way. Snapping back snarky retorts anytime Marco decided to fuck around, until one day he had you cornered with a handful of others, in your face yelling about how "your kind" didn't belong in the military let alone the states. You let him finish his rant. Something, something, something, God damned, something, something, blight all the good christians, something, something, belong in the kitchen like a proper bitch.

Oh. Okay. There it was. You laugh in your head. No. Outloud. You flip the positions, getting uncomfortably close to the fuckers so they back off some and spout of some tibits you learned in your phycology classes about the brain being easy to manipulate. Quiet anger radiating from your low tone, keeping it quiet to force them to listen harder. You throw in some extra bs about how you could probably "turn" the lot of them given enough time. That them speaking more shit would be an agreement for him to test his theory. They back off after that, but report you all at once for "harassment". There being no evidence for anything you're transfered to one of the other split groups. Half made up of people you didn't enlist with. Mabey this crop would yeild better results yeah?

Nah. You jinxed it. You know you did. Oh well. This time it's just one guy though. And all it takes is a bit of reverse phycology to have the guy questioning his own damn identity so bad he's sent to the on duty therapist. You're transfered out this time by a different woman. Laswell. She heard out your full story of your transfers and unlike your last transfer she gave you a garentee that she'd make sure to find a good fit for you. You shrug and thank her. No matter what you had to tough it out anyways, you needed that pay check after all. Had no where else to go.

It goes sour when you head with her to a base near Wales. You where supposed to go talk to her about setting up here overseas for a while. Something about spreading out more newbies anyways. You really don't understand half of it so you just agree and you're off to training on this base. As long as you're here you're expected to keep up with basics and the routine set by the Sargents and that's fine by you, whatever to pass the time at this point. They run a drill with half the team ment to run a faux attack on half the base and the rest made to counter. You're getting prepared to counter the fake attack when alarm bells are ringing. That's definitely a little over the top. Usually they just yell over the loudspeakers and... You kinda blink a few times before you realize your group of rookies is being pressed to the armory. It's not a fucking drill at this point. This is NOT what you came here for but, oh fuck here you go! You've played too many games for sure. Mabey it's time to cut back. Because you're immediately focused. Immediately setting up the scene in your head to get you in a headspace where it's all a game. It helps you focus and damn you really need help with that right now.

There's active rounds being fired a ways away from the base as you all are suited with gear and munitions. You've trained for this but damn if you ever thought you'd ACTUALLY use any of that shit. You always imagined it was for show, like how you never use any of the fucking math they taught you anywhere.

You're moving on a sort of autopilot, moving out to a defensive manuver outside, staying under cover like you're told until your unit arrives halfway out, between the fighting and the base. It's impossible to see much past a thick smoke blanketing half the scene but you all move out, groups of three fanning out for any injuries and more importantly, any hostiles. You and your group are about to get to your second vantage point when you catch something they don't, you call out a group of several hostiles over what looks like a member of the base before realizing there's radio static.

Fuck it. Risking your life might score you some bonus merit, some extra cash somewhere along the line, you don't know. You're just trying to rationalize why the hell you bolt for the man, keeping low, keeping quiet until your almost upon them all. You get close enough to make out the British insignia on the man's arm. You've definitely seen him on the base before, and now here he is, no weapon in sight, surrounded by four hostiles. You slow your approach and aim carefully, making sure to get the kill shot on one of them, the spray of bullets catching another in the arm gives you enough time to aim for one of the other ones. You've definitely played too many vidio games but you're damn sure that's what kept you from being shot on your first unofficial day of active duty. You roll. Fucking barrel roll on the ground, with enough force to get you away from the spray of bullets from the last uninjured hostile as you stop yourself and make the shot on him. Dumb luck is what you chalk it up to as the fourth guy falls, letting you finish off the second man as he scrambles to retrieve his weapon.

"Up! Up! UP!" You yell to the man on the ground. You don't notice the look of utter confusion from the guy as you rush to help him to his feet. You've gotta get him back to base or at least the rest of the team and out of harms way. So you sprint as fast as you can as soon as the man's up, keeping to your side as you keep an eye out for anyone else hostile or otherwise. You try your radio again, but nothing you backtrack enough to find the spot you last saw your little team and find them under fire, one covering a wound on the others arm, panicking. You're quick to take over, playing out the scene in the same mind set you started out with. Mission in mind. Quest line to follow. You snap the other guy out of it enough to instruct him on how to stop the bleeding properly and grab the injured mans weapon from him, shoving it into the man's hands and directing him to cover you. Again, your oblivious to the look of pure confusion from the man and your uninjured teammate as you work to bandage up your fellow recruit.

You all make it out in one peice, the base being cleared of the small force that attempted to overtake the base. What you don't learn, and no one bothers to tell you. Is that the man you "saved", Captain John Price, has been talking with Laswell. Not so much talking with her as TO her. Your in it for money? Perfect you'd definitely agree to join the 141 with the pay difference.

"John you can't fucking do that. This kid is green. Way too fucking green! They weren't even supposed to be pulled into active duty! They should have been benched with the newer recuits, not out with their seniors!"

Price laughs and shakes his head. "No. This one's got potential and I wana see how far it'll take em." He was impressed by how some rookie was able to show enough guts to help him when the odds looked bad. He had everything under control, but damn if your actions weren't something interesting. Rolling out of line of fire and still keeping a steady aim? That's quite the task, he boasts for you. Hell, you didn't even think twice about Price's rank or authority, your focused was on recovery and living while taking out the hostiles. As much as Laswell regrets to say there's not much reason to deny Price. His eye for talent really was spot on. What could go wrong in all actuality? She trusted Price, and hasn't let her down yet.

"Fine. But I'm keeping a close eye on this set up."

Price grins as he looks down at your small folder, thanking her and flipping through the pages again. Tomorrow you'd be flying out with him to your new base. Joining the 141 as a tech specialist.

[remotepixel]

Hey could I please request headcannons for how Marc and Steven would act as yandads?

Hi!! Thank you for requesting, and sorry this took longer than normal. I have mocks rn and some important exams in May and overall struggling to correctly manage my time lol.

Tw: Yanderes themes + off-hand mentions of kidnapping.

Steven:

-Panic is his main mood when dealing with you; he honestly has no clue what he’s doing.

-He’ll be the one you’re around most, and normally the one to deal out any consequences for your actions (the worst you’re getting is a ‘stern warning’ and a ten-minute timeout because he feels bad).

-He’s never risen a child before, and there’s not really any textbooks about how to parent a kid your alter kidnapped. I definitely get that vibe he would read mummy blogs though out of pure desperation (he’s trying his best </3).

-Steven is a big pushover. He’ll weakly defend himself if anyone accuse him - stating he’s just trying to make you happy - but it’s obvious enough that even he can’t defend himself properly.

-He’s pretty easily manipulated through your emotions. If you start crying, or even look slightly sad, the guy immediately backpedals on whatever it was.

-Since he’s super into Ancient Egypt, he knows how important interests can be. He’ll research into what like to try and make conversation. He’ll fully support any hobbies, skills, etc and try his best to support you if he’s able to.

-While writing this, I got this image of Steven, at like fucking 2am, half-asleep, trying desperately to understand all your ‘GenZ’ references like he’s studying some ancient literature. It’s an excuse to talk to you so he’ll take it, but god he wished you were a Ennead fanatic or something to make this a bit easier.

-He gives the vibe of randomly dropping some phrases that he hears you say to try and bond. He’ll probably give up after the first time though because you just stared blankly at him and he couldn’t deal with the embarrassment.

Marc:

-I guess it makes sense but Marc and Steven are both pretty similar in this situation, Marc just likes putting up a ‘i’m in control’ façade because he can’t correctly deal with his emotions (same).

-He’s even more scared than Steven, just better at hiding it. Obviously, his view on parental figures has been greatly screwed over by his own childhood, and despite vowing to himself he would never be the same, he always worries that he’ll cross that line.

-I think out of the two of them, he’d probably be the one to kidnap you, assuming that’s what happened, but he’ll be distant at the start.

-It’s not that he doesn’t want to comfort you, he just has no clue how to do it. And he will much rather show his love in his own way than mess up with his words.

-You’ll find little things you like around the apartment, or your favourite food just happens to be the one he brought for tonight.

-Honestly, I think he’ll also be a pushover. As much as he probably shits on Steven for being so, he can’t stand to see you disappointed, and he doesn’t have the ‘luxury’ (he never asks) of speaking to you everyday like Steven does.

-After a few months, he’ll start to be more open - small smiles, etc etc - but it depends on you mostly. If you seem happier, he’ll take over the body more, maybe for a movie night or a board game.

-If you’re just as or more angry/sad than at the start, he’s remaining firmly inside the headspace when you’re around. He’d rather live through Steven than have to confront the familiarly haunting look on your face.

A bit random but I have this cute thought of them putting more mirrors (or just any sort of reflective surface) around the apartment so both of them can hang out with you, even if only one can control the body.

[targaryen-dynasty]

Lannisport: The Gods Are Mocking Us w/ Aemond 🥺🫶

Ohh, this one just screams angst to me, Inka! 😭

"The Gods are mocking us, brother," you sob, clutching your nightdress. A wet sensation trickles down your thighs, something you've come to know all too well. It's has been the third time you've gone through this in the last year alone, yet it was the longest you've carried at all. The longest they all, you and your twin in particular, have hoped.

For all your life you have known you wanted to marry none other than your twin, and when your mother announced your betrothal to your eldest brother instead, all hopes and dreams of yours were crushed without even asking if that was what you wanted. It was Aemond that has told you that you could still indulge in each other, and therefore suggested for you two to keep your love behind closed doors.

But it was your idea that for every time you have to lay with Aegon, you lay with Aemond thrice. And it's also you that must bear the consequences of it.

Your womb has not brought one heir into the world at all. Every time the maester announces you're with child, The Gods oh so cruelly take it from you again, knowing all too well it is not your husband's seed quickening within you.

Aemond pushes himself away from the doorframe and into the room, stepping quietly before he grabs you and pulls you against his frame. You fit so perfectly against him, like you're made to be there, so why can't they see this?

You sob into his chest, your voice muffled as you speak. "They can not be any more clear to tell us that what we do is wrong."

One of his hands begins to move along the expanse of your back, rubbing it in soothing circles. His face is a stoic mask of indifference even as he feels his heart clench in his chest. "If the gods truly meant to punish us, they would not have given us each other."

Your hands curl to fists against Aemond's chest, struggling to keep yourself together. "I... I can not take this much longer. The pain... the loss... Aemond, I-"

He cups the back of your head, and despite the whispers of hushed promises and reassurances that tickle your ear, the both of you know that perhaps it is time for the both of you to put an end to it.

God, I don't know if this is good lol, angst isn't my speciality. 🥲

✖️ 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝟑𝐤!

[motions1ckness]

“Don’t Call me Kid.”

Summary: Roman get’s a bit too drunk at Kendall’s birthday. (03x07)

Content: established relationship, f!reader, angst, age gap, degradation, insecurity, verbal abuse(?), humiliation, mention of Logan Roy

{This is my first fic so i hope you enjoy!)

*Update:pt 2 “SweetHeart” is up rn!!

Roman had you on edge the whole night. You had never seen him this snide or aggressive before. You blame the immense amount of alcohol he consumed, mixed with him talking to Mattson. So, when you caught Shiv getting more agitated with Roman, you knew he was spewing bullshit.

Though you didn’t feel the most compassion for Kendall, you had spent the night with Shiv and Roman and you couldn’t help but pity the man. It was his birthday and his siblings showed up for Mattson, not him. Time had passed from your arrival, and you stood at a distance from them, far enough that you weren’t in the conversation but you could still see what was happening. Roman sat while Shiv stood in front of him. You could tell he was getting under her skin but thought it was best to stay out of it. In doing so, you had to act like you were listening to this brainless celebrity talk to you about god knows what.

You get snapped out of your head when you hear Shiv call for you, wanting Roman's power trip to end.

“Can you get over here and deal with your mess?” You walked over to them and noticed they had also roped Kendall in this mess.

You took a second to study Roman’s face. He was refusing eye contact with you. Probably out of shame and not wanting to face the consequences. His eyes appeared dark, and his demeanor was unfamiliar. He’s just drunk. He’s just drunk. You tell yourself, hoping you didn’t just find out who you were really dating.

“Oh great. Are you trying to get me in timeout or something?” Roman joked, his eyes flicker over you for a moment. “Whatever, you know Kendall, I already talked to Mattson, who hates you by the way,” He laughs at his own demeaning remark. Everyone is uncomfortable. Kendall turns to Niaomi, who's trying to comfort him by holding his arm and rubbing his hand between hers. You couldn’t stand the way Roman was acting. Sure, he makes quippy remarks all the time, but this time he was just being an asshole.

You clear your throat slightly, uncomfortable with the situation, “Roman, I think you should stop.”

Your eyes lingered on him the whole time, hoping adding yourself into the conversation would defuse the situation and you two could forget about this.

When Roman heard your voice, he finally met your eyes. Turning to face you and sneered “Oh I’m sorry sweetheart, did I hurt your feelings?” You knew Roman was in defense mode but you couldn’t figure out why. No one was attacking him.

The heat from your face felt more apparent. “I’m just saying, I think you’ve had enough tonight and we should head back.” You hoped this offer would be enough and you'll deal with this in the morning. Roman rolled his eyes and leaned back further in his chair. “No, 'cause you know what, I’m having fun at this depressing shitfest. Why don’t you and Shiv talk about what lipstick has the cuter packaging or whatever.” He said with a shrill mocking tone attempting to dismiss you from the conversation.

Shiv scoffed, beating you to a response, “What the fuck Roman? If you’re going to take anything away from this pathetic conversation, listen to y/n," Shiv looked at you with her best attempt at a comforting grin.

Roman glared at her “Oh fuck off Shiv. You’re such a fucking cunt.”

The conversation wasn’t de-escalating and you felt your blood boiling. You were sure everyone could see how much you were seething. “Rome enough. You’ve had your fun. Now let’s go before you embarrass yourself anymore,” You weren't sure if your response was too harsh, but you remained patient with him long enough.

Roman snorted, now full attention on you because you fell into his game, “That’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re always so goddamn sensitive about everything.” He kept a cruel smirk on his face, waiting for your retaliation. Roman knows you hate arguing, but he wanted to push you tonight. Wanting to pull a reaction out of you, lose your composure. Shiv, Kendall, and Niaomi are still present, just speechless. You and Roman had been arguing more since Logan started stringing him along. The three of them felt stepping in would only worsen the situation and decided to stay quiet, not wanting to escalate it anymore.

You fought the urge to reveal any weakness. “I’m not being sensitive Rome, you’re being a dick, Let’s go.” You were biting the inside of your cheek, trying to abstain from your anger. You tried to grab the glass out of his hand before he quickly yanked it toward him.

His grip on the glass tightened as he swirled the last bit of champagne. “Yeah, right, perfect fucking y/n. Trying to control everything.” The tension was evident. Roman wasn’t backing down, not caring if you were the only person that loved or understood him. He just wanted to inflict damage on you at that moment.

Your body was stiff, arms crossed against your chest, hiding your tightened fists. You tasted how the inside of your cheek was bloody, trying to suppress the growing anger, taking a shallow breath from your nose. Trying your best to remind yourself, He’s just drunk. He’s just drunk. “I’m not controlling anyone. Please Rome, you’re drunk and acting insane-”

His eyes narrowed as he took a sip from his glass, muttering under his breath, cutting you off, “Well, maybe if you weren’t so young-”

“Excuse me?” Stumbling over your words a bit, trying to comprehend what Roman just said. Kendall tried to step in, but Niaomi and Shiv decided it was better to leave you two.

He put down his glass, adjusting his view, maintaining intense eye contact, “I’m just saying, maybe this would all make sense to you if you knew how the world works. But you don’t.” His lips curled into a slight smirk like he was proud of what was said.

You felt your breath quicken. Yes, you were younger than Roman and the rest of the company, but you had repeatedly proven you were qualified for your position. You weren't aware Roman acknowledged your age gap enough to bring it up in an argument. “My age has nothing to do with this.” You couldn’t think of anything witty to say in retaliation. You felt so betrayed.

Roman leaned closer to you, the alcohol taking full effect. He didn't understand he was jeopardizing your guy’s relationship with this. He pressed on, “Sure kid. Keep telling yourself that.” Maintaining that pretentious smirk on his face.

All you could do was shake your head and mutter, “You know I hate when you call me that.” Tears had been prickling in your eyes at this point. You refused to cry fuck, fuck, fuck.

Roman rolled his eyes “Welcome to the real world sweetheart. I’m not going to change who I am, so don’t fucking expect me to. I'm not getting any better. Get over whatever savior complex you have that makes you think you can fix me. It’s not going to work.” With that, you felt a new layer added to this betrayal. And Roman felt it too.

You had no control over emotions anymore. Your heartbeat was already beating furiously and irregularly. Your limbs had lost feeling, and you knew your lip was quivering. All you could feel was the stab in the heart Roman left and tears pooling in your eyes and down your cheek. “Fuck you, Roman.” You didn’t need to say anything more. You wanted to, but you knew you still loved him. You made a straight path to the nearest exit. You didn’t give the staff your phone, so you texted your driver you’ll be out in 5.

All you could hear over the horrid music calling from behind you was “See you around, kid.”

[the-wiggler]

take me in your tender arms, roll me in the dirt

Sypnosis: It's not love, but Gage will take what he can (and remain in deep denial).

spotify play lover's dream by saints amongst sinners

[title is from cover me in roses in holden laurence]

word count: 1.3k

“Fuck, this party is boring,” They sigh, leaning on the counter and taking a swig of their beer. They were in the kitchen of some house party, the sound of some Spotify EDM playlist thumping in the background. 

Gage glanced over, peeling away at the sticker of some off-brand beer, condensation dripping down his hands. “Yeah,” He chuckled, eyes darting to them, “We should’ve known the minute we heard this music. It’s downright tragic.” His eyes follow the curve of their smirk, searching for approval. 

‘Down, boy. Your tail is practically wagging.’

Gage quickly averts his eyes, paying close attention to the way the ceiling light hits his beer bottle. He could barely look in their eyes most of the time, breathtakingly beautiful and full of promises. But now, when they were dressed in some tight top that left little to the imagination and showed just enough skin to leave him craving for more, Gage feared bursting into flames if he looked at them too long.

“I thought that parties now would be better than those booze-fests in high school but God,” They sigh, running a hand through their hair, “This is somehow worse. It smells like sex and artificial fruits everywhere.”

“That’s the vapes, I think. All the rage nowadays.” 

They wrinkle their nose, “Fuck, that must be it. God, I can’t believe I got dressed for nothing.” 

“I mean you look good,” He nervously forces out, taking a swig of his beer to fuel his confidence, “And maybe I could, uh, give that outfit the attention it deserves. Could think of a few ways to make it worth your while. Upstairs, maybe.” 

They return the look with a surreptitious smile and throw back a sip of their own beer, letting the question linger in the stale, suddenly too-quiet kitchen. “Yeah? And just what do you intend to do to me upstairs, mister?” 

It’s a game they play, sometimes at a frat party, sometimes when they message him in the middle of the night to come over, and they spend the hour making “small talk” before they inevitably end up in bed again. Always playing coy, dancing around what they really wanted. Teasing him and pushing him until he took the final step. It made Gage’s head spin. 

“Oh? You want me to say it here? In the kitchen?” He feigns disbelief, placing his beer bottle down, placing it on his chest in astonishment, “You absolute heathen!”

Mocking, joking, in an attempt to break the blatantly brewing sexual tension.

He’s still learning to get over his people-pleasing propensities, learning to ask for what he wants directly and accepting the consequences. But it’s a work in progress, and when faced with his friends-with-benefits that he’s not in love with, his resolve crumbles and all he knows is to beat around the bush, to laugh off any sense of intimacy between them, to hide any semblance of yearning on his part. 

“Hmm,” They smile, enigmatic as the Mona Lisa. Putting down their beer and moving to face him, they crowd him against the countertop, pressing their barely covered chest to his, eyes slowly dragging up, lingering, very pointedly, on his lips before meeting his gaze, “Me? A heathen? You’re the one who’s been staring at me all evening, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” The words whispered against his lips, softly, their lips grazing against his for the briefest of seconds before pulling away, like it was a secret only for the both of them. 

Cause at the end of the day, that was all it was, wasn’t it? They were each other's dirty secret, whispered under the loud music of a frat party, said in the silent looks sent across the room. And Gage was fine with that, really, he was. The physical satisfaction of feeling them close to him, sending waves and waves of pleasure coursing through him, sneaking out of their room even before the sun had risen, hiding away in closets and watching them flirt with other people, just for him to end up in their bed again. He was absolutely ok with that. 

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he surges forward, closing the distance between them with one hand cupping their face, the other dropping down to their waist, removing any semblance of space between them.  

They move in tandem, lips moulding and bodies pushing against each other. God, they tasted good, like beer and passion and wanton lust. He was addicted to the taste, addicted to them, their hands roaming his body, their body grinding against his. An erotic display of bodies moving against each other, grasping desperately where they could, tiny gasps and moans entirely too inappropriate for the back of some frat boy’s kitchen.

They part, eyes still closed, his lips desperately chasing theirs. “Shall we, uh, adjourn to the bedroom, my liege?” Even now, even when they’ve made clear their desires, will he continue to hide the hopeless pining of his heart. Because this isn’t what he wants, not really, no matter how much he lies to himself, tells himself otherwise.

He wants to kiss them because he wants to, wants to kiss them over morning breakfast, wants to be greeted with their sweet smile when he comes home from work, wants to learn the quiet, intimate, inconsequential details of their everyday life, wants to become so intertwined with them that he teetered on the very edge of losing himself. 

Most importantly, he wanted them to love him the way he loves them.

But that’s for another night.

For now, he revels in their breathless chuckle, letting them pull him through the throngs of drunkards into some random’s bedroom. There, they push him onto the bed, grinning deviously as he lets out a quiet oof before climbing on top of him and continuing their heated kiss. His hands move to tug at their hair, swallowing the groan that falls from their lips while they move to slip under his shirt, cold hands against his warm body making him shudder. 

“Watch the hands,” He breathlessly warns as they part, even as he quickly pushes his sweater over his shirt, “Oh- fuck- wait, my sweater uh- a little help please?” They snort, breaking the mood momentarily as they carefully manoeuvre his sweater over his head. 

“Ok, ok quit laughing, asshole,” He complains, tugging at the hem of their tight shirt, “C’mon, off. S’not fair I’m the only half-dressed one here.” 

“Wait.” They mutter, moving their head down to press a light kiss to his neck, forcing a gasp through Gage’s lips. They continue their assault on him, pressing soft kisses all over his body, marking him, smiling against his soft body as he falls apart under their ministrations. 

And maybe one day, Gage will ruin this perfectly good arrangement, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. But for now? For tonight? When they’re worshipping him like this, sweet praises falling from those kiss-bruised lips? When their hands are pressed against his sweaty body? Gage will tell himself that maybe, just maybe, they feel the same way he does, that they want him the way he does. 

That maybe their heart also threatens to burst when they hear him laugh, that they search for him in every room without even meaning to. That every joke they tell is just to hear him laugh, that every love song seems to have that one specific line that so perfectly describes him, that they have a secret playlist for him that they listen to in the dead of night. That every kiss they press to his body is an admission of love, of adoration for his entire being. 

He lets himself forget, momentarily, that this is all a dream, that in the morning (if they even stayed that long) this would be over; that the love and ecstasy he feels is only a means to an end for them, a temporary distraction for his aching heart. 

For tonight, he forgets. 

[nalyra-dreaming]

COMMENTS on 2x06 - SPOILERS ahead!!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . *FIRST OFF:OH FUCKING SHIT

Not sure I breathed . . . . . . .

Rashid and Daniel, eating sushi. Weird, but not-conclusive. Love Daniel noticed the lacking postage, because yes. And Rashid... behaves weirdly.

“Raglan” coming when called. HOW did Daniel call him in? And while the observation re Louis is valid… that comment re the “body switching”?? Almost… clumsy.. this show is not clumsy. Massive red flag, imho. Also, the Talamasca wanting to ask questions??? That’s … hmmmm. More like him, if he is really Raglan.

Armand and Louis passive aggressively arguing about potential wall decoration. Delicious. “Wait for revelation to enter the room”. OUCH

Loved Daniel and Rashid covering each other.

THEY ARE BUILDING THEIR LITTLE SCRIPTED PLAY BASED ON CLAUDIA’S DIARIES!!! MOCKING THEM AND THEIR EXPERIENCE! HOLY HELL.

Louis and Daniel are so done with the shit, lol

That visit to Roget’s… the music… the foreshadowing

The juxtaposition of Armand pretending to not have known and clearly commenting on and directing the play in Paris…

Armand going off at “love” at Daniel

“Fuck these vampires” - seems Daniel has read the removed pages???

Oof that … sexual assault. Hard to stomach. And Claudia… you go girl. Loved Madeleine there, top notch acting from everyone

God. Louis all riled up, telling Armand “clothes off, face down in the coffin, can read them to me while I fuck you”. Erm. Holy shit. Holy… fucking shit. Like… that’s… I don’t even have words.

I must say, and this is independent from Louis himself here (!)- but art dealers only speculating on the price of art… sits so unwell with me. Like… only the monetary value matters. It’s… IDK. I hate it with a passion.

Also the coven more or less watching while Louis fumbles Armand… like…

Claudia and Madeleine are everything. I LOVE their dynamic

Louis arguing with Claudia, god, please just… 😭

“Or Armand is mine” 💀

Armand calling her “Claudia de Lioncourt”… because she is his by blood!!! I been sayin’!!

The discussion of Armand with Madeleine was so intimate… I loved how they did it

Does it matter if it was the truth that Claudia is a burden??? YES LOUIS IT DOES

Also breathtaking bitter that Louis was sooooooo convinced he had convinced Armand

The body language in Dubai - and the reveal of never having made a vampire. “Fuck these vampires”!!! The expressions!

The strange crimes… including color film stock????????? Ohhhhhhhhh I have a GUT FEELING

And them calling out into a certain direction hanging off the Eiffel tower??? TO WHOM?!

That discussion between Armand and Louis. I must say… their relationship is even more fucked up than I had thought they would portray it. WAY WAY MORE FUCKED UP. Like… that’s not even funny even more, the way that they shift into those … bitter dynamics. Bitter, so very, very bitter. And the way both their voices shift. Ugh.

Madeleine’s turning was beautiful. And her seeing Claudia like that… made me cry. It was so fitting that they both turned her. Madeleine’s life, flashing by. Lovely.

And god, Louis… reopening the wound. Trying to let the blood bleed out. Hating himself not caring sooooooo much. And that little tidbit re the bond, the fact that there is a feeling for each other there, even if there is no coercion. FORESHADOWING OH GOD

And Armand … pretending he had chosen Louis. God. Fucking shit.

“Games”.

I do believe that Louis might have asked initially for his memories to be erased. I’ve theorized that before and I can see it, because Louis would feel guilty and he would hurting… badly.

Also… Armand saying the “series of abhorrent consequences that followed”… and then “three days after we abandoned him”… there is no saying what timeframe was between the interview and that… shower outs came out of.😏

Bittersweet drinks. The discussion of the bond, the feelings… Louis putting his fingers into wounds. Armand… hurting so much. Louis withholding again, ugh… and…. The Judas’ kiss. And standing by. He… stands by. He lets it happen. Brutal. The way the smile drains from Louis’ face.

The intercuts to Dubai. Holy shit.

“They gave him a choice. He chose”. FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKK

Santiago’s speech.

“fuck your mother”?????? Oh, are we jabbing already???

the music

And there he is. THERE HE IS. 10 Minutes. Okay. Okay.

He looks weird. Acts weird, too. Whose POV are we on there????

HE’S COMING… indeed.

EPISODE INSIDER

not only the stakes for Daniel are ramping up, lol

Tightrope indeed

Jacob: “There’s a lie being told and that Dubai penthouse is a bit of a prison” 💀

And yes Claudia and Madeleine are magnetic

Oh that was improvised?????

“Pissed doesn’t quite cover what Louis feels at the trial”… yeah, no, no shit.

Sam: “He’s back in al his hectic, complicated glory”… that’s one way to put it, lol

Sooooo. I’m kinda afraid. Because I know what will follow, lol, yes, but… Santiago emphasizing the daylight on the stage??? Them stealing color films??? Who were they contacting? Why are Louis, Claudia and Madeleine just sitting there like that. And god the relationship between Armand and Louis??? NGL, when I pointed out it would not be the wholesome romance that some were expecting… >I< did NOT expect it to be this. Did. Not. Because this is several thousand ways of fucked up. Not only for Louis to absolutely fall into this part but also the dynamics wrt to the coven, and Armand’s vulnerability there, and willingness to submit, to just get an OUNCE of affection, FFS. So, so fucked up. Did not see THAT coming. God. It makes me wonder what else we’ll learn in the next two episodes, lol.

I’m not ready to let them go. 😭