#americas next top brat

[cuteteacakes]

Ooooh, put all three together fighting for top bratty again! xD

{🍒} - "I make my living being a brat so I win~!" Right out of the gate with Akira bragging about his camboy profession!!

{🧁} - "But I've been around the longest, I'm the top brat~" But Caleb's bringing up the fact that he's my first oc from high school oh snap!!

{€} - "I don't know why you two even bother, I'm literally stuck in my twelve-year old body which can't age! I'm literally a brat by definition!" And Beau rounds it off with his curse! Which brat is the top brat?? Cast your vote!!

[bloodstainedsaint]

sticky fingers (ronald speirs x reader smut)

summary: you've noticed that you've been missing panties ever since your first time with your lover, ronald speirs. fortunately for you, he's been replacing them.

word count: 1220+

warnings: 🔞, reader has female genitalia, looting, fingering, praise, ron's a little freak (but we knew that), implied that ron jacks off with your panties, reader's a little bit of a brat (that gets straightened out by soft dom ron)

notes: inspired by this ask (brilliant idea btw) and a little bit by ron's handwriting

It had become commonplace ever since Easy Company moved into Germany for you to come back to your billet and find loot laying on your bed, accompanied by a note signed in beautiful cursive that read Courtesy of Capt. Speirs (as if you didn't know who was leaving you these gifts). You already knew that Ron was sending ornate silver cutlery and decor back home to your house in America so you wouldn't have to lug it around with the rest of your belongings; the loot that made it to your bed were things that he wanted you to wear for him that very night: heels, jewelry/accessories, dresses, and his favorite: lingerie.

Now in Austria nearing the end of the war (in Europe, at least), that was what you found placed on your bed, next to the usual note. And, as you usually did, you smiled to yourself at the gifts, freshened yourself up, and first tried on the lacy lingerie that he'd selected for you, followed by the elegant off the shoulder evening gown, the heels, and the diamond necklace.

What often followed was him coming back to find you all dressed up before dancing with you — with you leading, of course. With the radio in the room playing slow love songs, he would start planning a future with you as he twirled you around, saying all the things the two of you would do once back in the States: buy a house, raise a family, adopt a dog. It had surprised you the first time; you had never expected Ron to think of the future (one including you, no less) and realize that he just might be going home after all.

As you started clasping on the necklace with your back facing the door, someone barged in like they owned the place. You turned around and were not surprised to see Ron there, seemingly not fully acknowledging your presence as he shed his hat and the top layer of his uniform. Placing them on a chair, he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Has anyone ever taught you to knock, Ron?” you huffed lightheartedly as you finished fastening the necklace. He finally turned his attention to you, and you could see the tension (you assumed from everything that had happened recently with Staff Sergeant Grant) disappear from his face, replaced by something darker as he drank in how the dress hugged your curves so well.

“Well,” you said while smoothing out the dress and preparing to spin for him, “how do I lo—”

Predatory eyes raked over your body. “On the bed.”

“Ron?”

“Get on the bed, now.” Something akin to desperation was masked by the harshness of his tone.

Doing as he said, you sat on the edge of the bed. He strode over and stood over you, and your breath hitched when he lifted your chin upward with two fingers. “Good girl.”

He withdrew his hand and let it run over your bare shoulders before tugging on one of the sleeves, uttering, “I want this off.”

“I just put it on!” you protested.

There was a subtle crazed look to his stare, a hardly restrained wildness lying beneath. “And you'll take it off.”

You first took off your heels, and, maintaining eye contact, you slipped off the sleeves of your dress and pulled the rest down, slowly revealing your lace-covered chest and the inches of skin that lay below. Smirking, you let the dress sit around your hips as you first removed the necklace and set it aside.

“It's a shame to let a dress this nice pool on the floor,” you said, enjoying the way his jaw tensed, “so I'll stop here.”

His glare hardened, and he bent down slightly and pulled the dress down the rest of the way, with you wiggling your hips to assist him. He placed the dress on the same chair as his officer jacket and hat. “Happy?”

You innocently beamed up at him, relishing in knowing how much of a grip his love for you had on him. “Very.”

He returned and leaned over you, with one hand on the bed beside you and the other traveling to your panties.

Before he could get any closer to what he desired, you placed your hand around his wrist. He immediately stopped his arm and studied your face.

Meeting his gaze, you breathily said, “I've been missing panties, Sparky.”

“That's a shame.” His apathetic voice and expression indicated that it was anything but.

“I know you've been stealing them since our first time together.”

Shrugging, he pouted for a second like he usually did when he was thinking. You unknowingly loosened your grip, and he pushed your wet panties to the side and began rubbing circles on your clit. “And I've been replacing them with new ones, haven't I?”

Your thoughts became jumbled at the slow circles, and your hand fell away completely. “Yes, sir…”

He smiled, watching you lose your focus and confidence at the movements. “You wanna know what I do with them?” Gulping, you unsteadily bobbed your head. “Whenever we’re separated, I use them to remind me of you.”

“Use… them?” Your face flushed at the thought.

He only chuckled in response. His fingers moved down from your clit to circle your opening.

“Maybe I'll take these with me to the Pacific,” he pondered aloud, pulling the strap of your panties back and then snapping them against you. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Ron, I like thes—” you cut yourself off with a moan as his fingers plunged into you.

“I didn't think so, pretty girl.” He gently guided your body down onto the bed so his fingers could reach deeper within. Your back arched as he went at a brutal pace, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

Ron leaned over you with one arm supporting him. Somehow speeding up his movements against that sensitive spot inside of you, the palm of his hand rubbing deliciously against your clit, he lowered himself to mouth along the valley between your breasts. In his wake, he left conspicuous marks on your neck before trailing his lips up and capturing yours in a kiss full of shameless want.

He could tell you were getting close when your walls started squeezing around him and you became a whiny, breathy mess before him, bucking your hips to meet his fingers. “You're doing so good for me, just let go. That's it, beautiful…”

Lights sparked behind your eyelids, and your moans of his name took on a higher pitch, neighbors be damned. Ron slowed down his thrusts and let you ride out your climax. Before you could notice the absence of his fingers or that he wasn't kissing you anymore, your panties were already pulled down and off of your legs and stuffed into his pants pocket.

Ron licked the stickiness off of his fingers and climbed onto the bed, situating himself above you. “As much as I liked that dress on you, I like you better with it off.”

You laughed, still out of breath with a hazy mind. “Why don't you show me just how much, Captain?”

His lips pulled up into that unnerving smile that only you found charming. He breathed, “My pleasure,” and fit his lips against yours before you could catch a glimpse of the lingerie sticking out of his pocket.

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @samwinchesterslostshoe, @maya0, @linhkhanhcps, @cinnamonmalarkey, @imafckingbitch

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Tom Slater

Published: May 1, 2024

The Columbia cranks rant about killing Zionists one minute and demand hot meals the next.

If you want to know what’s driving the Israelophobic protests and occupations at New York’s Columbia University – and many more elite campuses across America – get a load of this clip that has been doing the rounds on social media over the past 24 hours.

In it, one Johannah King-Slutzky – spokesperson for the occupation of Columbia’s Hamilton Hall, which was forcibly ended by the New York City Police Department last night, with around 100 arrests – issues her and her comrades’ demands. On top of Columbia ‘divesting’ from Israel and such, King-Slutzky also demanded meals and water.

Apparently, Columbia was refusing to allow the students who were then breaking windows and barricading themselves inside Hamilton Hall to access their usual canteen grub. ‘We’re saying that [Columbia is] obligated to provide food to students who have paid for a meal plan here’, King-Slutzky told a sceptical press conference.

When pushed, she said they were only asking that supplies be allowed to be brought in:

‘Do you want students to die of dehydration and starvation or get severely ill, even if they disagree with you?… I mean, it’s crazy to say because we are on an Ivy League campus, but this is like basic humanitarian aid we’re asking for. Like, could people please have a glass of water?’

It’s all there. The whinging cadence, the ‘like’-strewn patter, the obligatory keffiyeh, the industrial-strength victimhood, the bloke in a crop top stood behind her… King-Slutzky and Co are the picture of trustafarians in revolt. Their anti-Israel bigotry is matched only by their profound sense of entitlement. How dare the university not provide adequate refreshments while we are smashing shit up?

There are plenty of people today likening the Columbia meal-planners to their Sixties forebears – in particular, to the Columbia radicals who mounted their own disruptive demos in 1968. Sadly, even some veterans of Sixties activism are flattering today’s privileged brats with the comparison.

But it’s bollocks. When Columbia students occupied Hamilton Hall and other buildings in April 1968, they did so to oppose the Vietnam War and university plans to build a gymnasium in nearby Harlem, which students argued would effectively be segregated. After a week, police moved in and arrested 700 students.

Today, Columbia students and their off-campus heavies aren’t opposing war exactly. Yes, they oppose Israel’s assault on the genocidal lunatics of Hamas, following the Islamist terrorists’ vicious pogrom on 7 October. But they seem pretty relaxed about warfare against the state of Israel. ‘We don’t want no two states / We want all of it!’, they chant. ‘Never forget 7 October… 7 October is about to be every fucking day for you. You ready?’, screeched one racist cunt outside the gates.

Therein lies another crucial difference between ’68 and today. Today’s students aren’t fighting racism, they are luxuriating in it. Khymani James, a leader of the Columbia protests, posted a video to social media the other week saying ‘Zionists don’t deserve to live’. ‘I don’t fight to injure or for there to be a winner or a loser, I fight to kill’, he said, fantasising about having a scrap with one of those awful Jews. (Given the vast, vast majority of Jews are Zionists, that’s really not overegging it.)

Elsewhere, we’ve seen protesters chant ‘Go back to Poland’ at Jewish Columbians and hold up homemade signs, stating ‘Al-Qasam’s [sic] next targets’, pointing to a group of Israeli-flag-waving students. The Al-Qassam Brigades being Hamas’s military wing. An Arab Israeli was also punched outside Columbia recently, by activists brandishing the pro-Hamas triangle symbol.

I’m willing to concede that some of this unvarnished, violent hatred is being carried out by off-campus antifa types, as is routinely alleged by the protesters’ apologists. Not least because King-Slutzky and yer man in his crop top look like they couldn’t fight their way out of a ball pit. But activists’ alarmingly high tolerance for virulent anti-Semitism, their total lack of condemnation of Hamas or its many campus fanboys, speaks volumes.

As does their expectation of water and spag bol and their apparent shock and horror when the police were called in. The Columbia protesters and their supporters are now trying to portray the clearance of Hamilton Hall as an affront to freedom of speech. Free speech is ‘supposed to be prized’ on campus, one student told Al Jazeera last night.

Being concerned about a heavy-handed response to these demos is one thing. The governor-ordered crackdown on protests at University of Texas at Austin, for example, has been nakedly authoritarian and censorious. But there is no inalienable right to break into and occupy university buildings. (Nor is there an inalienable right to constantly harass Jewish students as they try to move around campus.)

As the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE) points out, civil disobedience is not the same as expressing an opinion or engaging in peaceful protest. The whole point of it is to break the rules. Indeed, it ‘derives expressive power from the willingness of participants to accept the consequences of breaking the rules’. That these students and junior academics are shocked to be handcuffed for breaking the law reveals a profound sense of entitlement among young ‘radicals’.

We shouldn’t be surprised. FIRE president Greg Lukianoff has pointed to two dispiriting, parallel trends in American universities: a willingness to curtail free speech, all while giving a green light to violent, intolerant protests. At the University of California, Berkeley, where students rioted in 2017 because that tiresome weirdo Milo Yiannopoulous was speaking, the university ‘showed cowardice in its unwillingness to punish the rioters’, writes Lukianoff and Angel Eduardo in a recent op-ed. We saw a similarly rank capitulation at Evergreen State that same year, where marauding students were effectively allowed to chase professors Bret Weinstein and Heather Heying off of campus. Since then, ‘shutdowns and shout-downs have become commonplace’, they write.

Some critics of campus cancel culture have been caught off guard by the pro-Hamas protests. Almost a decade ago, they observe, we were all gawping at the ‘Yale Snowflakes’, those absurd Ivy Leaguers who went into open, teary-eyed revolt because academic Erika Christakis sent them an email saying they should chill out about offensive Halloween costumes. How did babyish offence-taking give way to open support for anti-Semitic terrorists?

But it all makes a perverse kind of sense. Students taught that freedom of speech is a form of violence have begun to see violence as a form of free speech. Young radicals reared on a crude, conspiratorial racial identity politics have begun to apply it to geopolitics, with predictably anti-Semitic results. A new generation of elite youth, overprotected and indulged in equal measure, have come to think they can do no wrong.

So let’s retire the Sixties comparisons. In 1964, when Mario Savio – civil-rights activist and student leader of the Free Speech Movement – was leading a campaign of civil disobedience, aimed at liberating Berkeley students from censorship, his cause was just and he was happy to suffer the consequences of his methods. ‘There is a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious’, he famously said, ‘you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels… you’ve got to make it stop!’. Meal plans did not get a mention.

At the same time, let’s not pretend that today’s revolting students just appeared, fully formed, from the womb. They are the products of an academic and upper-class culture that has kindled their prejudices and inflamed their intolerance. They aren’t revolutionaries. They’re bigoted brats. And they’ve been pandered to for far too long.

==

Students taught that freedom of speech is a form of violence have begun to see violence as a form of free speech.

This is an important point. The people who insisted that "words are violence" and that "misgendering" someone is as good as murdering them, are busy trying to pretend that their violence and destruction is merely a form of protected free speech and opinion expression.

It's not. They're trying to gaslight society.

If you're too stupid or too ideologically compromised to stand up and go get a glass of water, you probably should remove yourself from the gene pool.

[jarritos-hetalia]

Part two of Hetalia as things I've heard! (Extended edition)

These are from years ago, like a while ago. So there are references to Pokemon scarlet and violet, and maybe other things.

~~~

Italy: That kid just twerked on baby Jesus!

~~~

Hungary: So a woman's period is kinda like-

Prussia: *Starts Crying*

~~~

Germany: Hey Japan-

Japan: *Hugs him*

Germany: *Confused Screaming*

~~~

Romano: Do you know who that is? *Points to a random person*

Spain: No?

Romano: That's because you are ugly.

Spain: *Sad*

~~~

America: Hey Old man, have you heard of the star wars character Bofa?

Canada: Don’t

England: What?

America: Bofa deez nuts in your mouth!

~~~

America: I’ve played basketball before.

America: *Goes to shoot the ball*

Canada: Go Lebron Manays!

~~~

Romano: *Sitting on the floor behind Italy and Spain so he doesnt get called on*

Spain: *pointing to him* Romano is here!

Romano: You Bitch

Spain: Germany, call on him!

~~~

Italy: Bye Germany!

Germany: Bye Italy, Love you!

Italy:

Germany: I’m so sorry

~~~

America: *On a discord call with Japan*

Japan: Bye

America: Bye, Love you

Japan: Wha-

America: * Hangs up*

Discord- would you like to rate your call?

America: *typing* Bad, I accidentally said “I Love You”

~~~

America: lol

England: What is this 2012? I haven't heard anyone say “lol” in years.

America: *internally* Did no one ever teach you to mind your own business.

England: *Laughing his ass off*

America: yesterday you said that something was groovy, what year are you living in, 1980?

England: >:O

~~~

Romano: So I stabbed myself in the leg three times with a pen-

Italy: WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT?!

Romano: Because I was stressed? Anyway-

~~~

Hong Kong: *Vibing to Cabinet Man by Lemon Demon at three am*

Japan: *Bangs on his door* DID YOU OPEN MY MOUNTAIN DEW?!

Hong Kong: wha- WHY THE FUCK WOULD I??

Japan: GOOD *leaves*

~~~

Italy: Illions’s favorite pizza topping is ketchup.

Romano: *Grabs his bat* What the fuck.

~~~

America: TwO tRuCkS, hAvInG sEx

England: What the actual fuck

~~~

Germany: I’m Hyperlexic

Italy: I’m Dyslexic

Japan: Together you are lexic

Romano: You just brought back so many lexia memories

~~~

Russia: I opened his mountain dew

Hong Kong: Why?

Russia: I like to inhale the carbonation.

Hong Kong: *Confused Screaming*

~~~

France: I’m not going

England: Okay

France: *Gets out of the car*

England: I thought you weren't coming?

France: I am now

~~~

Receptionist: Hey lady, so the restrooms are all the way across the building and the others are through the gym

Hungary: Why?

~~~

Romano: I swear to God if one more thing goes wrong today I'm going to kill myself.

Spain: Hey.

Romano: I'm going to kill myself!

~~~

England: *Walking*

America: You look like an NPC

England: What?

America: Now you look like a roblox character.

~~~

Italy: I got an ad for the new pokemon game and I was like “Did that pokemon just turn into a fucking motorbike?!”

Romano: *Mocking Him* Did that person just turn into a present?!

~~~

England: I can’t feel my facial muscles.

France: You can’t because you don’t commonly give people blow jobs.

England: What the heck.

~~~

France: Next person to walk through the door is annoying

England: *walks through the door*

France: True

England: FUCK YOU

France: I know you would you slut

~~~

America: That man was a pedophile!

England: It was the fucking mall santa!

Canada: Truly the most perverted man alive.

England: You too!?

~~~

Romano: Italy I swear to God if you do something more chaotic than you normally do I'm going to fucking choke Spain out.

Italy: Why are you torturing Spain

Romano: Because Spain is just an annoying little brat

Spain: *Getting ready to be killed* Screw you Romano no one loves you

Germany: I'm going to the corn field

~~~

America: is it a hotdish or a casserole?

Canada: a Casserole?

America: Nope, a hotdish

Canada: What the fuck is wrong with you.

~~~

Italy: Anything can kill you if you throw it hard enough!

Romano: *Breaking threw the door* Hey! That’s my line!

France: Anything can be a dildo if you try hard enough! England: You are a fucking disappointment

France: I know

~~~

Italy: This is my favorite picture of Germany!

Japan: All I see is Johnny Deept

~~~

Romano: *Kicking the air*

Prussia: *Grabs His leg*

Romano: *Falls*

Prussia: ‘-’

Romano: HE THREW ME! Prussia: NO I FUCKING DIDN’T

~~~

Russia: I know your mom

America: *Does Not have a mom* What’s her name?

Russia: Umm

America: What’s her name?

Russia: I’m in danger *Laughes*

~~~

Canada: I don’t know football

America: Okay?

Canada: But I know Hockey

America: Why

~~~

Germany: Depressed can be a character trait?

Germany: Hey y'all my name is Germany and I’m depressed!

~~~

Germany: *Making the hand wolves have sex*

Romano: DON’T MAKE THE HAND WOLVES HAVE SEX

~~~

Norway: So Finland gave me two fidget toys

Iceland: ?

Norway: and one of them is this fidget spinner thing and the other one is just a ball

Iceland: Ball, I want ball

Norway: O-okay. *Hands him the ball*

Iceland: *holds the ball* Textured Ball

~~~

Iceland: Hey Sealand, look at this *Shows him screenshots of lexia*

Sealand: Wha- *Starts Crying and screaming*

~~~

Romano: Sprigatito the italian seasoning cat.

~~~

Canada: Mom said that I was her favorite memory and that you were her second

America: *Angry Yelling*

England: I said that because he was the first born!

~~~

America: Hey BrOtHeR!

Canada: What do you want?

~~~

Iceland: I’ll walk home by myself

Sweden: You won’t

Iceland: Watch me *Walks out*

~~~

Italy: when in doubt, know your way out

Germany: what are you planning on doing

Japan: *running* I AM NOT TAKING ANY CHANCES 

Germany: what???

~~~ Spain: Two trucks having sex~

Romano: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU SPAIN

~~~

England: *Talking about child labor* Look at how dead inside this child looks

England: *Shows a picture of a kid from miss pilgrims home for particular children* Look at how similar they are, so you might say that the kids were ‘particular’

England: *Shows a picture of the kids from the shining* I added that one in there for fun-

America: *turns to Canada* We’re talking about child labor and he wants to make that fun?

Canada: Weird

~~~

China: Remembering the time my boyfriend told me that “Sweet Bod” by Lemon Demon was our love song but in a romantic way.

Japan: and you didn’t break up with him?

~~~

America: You can perform CPR to “Two Trucks” by Lemon Demon

Japan: What?

America: Imagine waking up after CPR and hearing “Two Trucks, having sex”

Japan: What is wrong with you?

~~~

[myinconnelly1]

Hard at Work - A Small Trip

Summary: Katie Thompson is good at solving problems, so naturally when an offer for a work study at Stark Tower arrives, she signs up. Will her Omega designation help or hinder the training of the new superheroes.

Word Count: 956

Masterlist

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, Masturbation (Male), Dark thoughts, Possessiveness, corny flirting

Katie had grabbed her bag quickly and rushed away from Tony’s office a little faster than she would have been proud to admit.  She was so absorbed in her on thoughts that she didn’t even notice when she walked past Steve Rogers, and Katie would never let that meeting slide past her otherwise.

Steve on the other hand knew everything about Katie from the single waft of her scent as she rushed by.  He had marched straight to his room and locked himself in.  He had never been this intoxicated by an omega’s scent before.  He had been locked in for two hours now and was currently stroking himself slowly for the third time as the spicy scent that Katie had left him with wound itself into his mind.  The first time he had cum he had barely touched himself before popping his knot.  But even that didn’t stop him from jerking himself to a fast and breathless second release.

Steve could tell from the brunt spiciness of the omega, that she was coy little brat.  She probably knew exactly what she was doing with that little skirt that she had worn into Stark Tower.  He knew that she was playing hard to get with the way that she held her binder in front of her breasts.  He bet they were firm, as he squeezed his cock and groaned.  He wanted to spill him cum all over her breasts.

He had been a sweet boy from Brooklyn before he went into the ice seventy years ago.  He had not been kissed until Peggy, but when they thawed him he refused to live his second life as a virgin.  What was the point in being a famous superhero if you didn’t get the pretty girls that you rescued.

Steve choked slightly as he came again thinking about Katie.  Breathless and with a small amount of blood on her, she thanked him.  In his fantasy, he had just rescued her from a small army, and she knew of a way to thank Captain America for saving her.  In fact, she had been saving herself for him.

Katie had rushed back to her apartment, packed her small little bags and rushed down to hail a taxi in the rush hour of New York.  She turned the street corner to get a better spot to hail the cab and walked straight into someone.

“Crap!”  She yelped helplessly as she started to fall backwards reaching out for anything to grab onto.  The sleek material in front of her was the only thing she managed to grab as she went downward and back, realizing too late that she was bringing whatever she had grabbed with her.

“Shit, are you okay?”  The solid form of the man who had landed on top of her asked.  Katie had grabbed him by the tie and after bumping into him.  He had managed to get his hands behind her head and protected her from concrete when she thumped to the ground with a small ‘oof’.

“I am so sorry; I need to do a better job of paying attention.  I was just looking for a ride.”  She stilled once the words were all out of her mouth, and she realized he had landed between her legs.  Their position could not have been more intimate if they had planned it.  He chuckled quietly before reaching for something beside her side.

“I could give you one, but I don’t think that you would get very far,” He teased as he moved to kneel.  It was then that Katie realized he had grabbed a red tipped white cane.

“Oh my God, I took down a blind person.  I’m the worst,” She groaned, and he laughed.  “I’m Katie by the way, in case you want to press charges or something.”  She had given up on trying to think her way into a good line with the handsome stranger. 

“Negligent clumsiness is the next big threat to New York.  Twenty percent of people claim to have been victims from nervous pretty girls walking into them,” He was still grinning as he stood up and offered a hand out to help her up.  “I’m Matt by the way.”

“That’s a good one,” She giggled and stood up.  “Can I pay for your cab ride?”

“Will you share it with me?”  He asked.  Katie blushed.  She had never talked with anyone so direct.  She knew alphas could be abrupt like this, but Matt’s scent marked him as a beta.  “I’m making you uncomfortable, sorry,” He said as he tilted his head to listen to something.

“No, I was just surprised.  Where are you heading to?”  She asked putting her arm up and out to flag a taxicab.

“I’d rather not say it out loud on the street.  It might draw the wrong kind of attention,” he whispered conspiratorially.  Katie laughed at this.

“Fine, Mr. secretive.  You can tell it to the cab driver and if it’s in the right direction, I’ll ride with you.” 

“Deal,”  He jumped on it.  “You’re bleeding.”

“What?”  She asked looking at him quizzically.

“On your back, I think you scraped yourself when you fell.”  He gestured behind her as she felt her back.  There was a small scrape, but it would be fine she decided.

“It’s okay, thanks.  How did you do that?”  She asked as the taxi pulled up to the curb.  She opened the door, and Matt grabbed her elbow gently.  She was surprised at first but realized it was probably to guide himself into the vehicle.

“Where too?”  the cabbie asked.

“The Stark Campus,” Matt said as he adjusted to make himself comfortable on the far side of the car.  “Is it on your way?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boy that was some conflicting thoughts. Cute flirting and dark possessiveness in the same fic!

What do you think? Are you ready for classes to start?

[xoxiu]

my house of stone, your ivy grows - yoongi x reader

chapter eighteen table of contents masterlist join the taglist discord

summary: yoongi carried himself with a sense of pride within himself and his belongings. he worked hard to get to where he was- ethically or not, it made him the man he is today. his latest toy, a young college girl from america, will become his magnum opus. he just needs to work out the kinks.

tags/warnings: mafia au, kidnapping, daddy dom!yoongi, smut, autistic!reader, spanking, stockholm syndrome, little!jimin, vminhope, drug mention, namjin, fluff, domestic discipline

taglist: @allamericanuniverse @llallaaa, @frieschan

“We’re going back to Seoul,” Yoongi said, dragging Kiwo up the trail and back towards the house. The others exchanged frantic glances as they slowly calmed down from their previous panic.

The rage, the fear, and the panic Yoongi felt at that moment were enough to confirm his theory- Kiwo was not ready to be independent yet.

————

The front door slowly creaked open. Kiwo’s head ripped around to face the door- and the person cautiously peeked in. As her eyes landed on him, her heart stopped. Kiwo bit her lip, but couldn’t help but tear up. She quickly ran to him, crying tears of happiness. 

The room filled with coos as Kiwo jumped into Yoongi’s arms, sobbing loudly as he held her. 

“Why is she..?” Jimin started to ask, his own eyes tearing up. He was thoroughly confused at the sight- Kiwo was supposed to be happy that Yoongi was home, not sad. 

“Happy tears, love,” Seokjin said, “Happy tears.”

The two walked over to the couch, Yoongi sitting down with Kiwo still tightly latched onto him. He closed his eyes as he laid back, feeling exhausted from the hours-long drive. Cries faded into sniffles, and as things calmed down from the reunion, Jimin deemed it the perfect opportunity to remind everyone of the day’s plans.

”Are we still gonna go on a nature walk?” He asked, looking around the room. Silent conversations were held as they looked back and forth at each other, not sure exactly what to say. 

“Once I’ve had time to rest, then we can all go,” Yoongi was the one who replied first. Gently, he nudged Hoseok, who promptly gave up his seat next to Yoongi on the couch. Yoongi lay down across it, holding Kiwo closely on top of him. 

Jimin furrowed his brows, not liking the implications. “But you nap for hours! I wanna go now!”

”Jimin-” Hoseok started empathetically until Yoongi cut him off. 

“Just 30 minutes. Count them.”

Jimin began to obnoxiously count upwards, walking upstairs while still yelling out numbers. Yoongi smirked and closed his eyes. 

“Thanks, hyung. Now he’s never going to shut up until then.” Hoseok crossed his arms, annoyed at the older’s suggestion. 

“Do you really think he can count that high?”

————

“1,800! Come on, Yoongi hyung!” Jimin ran down the stairs, only to be met with everyone already at the front door. Seokjin was bent down, tying up Kiwo’s shoes. 

At Taehyung’s command, Jimin began frantically grabbing his coat and shoes. The air was chill, likely the last good weather day of the season. Winter was fast approaching, and snow would fall any day now. 

Kiwo was all bundled up as if the temperatures had already fallen below freezing- Yoongi made sure the girl had on a cute pink hat and matching mittens. Previously she had on a scarf, but after a minor meltdown over feeling suffocated, Yoongi decided not to fight that specific battle. 

“Daddy,” Kiwo whined out, stomping her feet. “They hurt!” 

“They’re just mittens, doll. You’ll live.”

“But they-“ Before Kiwo could finish, Yoongi bent down and harshly removed the mittens from her hands. He lightly swatted her hand, scolding her. 

“You will not act like a brat on our walk, got it?” Kiwo did not acknowledge Yoongi, simply staring at Jin as he opened the door. 

A grin grew on Jimin’s face as he came up with a plan. He ran past everyone else towards the water, calling out to Kiwo ‘I’ll beat you there!’

Before Yoongi could tell her no, she wasn’t allowed to run ahead of them, Kiwo was already running quickly behind Jimin. The boy was much taller and faster and reached the shore before Kiwo was even halfway down the hill. Everyone watched as Kiwo stopped in her tracks as Jimin began to laugh and tease her for losing. 

“It’s okay, Kiwo. It wasn’t a fair race,” Namjoon consoled the little as they approached her. She still stood frozen in the path, not moving or speaking. As they got closer, Yoongi went to pick the girl up, only to have her make a sudden break for the forest to the left of them. 

“God- Kiwo!” Yoongi yelled, dropping her mittens and running after her. 

Kiwo ran with all the energy she could muster. Freedom was all she was thinking about as she tried to lose Yoongi in the thin forest. If she could only run quickly and yell loud enough, someone would be bound to hear her. 

Standing alone, facing the vast ocean made something snap in her. She didn’t belong here- she was kidnapped. Oftentimes it felt like she forgot that she was technically a missing person since she wasn’t being tortured or killed. The ocean was so beautiful- Kiwo had never seen it before coming to Korea. In a backward way, it reminded her of home, where she wanted to be. 

So, she ran. Her chest ached, her legs tingled, and her breath hitched with every stride, but she never stopped running. Kiwo didn’t know if she was screaming or not- she thought she was, but couldn’t hear a single thing. 

She was going home. 

All Kiwo could think of was going home to see all her friends, and have a giant reunion with as much alcohol they could fathom. Be an adult. Her first adventure into adulthood was squashed with Yoongi’s whole baby act, and she wanted to be big again. While she liked it, her brain knew it was sick and twisted. Yoongi was basically a pedophile. 

Kiwo turned her head to look back. To her surprise, no one was behind her. Her fast-paced run slowed as she realized no one was chasing after her, allowing her to catch her breath. No one had run after her. 

Looking around, Kiwo really couldn’t see anything. The terrain was turning more mountainous, which she didn’t feel like climbing. Not wanting to go back, she stayed where she was, sitting on the cold ground. 

Time passed, and Kiwo kept her eyes wide open. She looked in all directions to try and see if someone would find her. It felt like hours, and the sky was slowly darkening with what looked to be an incoming storm. Kiwo curled in on herself at the thought of being lost in the woods while it was raining. 

Left with only her thoughts, she began second-guessing her decisions. Yoongi wasn’t dangerous- or, wasn’t dangerous towards her. He was the closest relation she ever had, and in reality, she really, really found him attractive. Who in their right mind runs away from a hot man that wants you to be with them? Maybe, Kiwo thought, she was just an idiot. 

A raindrop fell onto the top of her head. 

———— 

It had been three hours since Namjoon and Yoongi searched for Kiwo. Rain began to steadily fall, making the ground muddy and hard to walk in. After the first hour, their anxieties turned into anger at Kiwo’s actions. She had it so good, why would she run from it? 

“This is the last time I let her outside, I swear to God,” Yoongi yelled over to Namjoon, who canvassed the area roughly 50 yards to Yoongi’s right. “When we find her-”

”Over there!” Namjoon yelled, briefly pointing to the right before sprinting towards Kiwo. Yoongi quickly followed his lead, just barely making out the bright white color of her jacket through the pouring rain.

[feeeshman]

for real tho, America's Next Top Model. the video game. for the Wii.

this thing is as shovelware as shovelware gets, and yet it's hilarious and baffling in how good quality the soundtrack is. it sounds exactly like a trashy reality show from the 2000's in all the best ways possible.

the smooth as hell percussion in this one?? and that sick as hell flute moment in the second half?? fuck it up pied piper!

literally catch me in the in the club bumpin it to this one. antp for the wii walked so charli xcx brat could run

like this shit bumps hard. using shattering glass as an instrument? avant garde...

if you want to see what this insane game is about for yourself i highly recommend this let's play series by lucahjin on youtube. its a few years old now but her and her husband are hilarious riffing on this weird ass game.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

resist and elongate

or: we’ve both said a lot of things that you’re going to regret.

gn!reader, explicit violence and nsfw, that kind of flirty filthy back-and-forth that i love so much. the two-way stretch. bloody HELL, it’s finally here! at last, my little murderers return… i say it every time, but this genuinely would not have been possible without the lovely people on discord and tumblr cheering me on through thick and thin - love and kisses to all of you! an extra-special round of applause for @zozo-01 @halscafe and @sri-rachaa, without whom i would be thoroughly and utterly lost, both in america and in my google docs. vengeance, i’m told, is a virtue. vega sitting pretty at the top of the food chain in just over 18,600 words.

LOTS of warnings here: heavy gore and violence, explicit injury description, death and dead bodies, mutilation, explicit and cold-blooded murder (and, like, a LOT of it), body horror, manipulation and unhealthy relationship dynamics (it’s vega and warden, come on), explicit sexual content.

a variety of things going on when we reach the sexy bit, including: exhibitionism, voyeurism, choking, facefucking, a little bit of humiliation, heavy degradation, quite a lot of spit, a teeny bit of (tasteful) spanking, restraints (using magic), a little bit of manhandling, orgasm denial, some very brief dacryphilia, biting, name calling (including 'slut', 'bitch', ‘brat’, 'whore'), warden is EMPHATICALLY a sub in this situation, although it’s up to you whether that’s just in this particular scenario or if they’re always like that.

(look, the best way i can describe this is ‘if you enjoy BOTH of the two imperium!vega BAs, INCLUDING the first one which is a bit rougher, you will probably like this too’ - if that’s NOT your thing, you are of course welcome to not read this at all, or just stop reading when things start heating up!)

warden is always described in gender-neutral terms and their body is never described in detail, including skin colour or build. they are not stated to possess any particular… hardware, if you catch my drift. no explicitly gendered pet names are used for them, although they are referred to as ‘beautiful’, ‘pretty’, ‘sweet thing’ etc.

this fic contains graphic content that may not be suitable or appropriate for readers under the age of 18. reader discretion is heavily advised. dead dove: do not eat.

once again, so that you really can’t miss it: you MUST read the above warnings before reading this fic! this gets very gory and very explicit, and as always, i encourage you to stop reading at any point if you feel as though you may become uncomfortable or upset. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI. thank you.

series masterlist

main masterlist

“Apologies, darling. If I’d known the weather would be like this, we would have come tomorrow.”

The residual magic of the rift, swirling shut behind you. A grey and grim early evening, just after the shift change. It’s so cold.

Rain beats down on the hastily-conjured umbrella above your head, steady streams of water trickling off the tips and splashing at your feet, soaking into the soles of your shoes. Next to you, Vega leans a little closer, glancing warily up at the umbrella and carefully tilting his horns away from the fabric.

“It’s fine.” A pulse of warmth ripples across your skin, magic bubbling to the surface. It only lasts a moment, though - the freezing air bites at your exposed skin, and the muscles in your back are already starting to ache with all the tension you’re holding there. “It feels appropriate.”

As a general rule, DUMP buildings aren’t anything special to look at, and this one even less so than most. This particular containment facility is just one of hundreds, a grim maze of concrete and metal that sits sullenly on the outskirts of Dahlia. Most people can’t even see it at all - it’s highly protected, layers upon layers of magic carefully folded around the boundary of the ward to keep it hidden from the unassuming masses. The fence behind you crackles with electricity, coils of barbed wire stretching all around, and despite the thick coating of cloaking magic that surrounds you both, it’s impossible not to be uncomfortably aware of the cameras upon cameras that you know are pointing right at you.

"'Appropriate'?" Vega, apparently, remains unbothered. Typical. "What makes you say that?"

"Don't you think it makes sense?"

“I don’t know. Do I?”

Bastard. He knows exactly what you mean. "This place always felt like it was crying, for one reason or another."

“Pathetic fallacy, then. How… poetic.” Glancing over, Vega’s face remains as unimpressed as ever at your dreary surroundings, though his voice in your head betrays a little of his amusement. "Will we be in for an extended metaphor next?”

Rolling your eyes, you start towards the doors, Sadism demon in tow. “Comedy, another of your many talents,” you reply, though not unkindly. "Not one for human literature, I take it."

He takes a second to think about it, head tipping slightly to one side as he considers your implicit question.

"...Not especially."

How strange. You'd expected a flat-out no. He doesn't exactly strike you as the type to be curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and his face in a book, or stretched out on a sun lounger by the sea, sunglasses perched between his horns, with some wishy-washy romance novel lying next to him. Where does he even get them from? Does he buy them? Does he steal them? The image of Vega, horns and tail and all, lining up at the desk with an armful of books and library card in hand is so utterly bizarre that you have to laugh.

"Something the matter?" Now he turns to look at you, wry gaze stopping you in place, and the playful challenge is clear. Well. As playful as Vega ever is. "I might not be the fondest of humanity's various pastimes, but that doesn't mean I have to be illiterate, you know."

"No, it's nothing, it's nothing," you say, hastily swallowing your mirth. Fortunately, he doesn't pry any deeper into your mind - you dread to imagine what he'd think of you if he saw that particular mental image. "I just never took you as the type to read for pleasure."

"Oh, darling. I do all sorts of things for pleasure." You shift your weight slightly as he speaks - but only because it’s cold, and the rainwater’s getting all in your shoes and making your socks uncomfortably damp. That’s the only reason why. "You're already very well-acquainted with several of them, in case you hadn't noticed."

The tip of his tail slides slowly up and over your hip, running under your shirt, spade settling into the small of your back. You manage not to shiver as it flattens against your skin, cool and delicate, but it's close.

“It would be difficult to miss,” you reply, haughty steel in your voice that you’re not entirely sure you believe. “You’re quite… conspicuous.”

“‘Conspicuous’, is it?” It doesn’t work. He smirks as his tail nudges you closer, one hand swiftly taking the umbrella while the other sneaks around your waist. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“You-!” Pushing half-heartedly at his chest, your head whips to the side to hide your face as he replays a few of his more… shall we say, compromising memories of you in your head. Oh - oh, please don’t say you’d actually been that loud - hmm, you hadn’t realised he’d noticed you doing that - fuck, it had felt so good when he - mmm…

“I - that - it’s-”

“I know, I know.” As quickly as they’d come, the images disappear. The heat in your cheeks, however, does not. “Forgive me, darling?” His tail slides boldly against yours, guiding it up and around your body to press a burning kiss to the spade at the tip. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Shaking your head fondly, you pick the pace back up again - he lets you drag him along, your tail coiled firmly around his wrist, stepping neatly around the puddles so they don’t splash under your feet. Vega’s cloaking is incredibly powerful, but you’re not about to take any chances. If memory serves, the wardens in the CCTV offices can be very observant when they want to be.

(If you’re being honest, they’re probably not looking at the puddles in this courtyard too closely, but it’s always better safe than sorry. If anyone ought to know, it’s you. You’d never been caught off-guard, but you’d had a few close calls, and the human wardens always jump at the chance to bring a demon like you low. No matter how trivial the excuse.)

To tell the truth, you’d never thought you’d be back. Waking up in Vega’s safehouse, you hadn’t even known if you’d ever see the outside world again at all. Days blurring together, getting to grips with where all the new edges of your life are. At first, the fear - Vega had never been cruel to you, at least not in the ways that you knew he could be, but the possibility had never gone away.

(To be honest, it still hasn’t. He just knows now that you give as good as you get.)

Would it be a bad thing, to say that you'd been a little bit grateful? Not for being attacked by the Solitaires, not for the Department coming under more and more fire by the day, not for the demons let loose who really shouldn't have been - but for this chance.

Once you're in the Department, as a demon, it's very difficult to get out. It's not a malicious thing, at least not most of the time. You're just useful. They need all the demons they can get their hands on, starved as they are for real magical power, and what that generally means is that they'll exploit every weakness they can to get you to stay.

You've heard it all. Gratitude for your service, respect for your dedication, admiration for your unending work ethic. Reminders of your pitiful existence outside the Department, your lack of friends or family, your habitual aimlessness as an immortal in a mortal world. You're going to live forever. Might as well do something with your time. They've been keeping demons locked away for a long time, and they're very good at it. You're not just talking about the cells.

This way, it's not on you. There was nothing you could have done. And you're not just saying that - if you had been able to beat back the Solitaires, you would have. But maybe the choice being taken from you was exactly what you needed to get out - maybe it was the only way you’d ever get out. An orderly escape from the rule of law. Dodging the punch. Not painless, and not bloodless either. Just less… friction.

Yeah, that’s a good way of putting it. Less friction, more heat.

Speaking of friction…

Your steps slow as you turn your mind to the press of his aura against yours, the rush of the tide at the edges of your mind. What is that? Excitement? Anticipation? Distracted, you don’t notice you’ve stopped until his arm slides around your waist from behind, lightly pulling you back into his chest while the other holds the umbrella above both of your heads.

“Having second thoughts, darling?” His voice is innocent, lips against your temple as he kisses the words into your consciousness.

“You feel…” It’s difficult to put your finger on it exactly, but if you had to guess, you’d say it’s satisfaction. Or is it vindication? They’re very similar.

He’s been trying to suppress it, but you can tell. He’s good. He’s not infallible. “Was this always the plan?”

“Not at all.”

(...Not quite true.)

“If you hadn’t wanted to, we wouldn’t have come.”

(Mostly true. He probably would have come regardless. He just wouldn’t have told you first.)

You shrug, noncommittal, but you don’t say anything. If that’s what he wants to tell you, you won’t challenge him. The bleak face of Block C looms over you, a few steps leading up to the peeling fire escape doors, and you’re almost, almost there.

“Before we make a start, I ought to ask you one more time.”

He turns you around to face him, an elegant hand gently guiding your face up to look at him. Claws press a little into the softness of your cheek, but there’s no pain.

“It’s a big decision.” His tone, his face, his words - all decidedly neutral as he meets your eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

The memory of your earlier conversation flickers through your mind, remembering the surprised joy that had shot through Vega’s aura when you’d asked him. A favour for you, dearest, he’d said. Consider it a token of my appreciation, for my loyal little warden.

Something you want. Something you want done. I would be delighted to help you in your cause, darling, just as you help me in mine.

A blank cheque. A heady thing, for someone like you - especially when it's coming from someone like him. You're not used to being in control. Demons on Elegy so rarely are, nowadays - you're powerful, but never in power. Can you be blamed for wanting a little taste of that? Is it surprising, that demurity might conceal envy underneath it?

Maybe that's why you'd said it.

Those humans. The facility guards at the containment centre.

You'd thought you'd swallowed it. You'd tried, gulping down jab after stare after pointed remark. Anticipation, electric in your simulated blood. Elation, burning and bubbling in his.

The ones you told me about? Your tormentors. I remember. What about them?

DEPT. OF UNIFORM MAGICAL PRACTICES, PRISONS AND CONFINEMENT SERVICE. You'd kept it in. WARRANT OF ARREST. You'd choked on air you'd never needed. MAY BE MASQUERADING AS REHABILITATION OFFICER. You'd done whatever it took to hide it away.

It’s not too late to turn back. To ask for something easy, something benign - a coffee machine, a pony, a day at the funfair. A warm bath with lots of bubbles. A whole tub of ice cream, one of the big ones from the supermarket, a jar of sprinkles, and a spoon.

WANTED FOR: AIDING AND ABETTING ESCAPE OF MAXIMUM-SECURITY PRISONER. HIGHLY DANGEROUS. SUSPECT SHOULD BE CONSIDERED A THREAT TO LIFE.

Words sticking in your throat - fraying, snapping, falling away. Wishes really do come true.

It's not enough. I want them dead.

Dead, you say. He'd paused, contemplative, but you'd felt that dizzying, adrenaline feeling rushing through him as he pictured it. Do you want to do it?

You…

(...could be tempted.)

(...are surprised by your own lack of apprehension.)

…hadn’t replied straight away.

No. You've always been the type to finish what you started, but you hadn’t thought you'd have the strength for them all, much as it pains you to admit it. I don't, but…

Luckily, you know someone who can help.

I want to watch them die. And I want to watch you kill them for me.

So demanding, little warden. Are you this bossy with all your Sadism demons?

Oh, only my favourites.

Well, when you put it that way… Laughter, low and satisfied, filling your skull. For you, my darling?

He’d drawn you closer into his arms, pressing his forehead lightly to yours, resting his horns against your own. Warm hands cradling the back of your head, and it had been as easy as anything to let yourself drift in the gentle orbit of his aura.

Anything.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Wonderful.” Vega’s claws drag sweetly down the side of your face, digging momentarily into the softness underneath your jaw, before sliding down to your shoulder and turning you smoothly back towards the building.

“Now, then…” He offers you his arm with a grin, wry amusement crackling against your senses, and you take it with a haughty flourish. It’s always fun, to play the part with him. “Shall we, darling?”

No time like the present. You and him against this bloody, brittle world. Big smile, all teeth.

“Of course.”

The umbrella above you dissolves with a burst of magic, fizzling into nothing. Your teeth dig into your lip as you concentrate, slotting a complicated burst of magic in place to fuse with the wards over the door and keep the alarm disabled as Vega looks on proudly. A graceful tendril of psychokinesis pulls the door open in front of you, security alarm stifled with one last flourish, and it’s time to have some fun.

You’ve got a list, you see. And a plan. It’s not a very long list, and it’s not a very complicated plan, but that’s the best bit. Plenty of room for creativity. Vengeance is the mother of invention.

(The list had been longer, and you had been coming up with something a bit more elaborate, but he'd talked you down. The things they've done to you, little one. The things you know they wanted to do to you. If justice really is as blind as your so-called colleagues claim it to be… Where do you draw the line?)

There are CCTV cameras in this hall, but they can't see or hear you - Vega's cloaking takes care of that. Ordinarily, you'd have to adjust for the thermal imaging camera too, but you know full well that the damn thing broke about four or five years ago, and there hasn't been the budget to repair it since.

The security office for this block is coming up on your right, and it feels like there's… thirteen? No, fourteen people in there, judging by the auras you can feel. None of them should give you too much trouble, although you can sense that Freelancer correctional officer by the coffee machine who’ll need to be dealt with. And obviously you’ll have to jam the silent alarm before anyone can get to it. And then there’s the whole camera system, and making sure the right wards are turned off, but making sure it’s on a timer so they turn back on once you’ve gone, because you’re not going for a prison break here, you’re really just trying to settle a score - oh, and you’ll have to keep that Stealth still before he sneaks away - luckily, you know his desk is right opposite the door, so it should be easy enough to-

“Not so fast, human.”

Oops.

Spoke too soon.

You’d been so busy thinking about what you were going to do when you opened the door that you hadn’t noticed it - the correctional officer pulling the door open, carrying a thermos full of coffee, halfway through saying goodbye to the Earth Elemental who has the desk by the door. How had you missed her aura moving towards the door? Damn it, you’ve got to be better at this…

Yes, she’d caught you off guard. Vega, however, always seems to be on a knife-edge with these things.

“Going somewhere?”

He doesn’t even break his stride, arm still linked with yours, but you can feel it.

Abandoning the cloaking with a sudden spike of psychokinesis that blasts the Freelancer back into the room, quickly followed by a blinding wave of paralysis magic, and as he guides you in through the door you - oh.

Okay, so maybe he did panic, just a little bit. Looking around at the sudden carnage inside the office, it’s clear that he might have slightly overdone it. The magic was so strong that it hadn’t just pushed her back, hadn’t just frozen all of the humans in place, but all of the objects in the room as well.

There’s paper everywhere, blown up towards the ceiling and drifting ever-so-slowly to the ground. The fan turns in slow motion, coffee sloshes out of a half-closed thermos and stays hanging in the air, pens and pencils and all sorts of office knick-knacks that went flying in the initial blast just don’t come down the way they should. The humans weren’t spared either - scattered around the room, most are stuck slightly off-kilter or pushed awkwardly against the furniture.

Yep, there’s that Stealth, pinned against the monitors like a butterfly. The Earth Elemental at the desk on Vega’s other side, suspended still falling out of his chair. The pair of Freelancers who sit over by the air-conditioning, pressed uncomfortably back against their screens, grey computer mice dangling off the front of the desks. The rest are half-hidden, odd legs and arms sticking out from behind a printer, the alert board, a computer chair. Magic fills the air, thick and humid, a tableau of filing cabinets and USB cables and human limbs stretching out in front of you.

One room, where time stops. Fourteen humans, whose time is rapidly running out.

“Now then, dearest,” Vega’s hand on your shoulder turns you to face him, while his other brushes quickly past your ear - and when he holds it up in front of you, there’s a single gold coin between his fingers. “Why don’t you choose your favourite, and you can take it home for a souvenir, hmm?”

You level him with your best unimpressed glare. "Really?"

"Really." Unfazed, he drops the coin into your waiting palm with a conspiratorial smile, while his other hand drifts further and further down your spine, getting lower and lower, stopping just barely below where you might call decent. Rascal.

"Go on." Long fingers, digging into the softness of your skin before a sharp slap - heat floods your face, but before you can retort he's already turned you back around to face the rest of the room. “My treat.”

Vega wanders off to inspect the security system, leaving you to make your choice.

The metal starts off cool, but quickly grows warm in your hand as you hold it up to your face - upon closer inspection, it’s not a coin at all. It’s a carnival token, slim and shiny, milled edge pleasantly rough against the tip of your index finger. Maybe an inch and a half in diameter, a picture of a Ferris wheel stamped into the metal, with the words CHOOSE WISELY, DARLING all around the outside.

A souvenir… What does he mean? Whatever it means, you can't imagine that it ends very well for whoever you choose. You'd better pick one you really don't like.

(Then again, does it really matter? It's not like any of them are getting out of this room intact. That's kind of why you came here in the first place.)

Now, which one? It’s a good question - which one are you most excited to see again? You’d be happy with any of them. The containment facility was never sold to you as a particularly pleasant place, and the Department of Enforcement isn’t exactly known for its soft touch.

Even so, you’d hoped it would be better than… this. A fortress of the monstrous, humans and demons alike. Was it naïvete, or stupidity? Piranhas in the moat, and you'd dived right in like the fool they knew you always were. A stinging slap from the hand that feeds you, the deep blue sea of starving to death. Venomous. You never learnt how to swim.

The Stealth who always made sure your paperwork took twice as long to process. The Magnetic who loved to cite some bullshit technicality that meant you were always the first on the list for unpaid overtime, and always the last to know about it. The Freelancer who'd loved to gawp and stare and poke at your horns until you'd had no choice but to hide them away. Weeks on months on years of sniping and biting and feeders like you can't be trusted. Get out of my sight before you fuck this one up even worse than before.

Today, you're settling the score - and as much as you'd love to take it out on one of these assorted lowlifes, you're taking it right to the top.

Heads, I win. Tails, you lose.

The token flips in slow motion as you flick it into the air with your thumbnail, turning over and over as it fights against the thick honey of Vega's paralysis that fills the room. There was only ever one that you were going to pick.

"Have you got one you want yet, dearest?" Vega calls from over by the CCTV monitors, examining the shredded remains of the silent alarm system. "If you're quick, we might have time for ice cream."

Reaching down behind the printer, you grab an ankle and pull. A familiar human dangles upside-down in your grip, desperately trying to thrash and scream in slow motion but not quite managing either, upper body trailing along the worn-out carpet as you drag her back to the front of the office.

A good captain should always go down with the ship, right? She wasn't a good superintendent, but whatever. Close enough.

Funnily enough, this is actually going to be a thank-you present. For everything she's done from you, everything she's done to you. The days that keep you up at night, the days that you barely remember, they were so bad. She always liked to give you the difficult ones - the ones who refused to cooperate, or got violent, or got vicious when someone in a uniform stepped into the cell. Demons don't come from hell, but apparently she was trying to make you feel right at home.

How lucky, then. When you look up difficult in the dictionary, you're fairly sure it's Vega's picture they print there.

"This one."

You sling the superintendent's body at Vega's feet, watching her tumble slowly across the carpet until his foot on her sternum stops her in place. Tilting his head, he peers down at her agonised face - you feel the spike of curiosity rising in his aura, and reply with a choice memory or two of her projected into his head.

“...I see.”

With a wave of your hand, the token you left hanging in the air is pulled towards you - your tail flicks towards Vega and the token follows. He catches it out of the air without even looking, the showoff, more intent on digging the ball of his foot into the human’s ribs and groaning in faux-sympathy when she tries to croak out a protest.

“Is this everyone, then?” he asks, pushing and pulling at the web of psychokinesis that surrounds you both. Around you, weakly-struggling humans drift idly across the room, auras flaring in pain as they occasionally crash into bits of floating furniture. One tries to screech as he’s dragged through a scorching smear of spilt coffee, but Vega glares at him with a snarl - vindictively, you curl your fingers into a fist, and the scream turns into a whimper as his throat constricts around it. Small mercies.

“I think so,” you reply. “All the ones that heard you, certainly.”

“Wonderful.”

This isn’t just a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Mass murder does take some sort of planning, you know. You’re intimately familiar with this place, much as you sometimes wish you weren’t, and Vega’s always been… creative. Sitting at the table in the sun, tucked away in the safehouse, drawing up plans together on that blue paper you’ve seen in films. Isn’t that what humans always use to make plans for things?

(Vega had laughed when you told him that, but he hadn’t told you why. They certainly do, my sweet. Of course. Then, he’d leant over to kiss your cheek, and you’d promptly gone right back to discussing where exactly you were going to kill the admin officer who works in the office on the second floor.)

Obviously, you were never going to be able to do them one by one. It would take forever, and you’d probably get bored. Or tired. Definitely not what you want out of your premeditated murder.

Hence, Vega’s suggestion.

Then we’ll just put them all in one room, surely. I’m told I can be rather persuasive, when I want to be. Don’t you think?

Telepathy is good for more than just idle chatter - you’ll never underestimate the power of suggestion again. Ever since you arrived, a tiny stream of Vega’s magic, channelled into the air like mist, seeping through the building and seeking out its targets. Reminding them of a meeting they were supposed to attend, or a coworker they agreed to meet, or a coffee they needed to get - all in one particular, convenient room.

It’s not foolproof, but when you’ve got an inchoate hellbent on revenge, and a Sadism demon who knows what he’s doing, it does the trick just nicely.

(He did, after all, have a lot of practice on Ivan. To be honest, it’d be more surprising if he wasn’t good at it.)

“I remember some, but not others,” Vega muses, the picture of thoughtfulness as his tail slips around your waist to draw you into him. “I suppose I should be thankful. What a miserable bunch.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Then let me put you out of your misery, darling.” Thirteen helpless figures on the far side of the room, and you couldn’t be more excited. “A little poetic justice, perhaps?”

“Yes, please,” you hum, delighted, curling into his side as ice crystals start to form on the admin officer’s face. “Finally coming round to my point of view?”

“I’m still waiting on that extended metaphor.”

“You don’t think this counts?”

He takes a moment to think about it as the temperature in the room plummets, letting the mess of human limbs in front of the pair of you desperately claw at whatever it can reach in a hopeless attempt to escape. “I suppose you could make a case for it.”

You gesture to the pile of humans in front of you with your free hand, pulling moisture out of the air until you’re both standing in about an inch of quickly-freezing water. “The floor is yours. Show me what you’ve learnt.”

With an exaggerated groan, he suddenly flops backwards onto one of the desks, tugging you down with him until you’re both slumped against the computer setup. Gathering you up in his lap, he flicks one hand and the water jumps in response, swirling and soaking into the moaning bodies on the floor.

“So cruel to you. So cold-hearted,” he sobs mournfully, though you can feel his glee as plain as day when one of the humans sneezes and it turns to snow. “Freezing my pretty warden out like that. It’s a wonder you’re still walking, darling, frostbitten as you must have been.”

Through his tortured expression, he somehow finds the energy to press a brief kiss to your temple, cold against colder. “Frozen solid. I’d say it’s only fair that we return the favour.”

You give him the most disparaging gaze you can, even though it’s kind of difficult when he’s got you trapped here in his arms, sprawled uncomfortably across this desk with a plastic keyboard digging into places you’d rather not mention. “Finished?”

“Maybe.”

“Hm. Partial credit.”

He raises an eyebrow, and water finally becomes ice. Across the room, thirteen humans stop breathing as all their soft tissues freeze solid and their blood turns to slush and their brains turn to nothing.

“Full marks.”

He preens slightly at that, tail swishing slightly behind him. “Oh, anything for you, professor.” Sharp teeth scrape at the side of your neck, kissing at your simulated pulse, just barely nicking the skin. “We should be going. We’ve still got things to do, you know.”

Your tail catches his wrist before he can move. There’s still one more thing to take care of.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

(You know full well he hasn’t forgotten, and he knows you know it too. It’s all part of the show, with him. You make an incredible double act.)

At your feet, the half-frozen body whimpers in pain as you nudge it onto its back with the toe of your boot. Thirteen dead. One still kicking. She’s still sodden with icy water, soggy hair limp and plastered to her skull. Vega’s fingers twitch.

“Now, who might you be?”

She doesn’t reply, staring blankly up at the pair of you in mute horror. You wave down at her with a cheery grin, legs swinging under the desk, and put your hand to your face like you’re going to stage-whisper to her.

(It doesn’t actually make a difference - you’re speaking in her mind. It’s just for fun.)

“The nice gentleman asked you a question.”

Weakly, you feel her try to reach for her core, searching for the threads that you know are held tight in Vega’s fist. Poor thing. She must not have read his file. He’s really good at keeping humans in line.

The flickering in her core catches Vega’s attention. “A Fire Elemental? I did think it was still a little warm in here,” he laughs cruelly, shadow looming over the warden on the floor. “Ah, of course! You must be my lucky little darling’s prize.”

The superintendent shudders as best she can, renewed fear rolling off of her like fog over the sea. Experimentally, you catch a little of it on your tongue, and her terror drips down your throat like acid.

“I’ve heard all about you, you know. The fun that you and my warden used to have together.” He huffs arrogantly, clicking his tongue in mock-disappointment. “You should have invited me. It sounds like a sadist’s feast, from what I hear.”

He smiles, wide and cruel. “Why, it’s positively inhuman.”

The lights flicker and dim, static surging as all of the monitors sing in monochrome. You’re fairly sure your eyes have turned black.

“You should take it as a compliment.” Vega’s claws glint in the dim light of the camera display feeds as the smile slides off his face, melted plastic all soft and liquid, twisting and dripping down to leave only a grim display of teeth behind. “I’m something of an expert on the subject, myself.”

Suddenly, you feel the balance of magic in the room shift, tipping from one side to the other like a ship in a storm. The warden chokes, tears leaking down the sides of her face and dripping into her hair.

“Really, now. There’s no need to cry.”

The human’s tears don’t stop, though - she doesn’t move at all, in fact. Water, running down her temples in thick, steady streams, more and more and more.

“No, no - don’t get up,” Vega sighs, long-suffering as ever. “I’ll get it.”

He snaps his fingers, and the tears stop almost instantly, with a sort of strange crunching noise that you weren’t expecting. Now that you think about it, don’t humans normally make noise when they cry? This one just sort of… lies there.

“In any case, you shouldn’t be so ashamed of it. Being human. You can’t do anything about it, can you? Nobody would choose it, if they had the option.”

A thin line of blood slices down the front of her uniform from neck to navel. Just a shallow cut, nothing serious. Another crunching sound, and something… changes.

“You should be satisfied. Humans can be very useful.”

You’re not really sure what it was. It’s like she sort of… deflated? There’s no good way to describe it. Under the skin, you’re fairly sure something important just collapsed.

“From you, we eat.”

Crying from her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her ears. The light is very low. You’re starting to think it isn’t water.

“From confusion, comes pleasure.”

A sharp crack as the fault line in her chest finally gives in - and a single shoot climbs out of her chest, leafy green and faltering as it pushes its way free of her melting, gasping heart. Up and up and up, shuddering, shaking, until it must be at least two or three feet tall.

“And from shame…”

He’s always liked transmutation. A beautiful pink peony, deep and vivid and striped with white, unfurls atop the long, skinny stem and blooms for you.

“...comes devotion.”

He reaches down to snap the stem, taking about a foot off the top and offering it to you with both hands. Charmed, you take it, hiding your face in the flower and breathing in.

It smells wonderful, a little bit like a rose and a little bit like jasmine. The flower itself is enormous - fluffy and light, about the size of your hand, with airy petals silky and soft in between your fingers. Deep yellow stamens in the middle of the blossom sing against the rich, dark pink that surrounds them. The raw edge of the stem drips with blood. It tastes amazing.

“Oh, you…” It’s unfair how shy he makes you - even just holding his hand as he helps you down from the table, you’re full of light, shaky and hopeful and new. “You didn’t have to!”

“Didn’t I?” He pretends to think, the wonderful pressure of his arm warm around your waist as he guides you towards the door. “You’re right. I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

“God, I hate you.”

(Do all people feel like this when someone gives them flowers? Nobody’s ever given you a flower before, let alone one so beautiful. It’s a wonderful feeling. It should happen more often. More humans should give each other flowers, and make each other feel this feeling, so you can come along and eat it. You’re sure it would be delicious.)

He grins. “I know.”

The corridor is a bit warmer than the morgue you’ve turned the office into, and it’s nice that you don’t have to worry about the security system any more. You’ll have to do the wards one at a time, though - those are all monitored in the security room, but are actually run by live operators. Luckily, you’re not going very far, and nowhere that’s too heavily restricted. As nostalgic as you’re sure it would be to go back and poke around the maximum-security block, you’d much rather just get on with it.

It’s not very far. Down the hall, a right and then two lefts, up the stairs, through the ward, and that should take you to one of the cell corridors. Then it’s just out the other side, up two more flights of stairs, and you’ll be there in no time.

“This way, my sweet.”

Just as the door swings shut, you look back. A little peek over your shoulder. The hated body weeping with melted blood, seeping from its face and soaking into the carpet in a watery, sticky halo. A parting gift. It seems appropriate. Thirteen ice sculptures and one hateful garden, staked through the heart, beautiful peony flowers bursting and blooming from the slush and juice that its miserable form holds.

You wave goodbye. A big, cheesy smile. The door closes, and you don’t look back again.

The walk up to the cell corridor is mostly uneventful, one hand deftly tucked into the crook of Vega’s elbow while the other twirls the stem of your souvenir between your fingers. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence, holding the heavy curtains of the security wards aside for each other at every door, taking the steps one at a time.

It’s so strange, being here but not being in your uniform. It’s even stranger, being here with Vega walking beside you, no bars to keep him locked away. It feels like you’re back, like you’ll turn around and he’ll be sitting across from you at that little metal desk in his cell again, elbows on the table and that maddening not-quite-smile he likes to wear. You know the one. Like he knows something you don’t.

(To be fair, he generally does. Although now that you think about it, maybe that makes it even worse…?)

“Perhaps we’ll go unseen for this part, hmm?” Vega turns to you as you approach the cell corridor, the weight of the ward pressing against your consciousness like interference on the radio. “Something tells me the inhabitants of this particular corridor aren’t the most… accommodating, when it comes to our kind.”

You nod, and the phasecloak settling over you is like sinking into a bath that’s just barely too hot. Burning, then freezing, then numb. It’ll go away in a second. He lifts the edge of the ward for you to duck underneath, stepping through behind you, and the two of you melt through the thick steel of the security door like it’s not even there.

Ah, you hadn’t missed this place.

Cells line the walls on both sides, more above you on the walkways on the upper floor. It’s not silent, but there’s no chatter - there are selective silencing wards over each cell that prevent human speech from escaping, along with several more that stop prisoners from being able to communicate with each other. Not many people outside the facility system know about them, but you do. As one of the only demons working here, you were consulted when they put them up.

You can see them, but they can’t see you - well, of course they can’t see you, you’re phasecloaked - but even if you weren’t, they still wouldn’t be able to see you clearly. The wards also have a slight light-blurring effect that makes it difficult to see out of the cells, just enough that you could see a warden’s face if they came to the cell to speak to you, but not enough that you could make any sort of recognisable signal to the person in the cell opposite.

(It’s not just for the sake of cruelty. This particular corridor is full of Stealths, so all of the cell fronts are bars rather than solid walls - their magic is suppressed so they can’t phase or fully cloak, but having proper closed cells doesn’t actually do anything except make it harder to keep an eye on them.)

(Having bars instead of solid metal across the front of each cell makes it much easier to check that they’re all still there, and it stops them from getting any clever ideas about being hidden, but you still have to afford them some level of privacy. Hence, the blurring that stops prisoners from watching each other across the corridors, but lets you on the outside see them clearly. It’s very effective, not to mention horribly demeaning. Vega probably approves.)

The end of the corridor gets closer. Your footsteps don’t echo.

The two of you, arm in arm, walking through the cell corridor in the silent chill of a rainy evening in the containment facility. It’s… nice. Comforting, even. You’ve heard about humans going on dates before - from what you can tell, it sounds like some sort of activity where they walk around with a friend and do fun things together, like drawing or dancing or kissing. Is this what that feels like? If so, you can see the appeal.

(Well, you’re calling it a date. Law enforcement would probably call it a spree.)

"Something the matter, dearest?" Vega slows as he notices the vacant smile on your face, drawing you to a halt almost at the end of the corridor. Were you really so obvious?

You shake your head, reaching across with your free hand to steady yourself with his shoulder, pushing up onto your tiptoes to press a shy, pretty kiss to his jaw.

"It's just…" How to put it? It's kind of embarrassing to admit it, but it's true. Here, in this godforsaken place, under the unseeing watch of humanity’s worst, you’re overcome by nothing less than gratitude.

"...Thank you."

For coming here, for bringing you, for freeing you. For letting you let this go - avenging, revenging yourself upon this place, these people, this life. Salvation can be found in the most unexpected places, you know. He makes you brave. He makes you better.

"My silly little warden." The magic of the phasecloak ripples under his touch, making your skin tingle as he runs his thumb fondly over your bottom lip. "No need to thank me, sweet thing. Wouldn't you do the same for me, if I asked?"

You nod. Of course you would.

"Well, there you go, then." Bending down to kiss you back, feather-light and delicate, just the way he knows you like. One to your forehead, then the tip of your nose, before taking the spade at the end of his tail in his hand and kissing it with a charming smile.

"For you, my darling."

It's second nature now, the way your fingers fold reverently around the slim spade, closing your eyes and curving the cool smoothness of his tail against your face. Turning your head, you take his offered kiss - pressing your lips indulgently to the same place he had, and you can't help but laugh through it as he channels a tiny spark of magic through his tail to make your tongue go all tingly.

"Mmng - haah, Vega!" Irritatingly, he has the nerve to smirk as you stick your slightly-numb tongue out at him, tail swishing smugly behind him as you let it go. "It fizzes!"

"Oh? Well, we can't have that," he says, long fingers creeping around your waist to pull you against him. "I suppose we'll have to do something about it, then…"

Your tail curls around his ankle as you stare expectantly up at him from where you're crushed against his chest, up on your tiptoes, dark eyes gazing down at you. This is your favourite bit.

"Open."

You do. Your jaw aches faintly in the back of your mind, but to be honest you don’t really notice - it’s a familiar sort of ache, at any rate, and it’s always accompanied by-

“Good.” He spits straight into your mouth, harsh and sweet all at once, tail reaching up and winding around your horns to tilt your head back a little further.

"Let me see. There you go…" A patronising spark of healing magic pools on your tongue, soothing away the fizzy numbness that his tail had left behind. "Swallow.”

The magic tastes like lemons. Acid and bitter and biting. It’s delicious.

"More."

"More? Already?" Vega shakes his head in faux-disapproval, leaning over you again to delicately let the spit drip down, down, down off his tongue, neatly avoiding your teeth - your eyes go a little blurry at that wonderfully-familiar taste again, shoulders going slack as you relax forward into his hold.

Swallowing again, muscles in your throat flexing almost uncomfortably with the high angle. It’s nice, it’s really, really nice, but - oh, it’s not enough! “Again?”

This time, he frowns, tutting under his breath at your pleading expression. “So greedy! Darling, you really sh-mmf!"

Well, if he won’t give you more, you’ll just have to take it. Bracing your palm against his chest, you shove him backwards, pushing him up against the door with a thud. Behind you, one of the humans in the cell to your left stirs, but you’re not really paying attention.

(Obviously, he's letting you manhandle him - his physical body is much stronger than your recently-recovered one, and you can feel him relaxing the phase so that you've both got physicality for the material of the door to resist. It doesn't change the thrill that races through you at the momentary look of wide-eyed surprise on his face as you twist your fingers into the middle of his shirt and pull him down towards you, or the smug satisfaction of feeling his words melt away into a pleased sigh inside your head.)

This kiss is far less chaste than the rest, and it’s exactly what you needed. Impatiently, you whine against his lips until he lets you deeper, dipping eagerly into his mouth and licking at the lovely sharpness of his fangs. Thankfully, he seems to get the picture quite quickly, tapping your cheek twice with the flat of his tail.

You don’t stop kissing him, and he doesn’t try to stop you - he knows that’s a lost cause, by now. Instead, he rolls his eyes affectionately and spits into your mouth again, letting you kiss it back and forth with him until you’re thoroughly out of breath and gasping into his mouth.

(He might not choose to breathe, but you do - and if the way he watches your chest rise and fall with every struggling breath is any indication, you’d say he’s taken a shine to your little habit. What’s the word for it? Would you say hungry? No, that’s a bit too… soft. Maybe predatory is a better way of putting it.)

Your claws threaten to tear right through his shirt with how hard you’re tugging, forcing him to bend into the sticky, sloppy kiss even as his tail around your horns tips your head backwards. This way, it feels like you’re practically bent in half, folded backwards over his arm and melting into his hold. The stem of your peony dangles loosely between your fingers, threatening to fall as your head goes all sparkly and fizzy. Was it always this warm in here?

“Behave.”

Vega bites your lip in warning when your tail starts to creep a little too high up his shirt, pulling back to fix you with that look that you know means business. The effect is a little bit ruined by the messy strings of saliva that connect your lip to his fangs, and the rush of lust that spikes between you at the thought of what he might do if you don’t, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Honestly,” he sighs, “Spoilt little thing. Couldn’t even wait until we got home, could you?”

He cradles your cheek in his palm, thumb dipping into your mouth and skimming over the points of your fangs. “So needy.”

You bare your teeth petulantly at him, or at least as well as you can with the pad of his thumb pressing down on your tongue, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s… well, yeah. He’s right.

“Mm. That’s what I thought.” Regrettably, he lets you go, phase magic swallowing you once again. “Now, are you going to behave, or do I have to make you?”

It’s an unfair choice, in your opinion. They’re both very, very good options. Eventually, you nod, acquiescing - it really is kind of cold in here, and the sooner you’re done, the sooner you can go home.

“Feel like giving it a try?” Gesturing to the closed security door, he lifts the ward for you with a pleased grin. “I’m happy to help you get started, if that’s what you’d like.”

“No, it’s fine.” It would be kind of a rubbish killing spree if you didn’t do any actual killing. “I can do it.”

“As you say, professor.”

He inclines his head towards the door, motioning you through, and the chill of phasing through solid matter is as familiar as it is disconcerting. This plane makes you so used to physical matter that you start to forget these things. Another few steps, another ward to brush aside, and you’re inside the warding chamber.

It’s little more than a box, really, just a bare sort of cell with a desk and a wall covered in ward monitors and magical frequency displays. You’ve only been in here a few times - for that ridiculous consultation - and every time you couldn’t wait to get out. It’s so claustrophobic, the concentrated magic in the walls making them thrum like it’s alive, the beating heart of the containment ward. For a demon like you, it can be overwhelming. The massive, all-encompassing power of Aria, trapped in the walls and forced into submission. It’s not right.

There’s only the warding officer in here, thank goodness. You’d ummed and ahhed over this one, trying to decide whether or not he needed to die, but now that you’re here? God, this is going to feel good. Frigid, was it? He’ll eat his fucking words, every last one of them, and you’ve learnt from the best.

“Surprise.”

You speak aloud, voice a little hoarse from disuse, and the officer turns on his heel in shock - before he can even say anything, he’s already slumped on the ground at your feet, dizzy and groaning under the weight of his body’s new gravity. You’ve always liked Energetic magic. It’s a shame you don’t get to use it more often.

“That’s better.”

Weakly, you feel him try to magically trigger the silent alarm - unfortunately for him, he doesn’t know that Vega’s already broken it beyond repair. Waving your hand towards him with a dismissive burst of magic, you scan the warding unit on the wall for labels… but which one is the convergence point you want?

Behavioural specialist, behavioural specialist… Ah, there it is! Excitedly, you turn towards the pesky compartment and slam a hefty pulse of magic against it, beating it into scrap until you feel the ward fizzle away. The machinery struggles against you, magic and metal trying desperately to resist you, but it doesn’t last. They never actually tested it against a demon when they built it, and as always, they’ve underestimated you.

A casual knock at the door. “Nearly finished, little one?”

Vega, outside. Looking down, you hum quietly in agreement as the magic does its work, freezing tendrils of ice creeping up the human’s body that follow the path of your fingers through the air. He grits his teeth and spits at you, but it doesn’t quite work, half-frozen blood and saliva and - is that a tooth? He must have knocked it out when he hit the floor - falling uselessly through your phased body thanks to Vega’s magic. Undeterred, he tries to speak through his desperate shivers, and the sight of ice crystals forming in his mouth as all the soft tissues start to freeze is almost enough to make you feel a little bit sorry for him.

(Well. Almost. You're not that stupid.)

“Nearly.” You switch back to telepathy, but broaden the field so the trembling human beneath you can hear. “Can you make me physical again?”

“I could. Why?”

You tilt your head slightly, smile still plastered on as you stare hungrily at the officer’s face. “I want a snack.”

“Darling, you’ll ruin your dinner…” You can hear the teasing smile in his voice as he says it, and you feel your body drop slightly with its restored physicality as he gives it back to you. “At least save some room for later.”

No scream. Just the sound of something (well, several somethings) slicing through muscle, wet and terrified, and the slick crunch of barely-warm ribs being clawed and cracked apart.

It’s bad manners, but you say it with your mouth full. “No promises.”

The heart in your hand is sticky with blood, oozing down your wrist, curving down around your forearm and dripping slowly off your elbow as you push the door open to rejoin Vega in the stairwell. Wordlessly, you offer him a taste - he examines it for a part with the least fat, before guiding your hand to his mouth with his own and taking a bite.

“Mm. A little chewy.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, a bit disappointed. “It’s like avocado. You can never tell.”

“What?”

“It’s a human food, like a little fruit,” you explain through another mouthful of your snack as you make a start on the stairs. “You have to eat them when they’re ready, but you can’t cut them open to check without spoiling it, so you just have to try and feel the softness and look at the little green bit underneath the stem to try and guess, really…”

When you look back, he hasn’t moved, just watching you from the bottom of the stairs. “Vega?”

“Hmm? Oh - nothing.” He shakes his head ever so slightly and starts to follow you. “Your worldly wisdom simply astounds me, professor.”

“Well, I’ve never actually eaten one…” you confess, embarrassed. “I just saw a thing about it on the computer once. It looked weird. Like something from that film about aliens.”

“I appreciate the idea that I might have watched it.”

“Have you?” Your amusement flares at the idea of him queuing up for tickets, holding one of those cardboard boxes with popcorn and wearing those funny glasses with the different coloured lenses.

He levels you with a flat stare. “I wasn’t exactly taking Ivan to the cinema, dear.”

…Yeah, okay. You probably should have guessed. “Fair eno-”

“Stop!”

It just happens.

You don’t actually think about it.

You don’t consider waiting, even for a second.

There’s a guard. There’s a warden. How did you miss them? Magic building in their core, crackling in the air. Fuck, how did you miss it - there’s someone here, and they’re going to catch you, and they’re going to kill you, and they’re going to kill Vega and put you in a cell and lock you up here and you’ll never see Aria again - you’ll be here forever and he's going to die you don’t want to die you don’t want to die - you have to save you save him save you save him save you save h-

“-!!!”

Wrong place, wrong time. Numbly, you stare at the two halves of the warden’s body in front of you, sliced perfectly in half right across her middle. Muscle fibres sliced open, fraying and splitting as they spiral away from the rest of the body. Guts and juice and acid splatter out onto the concrete of the landing, and Vega’s hand clamps down over your mouth just in time to muffle your horrified scream.

It’s her. Oh, god, it’s her it’s her it’s her - I didn’t mean it I didn’t mean it I swear-

“Darling, darling, shhh…”

She was good, she was good, she was kind, she - I - fuck, I just-

“Breathe. Breathe for me, just like that - slowly, come on…”

She doesn’t deserve - I thought she wouldn’t be here - why was she here? I should’ve-

“My soft, silly little darling. Come here, dearest, it’s alright - there you are…” He opens his arms and you fold yourself into him, as easy as anything, chasing the familiar comfort of his body and his words and his lovely, lovely touch. “It’s alright, sweet thing. It’s okay.” He’s so nice and warm around your shaking, shivering body. “You did so well.”

Blood and vein and half-chewed viscera in your mouth. Greedy. You’re going to be sick.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

You can't speak. Once, when you were new, she came to your desk and gave you a cupcake for your birthday. Then, when she realised it wouldn't feed you, she found a video of a cat sleeping in the sun on her phone and watched it next to you, so that you could eat her good feelings instead.

“You saved us.”

“She was good,” you wail into his chest, diaphragm stuttering and tears soaking uncontrollably into his shirt. “She was so nice.”

“They all were, to begin with.”

You can’t force your eyes closed, until you squeeze them shut - then, you can’t open them again. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“There’s no should about it,” he says firmly, kissing the points of your horns and twining his tail with yours to try and calm you down. “You needed to, and you could, so you did. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Such a hedonist,” you mutter wetly, shaking your head - he has the good grace to laugh quietly at your gentle chastisement. You’re a little more used to it now, the way his laughter echoes through your mind but his body doesn’t move beneath you. “Whatever happened to all those meticulous plans?”

“Mm, you’ll have to forgive me.” Behind you, there’s the telltale fizzle of a rift opening, the slick sound of something disappearing, and you bury your face even deeper into his chest to try not to think about it. “Some of us know how to enjoy ourselves from time to time.”

“Rude. Like I don’t know how to have fun.” You smile just a little, even though your mental voice is all stuffy and thick with tears. “This your way of offering?”

“Maybe,” he says, nonchalant. “You don’t seem to have a problem with taking what you want, though.” One hand drifts down your back, warm and comforting at the base of your spine, pressing lightly into the softness at your waist. “Or was I just imagining it when you - hey!”

He jolts back dramatically, gasping in mock-agony when you weakly slap his arm, tail flicking up to curl around your wrist and hold it there against his chest.

“So vicious!” Caught up in his theatrics, you barely notice when he starts to guide you up the next flight of stairs. “Look at you, my sweet little warden. We’ll make a proper sadist of you yet.”

“He wants to feed on me, does he?” Pointedly, you bump your horns lightly against the side of his head. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ll be disappointed.”

“Feeding on you? Oh, no, darling,” he murmurs, voice dipping low and affectionate in your mind. “You’re no Ivan, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Me, better than Ivan? I’m flattered.”

“Oh, obviously.” He strokes your cheek soothingly with a claw, gently kissing your forehead just below your hairline. “Ivan didn’t have such a pretty face, for one thing.”

You sniff, trying to sound all arrogant, even though it probably just sounds like you really need a tissue. “Is that all it takes to win you over, then? So shallow.”

He shudders theatrically. "Believe me, it's not the only thing you do better than Ivan."

"Flirt."

"I didn’t say what it was.”

“It’s not hard to guess.” Rounding the top of the stairs, he goes to turn right - you nudge him into turning left, towards the office corridor you’re looking for. “Unless you and Ivan were much better friends than your file suggested.”

He gives you that one. “Touché.”

The walk isn’t very long at all, from here, and before long you’re standing outside the room. You can feel six auras in there, exactly as expected. They never break routine. Deep breath. Here it is, here you are. This is what it’s all been for.

“It’s going to be… messy.” He sounds solemn. Maybe he knows just how much this is tearing you apart. Oh, god. Tearing people apart. It’s not funny. You want to laugh.

“Do you think you can take it?”

It’s time, it’s time. You’re going to walk in there and you’re going to kill six humans in cold blood, you’re going to break every promise you ever made to this place and these people and this plane, and then you’re going to leave this fucking prison and never, ever come back.

A birthday cupcake with a single candle. Your voice is so, so small.

“...No.”

(Weak. Weak and stupid and in over your head. Look at you. Starting something else you can’t finish, making someone else fight your battles for you. Just as pathetic as you always feared.)

“Okay. Okay, darling, it’s alright,” he says, gathering you up in his arms and settling you against his chest, carefully avoiding your horns as he rests his cheek against the top of your head. “It’s - shh, little warden, it’s okay. It’s okay. I know.”

You don’t even realise you’ve started to cry until his tail brushes softly against your face, wiping the tears from your eyes just as they start to fall. It’s too much. You weren’t made for this.

“I know it’s hard. You’ve been so brave, sweet thing, so brave.” It’s not fair. Can’t you just stay here forever, safe and soothed in his grasp? “It’s just a little bit longer.”

(A tempting offer - is it the easy way out?)

“They’ve kept you here for so long, twisted you into the creature they wanted you to be - the creature they always thought you were. You can’t be blamed for wanting to get out.”

(…Yeah, it is. But maybe that’s what this is all about.)

“Tell me to stop and I will. But darling, you must know - there’s only one thing that can put an end to this. For you. For the others of our kind, who suffer now just as you did then.”

(You’ve had to be strong. You’ve had to be brave. You’ve never had someone who takes care of you before.)

“Let me give you this. Let me take care of this for you, and then we’ll go away and we never have to think about this again.”

Dark eyes, full of promise. The choice is yours.

“Okay.”

You’re letting go.

He slides the pointed end of his tail against yours, pressing the spades together before turning to the door. It’s only for a short second, and you can’t help chasing the contact as he pulls away.

“I won’t be long. Come in when you’re ready, my sweet.”

Phasecloaking, he walks through the door without opening it, leaving you alone in the corridor to settle yourself.

That’s all.

(You don’t actually wait very long, only a minute or so. It feels like a lot longer.)

Rubbing your eyes, you blink tiredly down at the dried blood that covers your hands and wrists - you’d barely noticed it before, but it must be from when you killed that warding officer. Yeah, that’s it. You’d reached right inside, and human hearts do tend to bleed a lot, don’t they?

Blood all down your front, dried down all over your hands, smeared all around your mouth from your little snack. Where’s it gone? You probably dropped it earlier, when you - when-

Don’t think about it.

There are no windows here, but you can hear the rain and the wind, so much louder than it was before. It was early evening when you arrived, so it must be dark outside by now - and wow, you really should have checked the weather before you came. This building’s always been cold but it’s absolutely freezing in here now, and you grit your teeth against the ache that’s growing in your back, spreading out between your shoulder blades.

Psychokinetic energy echoes through the hall, and there’s a thump as something suspiciously human-sized hits the other side of the wall a few metres to your left. It’s probably time to go inside.

Pushing the heavy door open, you’re greeted with the office as you’ve always known it. The desk is to your left, wide and wooden and covered with paper, facing the conference table on your right. The blinds of the long window on the opposite wall are open, and you were half-right - it’s so nearly dark outside, dim and grey as the low clouds swirl overhead.

“There you are, darling.”

(Sorry, that last part was a bit misleading. This is the office as you’ve always dreamed it would be. The old version didn’t have the blood spatter, or the crumbling plaster, or the smashed, splintered remains of what used to be a conference table and chairs, pieces strewn across the room and bits of sawdust crushed into the carpet. It certainly didn’t have the four dead humans that greet you now, although you could argue that it did have the two half-dead ones.)

A blood-soaked Vega turns to you from the middle of the room, a human’s neck held tightly in his grip, and smiles. “Would you like to do the honours?”

The human trembles, face turning redder and redder as he dangles from Vega’s outstretched fist, pleading silently with you to offer him mercy. You feel the flare of recognition that shoots through him as he realises who you are, and the slow creep of dread as you don’t rush to save him.

It’s really very sweet of him to offer, but you shake your head, drifting over to perch on the front of the desk. “Wanna watch you.”

“Very well,” he says, focusing back on the human in front of him - if memory serves, this is that horrible correctional officer from Block A. He’s done well to remember exactly what you told him to do with this one. “As my warden commands.”

For someone who eschews the physical as vehemently as he does, he’s surprisingly expressive in his body. The way he moves, the way he smiles, the way he catches your eye, your hand, your attention without ever seeming to try. He’s captivating. Earth, splintering and cracking underneath your feet. Don’t think too hard about which of you is the captor here.

“This is the bit you like, then,” you say, eyes glued to the way the muscles in his forearm flex as his fingers twist cruelly, claws tearing through the human’s neck like tissue. "Your one endorsement of the physical."

"'Endorsement'? I suppose it is," he muses. "The physicality this plane demands… It isn't all bad, I suppose."

Your legs swing under the desk as you watch him pick at the body, claws digging experimentally around in the long incision between the shoulder blades. "So even the most stubborn of us can change our minds."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Lazily, he lets his handful of muscle and skin fall to the floor, walking slowly over to stand in front of you. "I'm not so sure. Maybe you're just very persuasive."

"Maybe I'm just right."

He shrugs languidly, all teeth as he smiles. "How bold of you, little warden. Convinced of your own self-righteousness, I see."

"Not as much as you," you reply. "It's not just misery that loves company."

"Oh, precious," he says, cradling your face gently in his bloody hands. "Sweet thing. Is our little partnership really so dear to you, then?"

"I love it when you pretend you don't know.” Your tone is acid, rolling your eyes as you lean into his palm. “You don’t hide yourself as well as you think you do, you know.”

“Then tell me. What are you looking for?” He leans down, thumb stroking sweetly over your cheek as he holds your gaze. “Or, perhaps more accurately…”

He can’t scare you that easily. All bark, and you like it when he bites.

“What do you want me to show you?”

Like you’ll fall for that. “What do you think I want to see?”

“A dangerous question,” he says airily, eyes narrowing in false thoughtfulness. “How to put it…”

Behind him, the last living human in the room twitches slightly where he’s slumped against the wall beneath the window, and you can feel his mind struggling to keep consciousness. Judging from the bloody gash on the left side of his scalp, and the way one of his arms looks to be dangling out of its socket, Vega must have got him with something pretty horrible - you’re kind of glad you weren’t here to see it.

“Your interest in the physical.” His gaze rakes down over your body, slow and calculating, lingering on the bloodstains that make the fabric of your shirt stick and cling awkwardly to the skin. “These bodies, these forms we take here. Perhaps you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You don’t move. “Purely scientific, I assume.”

“Maybe.” Carefully, he raises your hand to his lips, the ghost of a kiss pressed gently to the backs of your bloody fingers as his eyes close.

“You might persuade me yet.”

The human stirs weakly again, smearing blood on the wall behind him - Vega hisses under his breath, sharp and sarcastic, before tipping his head back and sighing in frustration.

“Didn’t I kill you already?”

His hand flicks gracefully towards the wall opposite the desk, pushing the human up against it with a spike of psychokinesis that’s probably stronger than it needs to be. A picture frame falls off the wall with the force of it, glass shattering as it hits the floor, and the sound is a lovely accompaniment to the way the human’s body rattles and flops on impact.

(Vega does love his theatrics. You know as well as he does that he doesn't need to move. He does it anyway, though, and it doesn't stop you enjoying the sight.)

(It's a very human thing, to accompany magic with gesture. It's generally how they're taught to do it, and it helps them to focus the magic into whatever it is they're trying to do. Demons have no such need, what with your more advanced, intuitive grasp of magic, but that doesn't stop a lot of you from doing it anyway. It's quite satisfying, actually. You'd probably say it's the best bit of doing magic in this form - feeling the energy spiralling through the body, lighting up muscle and bone as it travels through your new physicality.)

"The last one. You ought to be grateful," Vega says, his bored expression masking the glee you can feel running through him as the human's breath gets faster and faster with half-conscious panic. "We'll make it special, hmm?"

His claws shine in the low light as his fingers twist, the officer wincing in pain, before you feel it - the telltale pressure of psychokinesis pushing against the human's body, winding around it like a snake and beginning the slow, inexorable crush.

(He hasn’t let go of your hand. You don’t want him to.)

"Take a deep breath. Or don't. It must be-"

“Wait.”

He stills at your words, turning to face you with his other hand still pinning the human to the far wall. You can feel the paralysis magic thrumming under his skin, crackling and sparking at your touch.

“Hmm?” He’s curious, smiling slightly in confusion as he speaks into your mind. “What is it, dearest?”

“This one is… special.”

The human writhing against the wall levels the back of Vega’s head with a vicious glare - clearly, he’s learnt nothing in the time you’ve been away. Surely it should be fairly obvious, not to provide the Sadism demon who wants to kill you with a free meal as he does so, no?

“How so?”

“I…” How to put this in a way that isn’t going to make Vega just obliterate him on the spot? “I don’t think he realised I noticed. Or maybe it just never occurred to him. But this one…”

He’d started off fairly benign, as they come. One of your fellow behavioural specialists, a senior of your division, a human from some other cornerstone city you hadn’t especially cared to hear about. A little standoffish and clearly unused to the company of demons, enough that he evidently doesn’t know how loudly his thoughts project.

Demons are just much more sensitive to telepathic magic than humans - it comes with the territory, what with telepathy being so natural to your kind. And when empowered humans are thinking particularly strongly, or repetitively about something? Well, there’s a reasonable chance that those thoughts might accidentally clash with the incidental, passive magic emitted by that human’s Core, and…

They're a demon, aren't they?

Well. Safe to say, he’d been very curious about what might have been hiding under your standard-issue warden’s uniform.

They can change how they look, then. And if they didn't wanna be looked at, they shouldn't have made their body so… so…

You’re no Concubus, but he’d made for a passable meal. Over-lustful and eyes a little too hungry for you to ever feel properly comfortable turning your back, maybe, but that’s what happens when the familiar inchoate hunger twists and burns in your simulated stomach every hour of the day. You take what you can get.

It'd be easy. Bet they'd let me.

“Ah.” His expression flattens, purposefully blank as he takes in the memories rushing through your head. “Is that so.”

"You see why we came here."

"I do," he says darkly, turning back to the trapped human behind him. “While my lovely warden's already had the… dubious pleasure of meeting you, I can't say the same, I’m afraid.”

"It's no great pleasure," you grumble, glaring at the floor. "We didn't come all the way back here just because I missed being stared at in the break room."

Vega's rage flares as you say it, but his voice in your head stays commendably even. “Still. I suppose I’ll have to acquaint myself with you a different way.”

His smile sharpens as his fingers twist, telepathic magic burrowing deeper and deeper into the officer’s brain as he rifles through the memories there. You take the liberty of silencing the scream of pain that would have accompanied it, so as not to draw too much attention, even though there's a part of you that really would have liked to hear it. Maybe next time.

“My, my. You have been busy, haven’t you?”

Oh, this should be good.

“How pathetic.” Vega's grin doesn't move, but you can feel the pieces falling into place. Seething, vicious earth, shifting underneath you. Seismic.

“All that bitterness, all that delightful rage, the disgust - you hated it, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here. That’s why you wanted to be here.”

“You think our kind is lesser. You think our kind is poison.” The human's mind stutters, half-formed rebuttals spilling out, but Vega's got his claws in him now. “That’s it, isn’t it? You hated demons, so you came to a place where that hatred might be realised. And it was good, I’m sure. Putting us in our place. And that’s alright, you see, because the demons here aren’t good people, are they?”

Vega shakes his head sagely, a patronising smile plastered wide across his handsome face. The puppet across the room from him tries to do the same, rattling on its frame, head lolling in what you might generously call agreement.

“No, they aren’t. I certainly wasn’t. Why don’t we ask someone, just to make sure?” With a flourish, he turns to you in deference, bending at the waist in a mocking bow. “Am I a good person, darling?”

“Hmm…” The human’s eyes are wide as they fix on you, cross-legged on the desk, calm and casual in the pretence of pensiveness. “No, don’t think so.”

“Exactly.” The tip of Vega’s tail brushes sweetly over your jaw and you can’t help but lean into it, closing your eyes for just a moment and soaking in the lovely contact. “Those wicked, wicked demons, kept in this miserable concrete pit, where the Department piles up all the demonic sinners it can find.”

The rain outside batters against the window as the wind picks up, and the officer shivers as the temperature begins to drop even further. “Enter the likes of you, yes? Humans, Enforcers - the righteous tormentors.”

There’s not much that can escape Vega’s magical paralysis. And that’s nobody’s fault - he is, after all, very good at it. It doesn’t stop the human from trying, but if you couldn’t feel the faint vibrations through the web of magic that plasters him to the wall, you wouldn’t know.

Vitriol, sharp and citrus, slicing through your brain. Vega takes a step towards him, something pleased and feline in the slow curl of his tail, horns casting deep shadows across the human’s face as the low light moves with the clouds.

“And yet. Still, you craved more. Coveted more. It wasn’t enough, to be safe in the knowledge of power. It wasn’t enough, to take out your wretched rage upon the bodies of our kind, to see us forced into these physical dimensions and broken beneath you.”

His steps make no sound as he stalks towards the terrified warden, and even though you can’t see his face you can feel the ambient magic surging in the room as he gets closer and closer. “You wanted more, and you couldn’t stand it, could you? Hatred spiralling inwards, all of those dark desires twisting together, melting into a single image. My warden, debauched - debased by a pathetic mind, subject to your depraved fantasy of power.”

The human cowers from Vega’s menacing glare as he towers over him, shrinking back against the wall and bracing himself as best he can, terror shot through with steely resignation. One cruel hand reaches for his throat, claws slicing shallowly through the skin as strong fingers close around it, and the human gasps and splutters and chokes as Vega laughs and laughs and laughs, and you lean forwards to uncross your legs and push yourself up to standing in front of the desk, and watch as his grip gets tighter and tighter, before he just -

“Well, it’s only to be expected.”

- disappears.

Magic flares behind you as a pair of warm hands smooth over your sides, trailing leisurely across your chest and down over your hips - fighting the magic that constricts his chest, the officer wheezes desperately as he watches Vega step out of the rift, fear slowly overwhelmed by confusion as the Sadism demon kisses the top of your head fondly. If you were alone, you might close your eyes and let yourself soak in the comfort of his vindictive delight.

(You don’t, though. You wouldn’t want to miss anything.)

“Someone as lovely as my warden was always bound to have admirers, hmm? And really, I can’t say I blame you.”

He turns your face with one hand, leaning down over your shoulder and smiling sweetly as you look up at him. “I mean, just look at you, darling.”

Vega’s palm settles over your neck, gentle pressure against the skin, and you relax into the contact with a pleased sigh. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t choke or cut you like you know he could. Only if you ask, sweet thing, he’d said before when you asked him. And even then, only if you’re good.

“I said, look.”

A beautiful, involuntary burst of terror blooms inside the trapped human as he’s made to stare, legs still pinned back but torso hinging off the wall, eyes forced open so he doesn’t miss a single second.

It’s a good thing Vega doesn’t need his mouth to speak, wrenching the officer’s body forwards with a lazy wave as the hand around your throat guides you up towards him in one swift, easy motion. Caught off-guard, your surprise fizzes against his aura as your mind takes a second to catch up, but it doesn’t take long to process - before long, you’re kissing him back just as eagerly, spurred on by the thought of your repulsed-lustful-envious audience.

Your tongue traces the familiar sharpness of his teeth, and you can almost taste your own delight melting in his mouth when it hits his senses. A lover’s kiss, messy and filthy and utterly delicious.

Feel like putting on a show, darling?

Vega says the words directly into your mind, abandoning the unfocused broadcasting you’ve been using so far so that the human can’t hear you. His tail curls slowly around your ankle, sinuous and snakelike as he speaks, and you couldn’t hide the rush of anticipation - no, excitement - no, desire - that follows even if you wanted to.

Depends. Your palms slide over his stomach and settle on his waist as you turn to face him properly, gleefully ignoring the frozen figure in your peripheral vision. What did you have in mind?

Things I have in mind…?

A flurry of images floods your mind - some are memories of you, sprawled out underneath him, claw marks in the bed frame that still sits in the empty safehouse. Others are hazier, ideas not yet realised, a blur of feelings and positions and pleasure that leaves your head spinning. He swallows your quiet whine at a particularly vivid picture of your blissed-out form, curled up on your knees in front of him, eyes glossy and lips sticky with spit as you rest your head against his side. Mmm, that does sound nice.

Fucking you over this desk, mostly.

Well, you certainly can’t fault him for beating around the bush. Your teeth dig sharply into his bottom lip at his nonchalance, and you’d call it a reprimand if you didn’t know how much he likes it. So crude.

Maybe. That doesn’t sound like a no.

It’s not.

Good. Regretfully, he breaks the kiss, a spark of amusement flickering in his aura when you try to chase his lips - embarrassingly, you accidentally shift your weight too far forwards and have to hurriedly cling onto his waist to stop yourself overbalancing. He raises a teasing eyebrow, and you stick your tongue out in reply, not missing the way his eyes drop hungrily to your mouth as you do.

Go on then, little warden. He flicks his tail pointedly towards your guest as he pushes you gently to the floor, and oh, this is going to be fun.

Show him what he’s missing.

A sharp stab of surprise from the human as both your clothes fizzle away into nothing, but you don’t pay it any mind - Vega, shifting slightly to lean against the side of the desk, probably doesn’t either. You’re far more interested in the way your tail curves around past your hip to tangle with his, and the way his claws tug gently under your jaw to bring your face closer to him.

(Nakedness is… different, for you. In Aria, demons don’t have physical bodies, so the concept of clothes - at least as humans understand it - doesn’t really apply. For a demon, a body that can withstand Elegy is already a heavy layer of physicality to get to grips with, so layering clothes on top of that is even more unwieldy and awkward.)

(You’ve never known Vega to be ashamed of it. You had been at first, but the more he’d talked to you about it, the more you’d been convinced. Having been socialised by humans into the idea of needing clothes, it was kind of uncomfortable to get used to how easily he approached your body and his in that way.)

(It’s different, now. No shame. You’ve had enough of that for a lifetime, he’d said, and you know now that he was right.)

“Go on, darling, there you - ahhh, there you go…”

Shameless would probably be the right word for it, as you let him guide his cock into your mouth with a moan. Mm, this is more like it. He’s thick and heavy pushing down into your throat, familiar weight on your tongue as you start to move, slow at first but quickly getting up to speed.

It’s as natural as anything to lose yourself in the easy way he takes control. You’re more than used to the way he likes to fuck your throat, how he throws his head back and groans in satisfaction every time you start to choke. He makes a mess of you quickly enough, sticky saliva and precum smeared across your lips and down your chin - before long you’re floating, utterly adrift in the rhythm of his hips and the warm haze of his attention.

“Didn’t - ahh - didn’t take much convincing, did you?” he sighs, running the tip of one claw over your cheek, brushing over the delicate skin just underneath your eye. “My pretty warden. Aren’t you sweet, hmm?”

You smile as best you can with your mouth full, eyes closed and soaking up the sweet nectar of his praise, but it quickly turns into a splutter as he snaps his hips forward with a grin - unashamed, he wraps a hand around your left horn and forces you to take it.

“Come on. Don’t be shy, now.” He glances pointedly over at the human - fuck, you’d almost forgotten about the human - on the other side of the room, still leaking lust and unable to look away from the sight of you on your knees at Vega’s feet.

“Tell our friend how sweet you are.”

“Mm- mmm…”

His other hand on the back of your head keeps your face pressed against him, lips stretched wide as he fucks your throat, and wow, it’s a good thing you don’t actually need to breathe. He hisses as your fangs scrape slightly over the tip, but you know he doesn’t mind - in apology, you chase the sting with the flat of your tongue, kissing slick and messy over the skin.

“What was that? I don’t think he heard you.”

You try to speak again, but this time his hand closes confidently around your neck - not enough to choke you completely, but enough that you feel the indents of his fingertips against your skin, the resistance against his cock as it pounds into your throat.

“Hold it, hold it - oh, don’t look at - mmm, fuck, don’t give me that look, darling,” he coos down at you, groaning at the vibrations of your voice, gleefully watching your eyes water and your chest heave as you swallow around him. “You like it just as much as I do.”

After a few more thrusts he finally lets you breathe, pulling you back by the horns and gripping your jaw in one big hand to keep your mouth open. Tilting your head this way and that, he examines the shiny stickiness that coats your lips and chin with a distinct flash of cruel, possessive pride, before bending down to spit loudly into your mouth.

“Ah - keep it there,” he says warningly, shaking his head when he sees you go to swallow out of habit. “Let me see.”

The hand holding your jaw shifts slightly to let him skim the tip of his thumb over the sharp points of your fangs, almost hard enough to draw blood. Pressing down on your tongue, he drags some of the thick mixture of precum and spit down over your lip and across your cheek, before just smothering your face with his palm and smearing it all across your face.

“Good.” You smile up at him in return, pleased in your indecency, before he looks across to meet the frozen human’s gaze with a mischievous smirk. “Don’t you think?”

The officer stares back wordlessly - it’s difficult to tell if his jaw is slack because of what’s happening in front of him, or if it’s genuinely just broken - but you can tell exactly how he feels about the view from over there. Oh, and if you look down - yeah, he’s certainly enjoying the show. Ew.

“Hmm. That’s a shame.” Vega frowns, pantomiming sadness as he pats your cheek in mock-commiseration. “Our guest doesn’t seem very impressed at all. You must not be working hard enough, darling.”

With an exaggerated huff, you turn your head all the way to the right, emphatically away from the human - the picture of irritated petulance at his words. So rude.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Long fingers catch your jaw in warning and turn your face right back again, before slipping around to cup the back of your neck. “You know what I do with brats.”

Vega steps forward slightly, forcing you to lean further and further back until you’re forced to put your hands on the floor behind you, still sitting on your knees but hinging back off your hips. Like this, you’re off-balance, tipped back and looking up as he towers over you, most of your weight supported by his hand under your head.

“Go on, then,” he says, casual as anything. “Impress him.”

In front of you, his tail unwinds from yours to smooth over the line of your collarbone, trailing idle patterns down your body, lower and lower, before settling thick and weighty between your legs.

“Impress me.”

Hesitantly, you start to rock your hips - the angle is a little awkward at first, but you quickly settle into a rhythm. The friction is delicious, slick and sloppy as you grind down against the fluid muscle, and it writhes underneath you with every gasp and moan that you give. Your face is hot with humiliation as he drinks the sound in greedily, cooing sweetly down at your vulnerable form, pitched back and exposed - embarrassing as it might be, it doesn’t stop you from moving.

“Vega - nnn, Vega-!”

Heat, spiralling through your lower stomach with every slide of his tail against you, even more so at the thought of your spectator. Chancing a quick look, you glance over at the human to your right. He’s practically drooling now, transfixed by the roll of your hips and the smooth, sinuous curl of Vega’s tail. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. But it - fuck, if it doesn’t feel amazing.

Vega didn’t miss your moment of distraction, though - you’re brought back under the spotlight by a hand grabbing your horn and wrenching your head up to look at him, an almost-bored expression painted on his handsome face.

“Really?” He glares pointedly down at you, fangs bared in a bitter snarl, and a burning pulse of shame licks through your body. “What did I say?”

Without warning, you feel the end of his tail double back on itself underneath you, curling around and sliding back along its own length in a sudden burst of friction.

“Please, please, ‘m sorry, m-haahh!”

You look down with wide, panicked eyes, just in time to see the pointed tip of the spade settle cruelly between your legs, flicking and swirling in tight, mean spirals until you’re almost sobbing with pleasure - or maybe pain, you can’t tell.

“Vega!”

He lets you wail as much as you want, a light layer of paralysis magic locking your form in place so there’s nothing you can do except buck and writhe against him, against the magic and the gravity and the heat heat heat that keeps you trapped here.

“So needy,” he murmurs over your whimpers, fondness slowly turning to saccharine condescension as he watches you thrash and whine against his body. “Messy, filthy little thing, grinding yourself down against my tail like the desperate little slut you are. I bet you don’t even want my cock, do you?”

You try to speak, but it just comes out as a high, stilted moan.

“No?” he laughs. Vaguely, you register something warm hitting your cheekbone and slowly starting to drip down your face - belatedly, you realise it’s his spit. “How did I know, hmm? Sluts like you just want to cum, leaking all over me like that. You don’t care how. You don’t even care who’s watching. See that?”

He grabs your horn and twists your head so you’re looking at the human again, but you don’t really see him at all. You’re far too focused on the pressure building low in your stomach, hips rocking mindlessly as you chase the release you so desperately need.

“You want to cum? Yeah? You want him to see what you look like when I make you cum?”

You stammer in reply, trying frantically to string your blurry, melting words together, but fuck, it’s too much - you have to settle for just nodding feverishly, looking up at Vega with big, wet eyes and pleasing wordlessly for him to let you cum.

“Too bad.”

He rolls his eyes, and you fight back a scream as the flat of his tail comes down hard between your legs - once, twice, three times before slipping away and leaving you high and dry, hot tears spilling over and tension unspooling from your body as his hand disappears from your neck, crumpling to the floor in aching disappointment.

“Really, now. Are you going to cry, sweet thing?” He gives you a sweet smile, wiping away a frustrated tear from your cheek with a single claw and licking it into his mouth. “You should. It suits you.”

“Didn’t-” Weakly, you struggle back to your knees, breath short and heavy in your chest. God, you really want to touch yourself right now - but you know exactly what would happen if you did. “Please, please, ‘m so close, didn’t mean-”

“I know you didn’t mean it, darling,” he coos, tail swishing slowly behind him, smug and mocking in equal measure. “But rules are rules, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, bending down to scoop you up in a jumble of limbs and deposit you softly on the desk. There’s a few seconds of repositioning, but he’s very good at making your body do what he wants by now, and gets you situated fairly quickly.

Before you can really register, he’s got you sitting on the front of the desk facing the human like you were before, legs swinging under the table as he looms over your shoulder from behind it. Most humans wouldn’t be tall enough to reach, but as writing desks go this one isn’t very deep - and in any case, Vega’s really quite tall.

(Faintly, you wonder why he didn’t just use psychokinesis to move you, instead of doing it all by hand. How odd.)

“Now,” he says, voice low and ever so slightly menacing in your head. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?”

Quickly, you nod, watching as his left arm hooks around your waist, forearm pulling strong and flat around your middle to shift you back towards him slightly. “Promise.”

“Mm. That’s what I thought.” He drops a warm kiss to your right shoulder before his tail curves up beside you, nudging your chin towards him and letting him seize your lips in a brief, sloppy kiss. Sighing happily into his mouth, you only vaguely register his fingers trailing lightly down over your chest - he swallows your gasp of surprise with a smile as a claw flicks teasingly over your nipple, running his tongue over your fangs in teasing apology.

  “Wider, little one. Tip your hips up.” He doesn’t stop kissing you as his hand slides down your body, easing your legs slightly further apart. “Let me in, that’s it…

The familiar sound of magic sliding over his hands, slicking up his fingers before he presses them into you. Just one at first, then quickly two - the initial sting quickly fades away into that lovely, smooth stretch that makes your tail twitch and your mind go blank.

"Still so tight, hmm?" he murmurs, savouring the rush of pleasure that rockets through your mind as he gently scissors his fingers inside you. "Do I not stretch you out enough, darling?"

"Nnng - no," you pant, left hand clamped around his forearm in a vice grip while the other reaches up to tangle clumsily in his hair, pulling him down and keeping his chest pressed warm against your back. "Should - yeah, yeah, mmhm - should be more, want more…"

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" The words are fond, slow honey dripping through your brain as he adds another finger. "Yes, you are, little one - so pretty for me, stretched tight and needy around my fingers, grinding down against my palm."

"My pretty warden." His fingers curl, and you shudder in his grip as he rubs just - oh, fuck, right there… “Isn’t that right?"

Melting back against him, you watch as the human across the room startles, sitting in a jumble of limbs against the opposite wall.

"You agree, don't you?" Vega's voice is sweet on the surface, but you can hear the steel in it as he hisses, horns glinting in the light and sharp fangs on full display. "Don't you?"

The human trembles as the lights start to flicker, and you can feel the glamour over Vega's eyes snap - if you were to look up at him, you're sure his eyes would be completely black, sclera and all. He nods, frantic, nervous eyes darting between your blissed-out face and the very tall, very scary Sadism demon currently staring him down.

"Very, uh… very pretty…"

Vega doesn't speak for a long moment, expression blank as magic swells in the air. The human winces, shrinking back against the wall as the silence stretches on, broken only by your aching breaths and the slick sound of Vega's fingers inside you.

"...Good."

He smiles widely, and the officer gasps for air - although you're not sure if Vega had actually been stopping his breathing, or if he'd just been holding his breath in terror.

“Did you hear that, my sweet?” His tail darts around your left side to dip between your legs, teasing you with quick, even strokes as he kisses your cheek, just beside your eye. You can’t help but squirm at the added sensation, legs involuntarily trying to close before he drags them back open with a burst of psychokinesis. “Oh, no need to be shy, my warden. You wouldn’t want to hide this pretty face from our guest here, would you?

Blinking through the haze of pleasure, you can just about make out the human’s face - he’s looking at you with that same greedy, twisted expression you’ve hated for so, so long. Like a thing. Like some sort of worthless toy, something to be played with and broken and thrown away. Or is it the same - no, there’s something more this time, isn’t there? You catch his eye and hold it, drinking in the agonised tension inside him as he tries not to be the first to look away, even as the siren song of your body in Vega’s hold tempts his eyes downwards.

“No, you want him to watch, don’t you?”

The human's gaze drops lower and lower, embarrassingly low, drifting greedily down your body to where Vega’s hand works lazily between your legs. Deft fingers casually drawing your pleasure to the surface, twisting and curling inside you, claws shiny and dripping in the dim light.

“There you go, darling, that’s it…”

He shushes you softly, pressing bruising kisses into your neck as you shiver back into his chest. Were his fingers always so - oh, fuck - were they always so long? Hips twitching up into his touch, eyes closed and head dropping back against his shoulder. Trembling in his grip, but not from fear.

“You want him to see how pretty you really are, hmm? You want him to see?”

Hiding your face in his shoulder, it’s a good thing you don’t need to speak aloud. “Yeah, yeah, I want - mmm!” You trip over the words as his fingers curve upwards inside you, catching against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl. “So close - want it, please…”

“Alright, sweet thing, it’s alright,” he murmurs, shushing your plaintive whine as he slides his fingers out of you and leaves you so cruelly empty. “No need to fuss. I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

He picks you up from behind, right arm hooked under your knees and the other supporting your back as he turns you round to lay you back on the desk in front of him. “And what sort of upstanding, law-abiding demon would I be, breaking promises to my lovely warden?

“Mm… the same as always, probably,” you say through a smile, reaching up to beckon him down for a kiss. “Innocent as ever.”

“Corrupting me, are you?” Vega smirks as he lets you drag him down by the shoulder, meeting you in a messy kiss with one arm sneaking around your waist, his other hand underneath your head. “Looks like my good little warden might be badder than we thought.”

Teeth scrape over your throat, stinging kisses trailing over your jaw and your throat as he presses you down against the table. You slide your palms eagerly up over his neck, claws dragging slightly against the skin before burying your hands in his hair, using the newfound grip to adjust his angle just a little. Mmm, that's better. In return, he rocks his hips forwards to grind his cock against you, that delicious, easy slide - the tip just barely catches your entrance as he does it, excruciatingly close and leaving you both gasping.

"Vega-"

Before you can finish, he digs his fangs sharply into your neck, right over your pulse - instinctively your grip tightens in his hair, and the sudden flash of pain-anger-arousal that you feel slashing through his mind almost blinds you, it's so strong. "I - you - fuck, I need-"

Hissing under his breath, he yanks you up to sitting with the arm around your waist - you only really realise what's happening once his palm presses flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you harshly down against the desk.

“Always so fucking good, aren’t you? Hmm? Eager to please, eager to please me.”

He grinds his cock against you again with a groan, slow and dirty, before pulling away. “Show me where you want me.”

You don't look yet, but you can feel it. Even like this, cold without the warmth of his body and trapped under the spotlight of his attention, you can feel the human’s eyes on you from across the room - shyly, you reach back with both hands to spread yourself for him, fingers all tacky and wet from the slick mess between your legs.

“Where? Inside?”

You nod, peeking back over your shoulder at him - outside, the wind howls with the storm as his shadow stretches tall and menacing on the wall behind. “Then ask me nicely, and I might say yes.”

“...Please?”

He snarls, fangs bared and claws digging into your hips so hard they threaten to break skin. “Nicely.”

A deep breath, shaky and excited and a little bit breathless. “Please, Vega - please fuck me, I - I want you, need you, please…"

You can hear the smile in his voice as the head of his cock nudges just slightly into you, before-

“Then be good, little one, and - mmm, fuck - and take me."

Vega pushes into you with a satisfied moan, beads of blood gathering at his fingertips as his claws dig shallowly into your skin, possessive delight washing over you as he watches the way your back bows clear off the desk at the sheer stretch of him. “There - oh, there’s my darling…”

He gives you a second to adjust, but before long he's setting a brutal pace. The desk - thankfully bolted to the floor, as all the furniture in this building is - shakes underneath you with every snap of his hips, and you gasp as his tail dips down around your hips, between you and the tabletop, to work indulgently between your legs while his hands are busy.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t - haahh, isn’t it?” His hand grabs both of your wrists, pinning them to the desk above your head as he presses his chest to your back. The pressure is wonderful, underneath him and unable to move as he fucks you into the table - you’re helpless to resist the satisfied whine bubbling up in your chest. “Yeah? So this is why we came here - you didn’t want revenge, you didn’t want victory. You wanted to be mine, that’s all you fucking want.”

Your head spins at his words, eyes fluttering shut at a particularly harsh thrust that - aahh, that hits your sweet spot just right. Briefly, you register a dark, damp patch on the desk under your cheek - your face flushes hot with embarrassment when you realise that you've been drooling all over the table this whole time.

“Nothing but my obedient little whore, bent over this desk, split open on my cock and begging for me to let you cum.”

Faintly, your legs start to tremble, hitched up on tiptoe by the warm weight of his body forcing you forward over the table.

“Look at you,” he spits, biting hungry, vicious kisses across your shoulder. “You wanted everyone to know, didn’t you - you wanted everyone in this fucking prison to hear me bend you over and fuck you senseless.” You keen, bucking uselessly in his grip as his hand reaches underneath you to press up on your stomach - the change in angle mixed with the new, deep pressure makes your tail curl in agonising pleasure. "Didn't you?"

“Yeah, yeah, want it,” you gasp, hiding your face in your arms as your voice stutters and shakes with each bolt of burning pleasure that rocks through you.

“Because you’re mine, aren’t you? Yeah? A sweet little inchoate, screaming my name, wearing my mark - and such a fucking slut for my cock that you don’t even care how many people I’ve killed for you.”

“Yes,” you choke out, claws dragging deep scratches into the wood as you desperately scrabble for something to ground yourself, pleasure hot and thick and electric in your brain. The familiar pattern of Lyra, kissed tender into your skin, his namesake star bitten deep and possessive just over your pulse.

“Jealous little bitch.” He pulls you upright with a jolt, strong fingers wrapping around your throat, back to his chest as he fucks you full. “Getting off on the way I kill anyone else who lays a hand on you - the way you know I’ll kill anyone else who sees you like this.”

Caught against his chest, you’re completely exposed in Vega’s hold, reaching back to clutch wildly to whatever part of him you can reach - one hand tangles into his hair while the other clings to his hip, trying weakly to tug him closer.

“You like it when I kill them for you?” he laughs, the hand around your throat forcing your head back against his shoulder, letting you mouth greedy kisses against his throat. “Mmm, I bet that’s why you wanted me to fuck you in front of him. Proving that you’re mine, the only way a slut like you knows how.”

The human pitches forward as Vega’s magic tugs him towards you, staring shamelessly at your naked, vulnerable form - the half-dried mixture of spit and precum that's smeared across your mouth and dripping down onto your chest, the slick, pearlescent mess between your legs, soaking into the desk beneath you and staining the wood.

"Yes, yes, I like it - nng, Vega…" you moan, trailing off into a whimper as your core starts to spasm. It’s almost overwhelming - strong arms trapping you against the familiar comfort of his body, the thick weight of his cock inside you, the cloying haze of lust and pride and cruel pleasure that fills the room. Storm clouds rumble outside as the rain pours down, and you’re left shaking under the weight of it all.

“Then say it.” Vega’s grip around your throat disappears for a split second as he taps your cheek with the flat of his palm, pulling your mind back to him with a dark, possessive growl. “You’re mine.”

“So - please, so close, ‘m so close-”

He cuts you off with a bruising kiss, before pulling back just a fraction to spit in your still-open mouth. “Have I fucked you stupid already? Fucking say it.”

“I’m-” Biting back a scream, you bury your face in his neck and wail, desperate to cum and utterly at his mercy. “Vega, Vega - ‘m yours, need you, pleasepleaseplease-!”

“Then give in, my little murderer, and cum for me.”

You sob as your orgasm finally shudders through you, washing you in burning pleasure from tip to tail, eyes squeezed shut and thrashing mindlessly in Vega’s arms. Distantly, you hear him curse as he fills you, lovely warmth spreading in the pit of your stomach - a delighted shiver runs through you at the satisfying fullness, relaxing back against him as all the tension drains out of your body.

Warm and full and happy, you’re content to drift in the gentle pressure of his arms around you, the sweetness of his hazy words floating softly in your candyfloss mind. You mumble something in protest as he sets you down gently against the desk, blinking dazedly as a burst of magic echoes through the room, but luckily your momentary confusion doesn’t last long.

By the time you come back to him, he’s fully clothed again - looking down, you realise that he’s cleaned you up a little and given you clothes too, all soft cotton and elastic. Words are a little bit much, right now, so you just settle for tugging at the hem of his shirt until he smiles and reaches down to scoop you back up into his arms where you belong.

“There you are, dearest,” he murmurs softly, gathering your melting form up and cradling your head against his shoulder in a loose bridal carry. “Feeling better?”

You reply with a quiet hum, transfixed by the dark shape of stars bruised into his skin just above your face. Bite marks, scattered across his body in the shape of your namesake constellation, proof of your lips against his chest, his shoulder, his throat. It looks good. It feels good.

Vega laughs under his breath when he realises what you’re looking at, tipping his head back slightly to let you get a better view. “Pleased with your handiwork, hmm?”

Yawning slightly, you nod, soothed by the low cadence of his voice in your head. He’s yours.

“For a minute, I thought you were trying to tear my throat out, sweetheart,” he says, hair falling slightly into his face as he kisses your forehead affectionately. “Remind me which of us is the Sadism demon, again?”

“Mmm…” Lightly brushing the hair out of his face with your tail, you’re caught in the warm weightlessness of his teasing gaze. It’s nice. He’s so pretty. “Still you.”

“Still me?” This time, he laughs aloud rather than just in your mind, watching you smile as you feel the vibrations in his chest under your head. “Right as always, little one.”

The sound of rain drumming on the concrete outside is far away now, background noise in your brain as he speaks again. “Time to leave, my sweet. Ready to go home?”

Home. That sounds good. Home means… um…

(Well, actually, you’re not really sure what it means, any more. It’s not the safehouse. It’s not really Aria, either. But you do know it means Vega, and that’s good enough for you.)

A light, contented sigh. “Yes, please.”

(You don’t look back. In fact, it doesn’t even cross your mind.)

The familiar tearing of the rift, the final goodbye to this hated, haunted place. Stepping through into the nothingness, Vega smiles - eyes closing as he catches your tail with his own, twining them together as he presses a sweet kiss to the spade.

(You always knew he’d do it, if you asked.)

“For you, my darling?”

(A mangled, twisted body on the ground, splintered bone punching through tattered skin, bathed in a thick pool of its own blood. Dreaming, peony pink and tasting like sweet flesh. Plaster cracking, pressure dropping, windows rattling in the frames. The storm, the storm, the storm.)

“Anything.”

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

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[jackalsinthekitchen]

pop report #8 (today's top hits, 9/24/24)

today's top twenty – short n' salty

A whole Brat Summer has come and gone since we last left off. I tumbled belatedly down Charli’s rabbit hole in January, when I was looking for something to flatter a high, and she ended up blowing my world apart. I’d slept on her a decade ago, when she was both sugar and spice – everything nice, really – in hits which have aged varying degrees of well. Yet her 2015 union with PC Music was what put the form to her urge to soundscape – unlike the DMT-addled Todd Rundgren of fifty years ago, of whom she’s a fan, she’s nothing if not collaborative. When I first played brat, besotted as any sane person would be by the effervescent “360”, I found its music too metallic and its melodies overly astringent. Mea culpa – now no less an authority than our next president [knock, knock] has validated her cultural primacy.

So you won’t catch me complaining anymore – it couldn’t have happened to a more visionary icon. But of course, the year belongs to neither Charli, nor the victor in the battle of the quarter-century (not talking about Beyoncé v. Swift, who I think it’s safe to say overdid themselves into a draw this time out). Armed with little more than a wand, a rabbit, and a kabuki-meets-Cyndi Lauper aesthetic, the Midwest Princess finally completed her year-long rise this fall. Meanwhile, in Chappell’s shadow, the Last Straight Femme has put a bow on a fascinating saga that kicked off with “Drivers License”, while Olivia takes sour selfies abroad. And the season of the sticks is long over, with the cabal of bros who once threatened to turn 2024 into the Year of the Dude proving one-hit wonders – or if not one, at least a lot less than F-1 trillion.

But the bro atop half of Today’s Top Hit, Bruno Mars, is a different breed altogether – like his duet partner, one L. Gaga, a star so massive he’s transcended this plane, if not the material world. The languidly soulful waltz “Die with a Smile” sounds to me like an AI dream about “Beautiful Things” being less annoying, and as with everything else America can’t stop listening to (including “Beautiful Things”), someday soon I’m sure I’ll love it. But it still turns on vocals which grind into sincerity, yielding more sawdust than sparks, and presumably won’t unite a wedding dancefloor like “Uptown Funk” or “Bad Romance” ages from now. I suppose each artist thought they had to remind us that they were alive, and forgive my cynicism that the song is doing so well on branding power alone (well, and maybe those outfits).

Tate McRae is another one who feels greedier for the public than vice versa, but it’s ok – “It’s ok I’m ok” is a bit more than OK, the rapid-fire rap hook and sudden wash of synth atmospherics disrupting its relative self-repetition. It's another one that promises to grow over a slow fade; I’d say pop hits are fading slower than ever, but really, it’s always been this way. It does boast some brevity, said to be the soul of something in limited currency – its brisk two and a half minutes feel closer to 75 seconds. Lasting as long is #3, a single about lingering, Short n’ Sweet (ha)’s attention-seizing opener “Taste”. Whereas Olivia’s overtures to authenticity made her so compelling, Sabrina leans into the prefab, and it’s fab every time, fam. Its throwback feel is one of its chiefest virtues – it’s a dead ringer for the Divinvyls, and who doesn't dig the Divinyvls?

The fun of Chappell Roan is which of her big hits you can’t escape at any given moment – only “Pink Pony Club”, which is basically a standard now, is falling behind the rest of the pack. #4 on today’s TTH is “Good Luck, Babe”, its chorus such a pristine flourish of frosting it’s always good for getting through, coming out or kissing off. It’s the first in a trio of queer victories down the list, followed by Charli’s zero-melody banger “Guess”, feat. Billie E, whose subsequently-slotted “Birds of a Feather” is to “we can’t be friends” (#21) as Sour is to Short n’ Sweet. Here’s a girl who writes like she earned both her Oscars. This sapphic streak goes up in flames with the Weeknd, a painfully-straight whose strongest hits sound super gay anyway. After The Idol, the flames are all he can dance in.

#s 8-12 are five stalwart inescapables – that me espresso, H-O-T-T-O-G-O, J.J. Abrams’ nepo baby keenly cornering the “wounded submissive with an acoustic guitar” half of the Taylor Swift market (her vocals softening Olivia’s bratty diction with Billie’s volume control – “I Love You, I’m Sorry”, not as good as “Risk” but still good), Hozier cornering the Adam Levine market (it’s not my aphrodisiac, but the sky still splits open at that wailing instrumental break), errybody in the bahr gittin’ tyup-seh. Then the crisp, honeyed “Apple”, one of a handful of excellent hooks (not to mention lyrics) I missed like a dumb bitch when I was being a brat about brat. Benson Boone’s “Slow it Down” (no one asked you to, BB) sounds extra hoary directly after – though yet again, he builds up to something more worth your while than you expect from the first minute.

Depending on how you look at it, no two bros need more or less help than Post Malone and Morgan Wallen. But for their stab at the song of the summer – per Billboard, it worked – six additional bros lent a hand (though, credit where due, one of them is named Ashley). “I Had Some Help” is solid, and as with all decent-plus generic pop hits gets better or worse depending on the weather in your town or head. Still, the main takeaway is that both men would love to be Sabrina Carpenter, if not Chappell Roan. Next in line is the only member of the Tortured Poets’ Department that doesn’t sound asleep, "I Can Do it With a Broken Heart", a missile aimed directly under Joe Alwyn’s skin – the same summer the latter decided it would be a canny career move to play a rapist in Yorgos Lanthimos’ hasty surrender of his newly-acquired feminist cred.

After Tommy “Temporarily” Richman’s programmatic percolator “Million Dollar Baby” – his album will be called Coyote, though he might’ve just as easily gone with I, Robot – comes a new one for the stomp-clappers Noah Kahan pulled out of the woodwork: Myles Smith’s “Stargazing”. Anyone who’s ever wondered what Chris Martin would sound like fronting Mumford & Sons will be free to turn their attention elsewhere. Then there’s an arresting little club-designed mystery I haven’t heard before – “Move”, by two white guys (Adam Port and Stryv) and a Black vocalist (Malachiii) gently cashing in on a bourgeoning Afrobeats bubble (on this hemisphere, anyway – it’s an embarrassment of riches on the other). It’s a big hit in Belgium, Switzerland, the Netherlands, and Austria – shades of ABBA, who never crossed the color line in their lives.

I’d call #20 the secret song of the summer – while many of us are feeling hot to go and so Julia, there are still plenty of shitty vibes to go around, not to mention shitty men (this writer included). Justice doesn’t get more poetic than “Please Please Please” hitting the top in a surging crop of penis-pop. While Sabrina’s triumphs are often trifles, “Please” nails an almost unprecedented level of sexual-politics profundity without a speck of strain or waste (I’d be shocked if it featured more than three instruments). Sure, Olivia’s righteous rage always hits like a tonic, but something about Carpenter’s straight-to-the-point disappointment feels a great deal more potent. Imagine if Lesley Gore, not to mention Aretha Franklin, had had “I beg you, don’t embarrass me motherfucker” at their disposal. Even then, neither would’ve delivered that last word with the same score-settling perfection. Morgan Wallen and Post Malone will always have some help. 2024’s pop queens don’t need any.

[pandafishao3]

Day 1: Spanking

Pairing: Andy Barber x Steve Rogers

Warnings: None

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Captain America, Marvel, Defending Jacob

Tags: Pre-serum Steve Rogers, Daddy kink, Daddy dom Andy Barber, Come as lube, Anal sex, Spanking, Discipline, Mean daddy, Self-cest (kind of), Punishment, Steve Rogers is a brat, Steve Rogers is a tease, Ageplay, Backtalking, Bottom Steve Rogers, Top Andy Barber, DD/LB, Littlespace, Size Difference

Summary: Steve is being a real little brat again, and Andy is all out of patience. It seems his little boy needs a good spanking to put him in place

Day 1 of Ageplay May is officially up! Let me know your thoughts, and next up is Frank Adler x Bucky Barnes and some nice bathtime on Thursday :) Love, pandafish

[sdarbvtterfly]

Two Letters: The Sent One

I can't even begin to describe how I felt when I learned that there was an international letter waiting for me. After all these years, you were probably the only one who remembered me – well, half the blame lies with me, but you did find where I am in the end, didn't you?

As for me, I'm fine. America is an amazing country. You can always find kindred spirits here. In fact, when I received your letter, I had just returned from Niagara Falls, which you don't see that big ones in London: it was as if ten million white birds were struggling to fly down, and the cool mist of water flooded in a roar. I was standing right at the edge of it, thinking that even the best Quidditch player couldn't fly over it. There are plenty of waterfalls in this country, and Yosemite's is beautiful too, just not as spectacular as this one.

I'm already a professional traveler, Blaise. And I'm planning to do a trip to Antarctica – not this year, of course. It's already August, and I have to prepare for that for at least three months. Then it is September. September, you told me your kids are starting school, I believe. My Lyla is nine years old. She's a clever girl, but unfortunately she's nothing like me, except for her serene black eyes. Her nose is a bit like my mother's, and I guess she got her slightly dark skin from her father (I'll have to include a photo for you).

Okay, let me be honest. None of us saw Lyla coming. But she's very talented, and I believe her father was probably a brilliant wizard in disguise. Does that offend you, Blaise? If it were a few years ago, that might have made me ashamed for a while, but now? I'm half a muggle now, Blaise. My wand makes me weak. I can't keep myself from remembering how many unforgivable curses shot from her tip. And my hair is mostly white – that beautiful black hair that even you weren't fastidious about. I try to blame all this on the war, but I am also guilty. It was me who screamed that "Harry Potter" in the Great Hall, and also me who chose to flee the battlefield. I chose to avoid this trial…I waited for fate to claim its price from me.

I'm going to send Lyla to Ilvermornyin the future. Hogwarts is not for her. Lyla is too obsessed with magic, like a child obsessed with toys. And magic is more than toys, isn't it? Also, I'm sorry, Blaise, it's a little hard to talk about, but it does exist. My feet are afraid to set foot on the land of Britain. Like a deserter who doesn't want the scars on his back to be seen, I am afraid to face my former friends and professors as I fled timidly while they drew their wands to defend Hogwarts. On top of that, we Slytherins – and how evil should we be portrayed? No one can forgive us, Blaise, especially me.

I am still thinking, still resentful. I sink into the memories of the past. I dreamed of Hogwarts again and again, dreaming of us walking through the old and strong corridor, of the sunlight enveloping us like the fog in the dark forest at night, of the gentle, sad eyes of the women in the portraits. How can you smell the so-called ambition in these dreams and bad memories that have passed like water? All my secret thoughts are only about another person, who alone makes me sigh with no resentment…

I miss you so much, Blaise. If one day my destiny reaches its end, the only one worthy of my smile will probably be you, old friend. I often think of our first rafting trip on the Black Lake. D, Goyle, Crabbe and I were in the same boat. You and Theo's boat was next to ours. I was thinking what an arrogant and insolent brat you were, but I didn't think you would be a faithful and reliable friend, just as I didn't realize that the moonlight that night was one of the rare times in my life pure and bright.

Your sincerely,

P.P

Included: a stilled photo

[sgtjamesrogers]

one line, any fic!

tagged by @novasforce :)

some no pressure tags for- @marnz, @dicktective, @shhhenanigans, @fromcainwithlove, @transhorrors, @antagonistenthusiast, and @spector27.

pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people.

i'm only slightly afraid to revisit some of these. and i probably will not do all ten, because some of these don't need to be looked at again.

MASOCHIST - published to lj (!!) in 2010, ao3 in 2011.

"So, this is your big idea of fun? Sitting in the humidity watching snot noised brats play on dangerous metal playground equipment? I think you have the mistaken impression that because I foolishly told you my sob story last night in a fit of insanity that I secretly adore things like frolicking kittens and sparkly vampires."

"Like there's anything actually fun that you'd rather be doing," Luke tossed back at him, making a dismissive noise at him with a crooked grin. 

"I'd rather be having a drink," Reid says in an undertone, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands, feeling a dull ache building behind his eyes.

TO LOVE A BEAST - published to lj for the lurebigbang in 2010.

And then there’s the gentlest of touches through his hair, long nails just lightly skimming his scalp. That’s so nice that Luke makes a contented little noise, burrowing back into the arm that supported him. The arm the supported him. Luke sat straight up, suddenly wide awake. Reid’s arms still held the position Luke had been lying, almost across his lap, supported by one arm like a child. He looks at Luke a little sheepishly, letting his arms fall into his lap.

QUALITY PROGRAMMING FOR CHILDREN 101 - first fic published only to ao3 in 2011.

“Jack, we talked about this.”

“No, you talked about this, using your patented long winded, ‘beat around the bush and also my head’ style of conversation, all I did was grunt noncommittally when you finally finished,” Jack responded with a smile at Eliot as he clapped along, and generally had the time of his two year old life. It was almost enough to make David feel guilty about outlawing Barney, except when he looked back at the tv and saw the wide moving mouth and crazily spinning eyes, and nope, absolutely no regrets.

SAME OLD LANG SYNE - published very, very pre-catws, if you can believe it.

The Soldier is gone now, but this man who wears James's skin, he's still not Steve's Bucky either. He no longer has the urgent need to dispatch with Captain America at any means necessary, but neither does he retain any of the memories before that long and terrible fall. It ties Steve in knots that Bucky doesn't even remember his own favorite color, or how he liked his burger cooked, or the way he used to wake Steve back in their Brooklyn; yanking the blanket off him with a mischievous grin and pulling him by his ankles to the end of the bed, where he'd meet Steve's grumbling mouth with his own. 

A BEAST OF BURDEN. - published 2013.

"Fuck it," he says finally, ripping his side of the blankets off of himself and stalking over to the door and slinging the door open hard enough for it to bounce back off of the wall protector. The kitten automatically scurries in, leaping up onto the bed of the bed, and Louis follows it like he's approaching the gallows. He flops face down into bed, and falls almost immediately asleep.

When he wakes up, sleep grit in his eyes and mouth and reaches over to check the time the lockscreen of his phone is himself, asleep with Audrey Hepburn perched on top of his head, but that's honestly par for the course at this point.

KEEP BURNING ME UP (WITH ALL OF YOUR LOVE) - published 2014

"But you don't have paprika," she says, eyes closed.

"I have paprika," he groans, like he knows what's going to come out of her mouth next.

"But not real paprika," Barbara answers with a satisfied smile, as if that settles it.

SHOULD'VE BEEN HOME YESTERDAY - published 2/2020, in progress.

The lamp is tragically grotesque, with four taxidermied mice holding miniature instruments clustered around the stem leading upward under the lampshade; a splash picture of a mountain range. Roy thinks that one of the mice has a mustache. 

“But wait, look—“ 

Roy gave the pull chain a tug, and a muffled speaker hidden on the base plays a tinny ‘ Born To Be Wild ’ by Steppenwolf. He grins at Jason’s immediate revulsion; it’s almost cartoonish in the pout of his mouth as Roy sings along tunelessly, using the purple gatorade in his fist as a mic. 

AIN'T THAT A KICK IN THE HEAD? - published 6/2022

“I… can’t get over how good your quads are, dude,” Chris whispered finally, clearing his throat. “You could really crush somebody’s head between these.” Adrian slid back down over Chris’ hips, beaming. 

FOR THE LONGEST TIME - published 10/2022, in progress.

With the pack safely in his back pocket again he crouches and curls one firm hand around the back of Hughie’s neck, kissing him sweet and deep. 

“See? You wanna taste like that every day?” 

Their lips brush as Butcher speaks, and Hughie feels his body starting to light up again. 

“Mmmmaybe?” He sighs out, just barely opening his eyes and giving Butcher a malevolent grin. “You better kiss me again so I can be sure.” 

[bethestaryouareradio]

How Parents Shape US

“Behind every young child who believes in himself is a parent who believed first.” –Matthew Jacobson

Our parents are like our first influencers. They were there before social media, showing us how to navigate life. Host Julia discusses how our parents shape our views on pretty much everything—money, relationships, education, and life. She shares personal stories of growing up and the advice she was given. She shares behaviors that children learn from parents, both positive and negative. Work ethics, social skills, and handling stress, are all connected to how you grew up. Kids who grow up in a nurturing environment tend to score higher on exams. Parents who shelter their kids from tough life lessons often end up with anxious adult children. In the second segment, Julia describes her dad’s experience as a “Navy brat”, moving constantly to different states and countries because his father was a four-star Navy Admiral working with Henry Kissinger. He was resilient and adaptable, traits that continue to inspire Julia. She illustrates the different parenting styles with authoritative, yet loving, being the most balanced.

We owe a lot to our parents—not just for raising us, but for shaping the way we think, act, and see the world. So, next time they’re giving us advice, maybe we’ll listen a little closer… or at least pretend to.

“To the world, you’re just one person, but to your parents, you are the world.” 

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[luesmainblog]

Time for your daily dose of Rebecca Hawkins propoganda!

1. Found out that Yugi's grandpa had the blue-eyes white dragon card(extremely rare and powerful) that used to belong to her grandpa. Assumed this MUST mean that he STOLE the card, and heads directly to japan to get it back. she is american. in the dub she is eight. the FIRST THING she does upon getting there is going straight to the game shop and waiting for him to show up so she can yell at him. 1.5. notably, she does not initially explain this: she calls it HER card, since it belongs in a top deck and she's the #1 duelist in america, and when corrected on this, she says he stole it from her. her grandpa does not come up for several scenes, as if it doesn't occur to her that he's important in this. 1.55 literally needs it spelled out to her bit-by-bit by her grandpa, who had to COME TO JAPAN CHASING AFTER HER, before she accepts that yugi's grandpa is not a thief. 1.555. To be extremely clear: She equates stealing from her grandfather and stealing from her as the same thing. 2. this little lady is R U D E, i know that can be a negative stereotype but let's be honest, a lot of us were rude as children. she has that Gifted Child superiority that's more over-praised than math nerd. 3. constantly carried a teddy bear despite being 12 years old, only for it to never be seen again after we next see her. during the time she was carrying it, she pretended to speak with it and relay its messages to the others, completely uncaring of how that looked. 3.5. she uses this to explain her card effects, a bit that is vital to tournament play in the game and HAS to be done.

4. after getting schooled in a cardgame, the thing she is gifted at, she decides she must be in Love with Yugi and is not quiet about this at ALL. she pays no mind to any discomfort anyone shows about it, and is either unaware he doesn't feel the same or just assumes he eventually will. 4.5. this eventually ends in her fighting over him with a grown woman. 3.55. it is only after this that she stops carrying the teddy bear, as though she decided that Now is the time to grow up. raise your hand if you can relate!

5. I can't emphasize enough that she named her horse Copernicus. as in she looked at this horse and said "you know who you remind me of? The guy who figured out that the earth and other planets revolved around the sun." And yes, she does wear full a full cowboy fit to ride the horse. boots included.

Let me be more general here. Yu-Gi-Oh was all sorts of hyperfix representation for a LOT of kids in its height, and despite the fandom paying her so little mind, rebecca was a big part of that. She only really gets to shine in two of the arcs that people have a habit of skipping because they weren't canon to the manga, meaning she's hardly ever given a fair chance for people to like her or remember anything past her little teddy bear. and on a more personal note, i think a lot of us can relate to what the sub did do her: it saw this 12 year old still clinging to her teddy bear and acting like a brat, and it made her 8 instead - as though it was inconceivable that someone that old could still be acting like that. I can think of few things more autism than that, especially for those of us who were Gifted or Smart For Our Age in same way. Please, vote Rebecca!

Autistic Girlies Bracket: Round 1, Side A

Matchup 8

Only your vote can determine which of these autistic girlies will move on to the next round.

REBECCA HAWKINS MASTERPOST STERIS HARMS MASTERPOST

[Image ID. Image with a purple to pink gradient background that is split down the middle by a jagged white line. There is a purple 'VS' symbol in the centre. On the left of the image is Rebecca Hawkins from Yu-Gi-Oh!. On the right of the image is Steris Harms from The Coppermind. End ID.]

[ao3feed-stevebucky]

everybody knows that i'm a good girl, officer

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/x7DK4Oi

by bvckysarm

“You gonna listen to us? As much of a brat as you’ve been, I think I'd like you alive for this next part,” Bucky says, and the dark inclination of his words have you pushing more of your weight into Steve, subconsciously seeking his warmth and comfort.

“She’ll listen,” Steve tells Bucky, tilting your chin up with his fingers and pinning you once again with his gaze. “Won't you, peach?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Bucky murmurs, closer to your ear than before and the sound of his voice making you shiver. His hands come up to rest gently on your hips and-

Oh.

“What do you think, Stevie?” He asks. “Did we catch ourselves a good girl-”

Bucky squeezes your hips, pulling you flush to his body, his hot, hard erection pressing into your ass.

“-or a naughty little slut?”

Words: 6666, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi

Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Reader

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader

Additional Tags: Threesome - F/M/M, the long awaited threesome fic, Good Cop Bad Cop, Dirty Talk, Steve and Bucky mess around sometimes, but they're not exclusive, !!, Rape/Non-con Elements, it's very clear that the reader wants this, but there is no discussion beforehand, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Spitroasting, Spit As Lube, Choking, innuendos, Theft, Aftermath of Violence, Mentions of Violence, Top Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, bottom reader, Dumbification, Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Slut Shaming

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/x7DK4Oi

[factorydefaultlu]

Pegging homelander pic…please 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

Act Like It

Homelander x Fem!Reader Smut

Minors DNI

Being the second biggest hero was no easy feat. Especially for a woman. You've had to work hard, harder than your male coworkers that's for sure. Definitely harder than Homelander himself, America's Hero. A spoiled brat is what he really is, always throwing a fit when he doesn't get what he wants.

Today was no different, the Seven sat at the meeting table. Arguing as usual and discussing rating, movies, who has more fans etc.

Arbitrary corporate bullshit. Heroes your ass, you guys were nothing but children bickering over who has better toys. Homelander sat at the head of the table, listening to his cohorts with a smug smile.

You tuned out the noise and stared at his face, trying to pick apart his mind. He hadn't said a word at all, except his normal beginning speech. Normally that bastard loves to hear the sound of his own voice, what was different today?

He had suddenly cough caught your eyes and smiled wide, abruptly standing up.

"Well, I would like to announce that the Homelander 3 movie has broken the box office numbers, completely surpassing our number two hero's second movie." He smirked and gestured to you.

You rolled your eyes, of course he had to to grab everyone's attention and make everything about himself. You gave a shrug of your shoulders, you could care less about asinine publicity and numbers. Homelander knew that was the only thing he could hold over you, and it was pathetic. He may be the face of America but you're the one to actually save it.

The meeting had ended, your coworkers poured out of the room and you were left alone with Homelander. Neither of you had made a move to leave after he dismissed everyone.

"Quite the big deal you made about your numbers." You glanced at him, tapping your fingernails against metal table. He hummed in response, that smug smirk still on his face.

"Too bad you're not a real hero. I bet you'd make even more money." You retorted.

Homelander was immediately standing up, his chair rolling back behind him. He came to stand over you, irritation plain on his face.

"Excuse me, care to repeat that? You forget who you're talking to." he seethed and you just smiled.

"No, you forget where you stand next to me, you are in my shadow. Act like it." you go to stand up, bringing yourself closer to his face.

"Maybe it's not a coincidence that every idea you've ever had has failed under your guidance." his jaw clenched and you could tell he was holding back from turning you into a pile of ash.

"You are a walking second place medal." you finally finished, his face was inches from yours.

Homelander went to grab at your throat, but you were faster than him. Slapping him clean across his perfect face. The sound echoed in the room, his hand came up to cradle his cheek. His hair was mussed from the force of the hit, and he looked at you. Not with anger, or fear. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes, and something primal loomed within them.

"Go to my room. Strip. Wait for me on the bed. Do not touch yourself. I will know." you commanded with a flat voice. He hesitated, then fixed himself and nodded before leaving the room without a word.

You took your time finishing your work, knowing full well that he had obeyed you. After an hour or so you finally decided to stop torturing him. Well almost.

The room was dim when you entered, only the bedside lamps were on. Homelander was laid in the middle of the bed, nude. Just as you asked. Good boy.

He cracked an eye open upon hearing you enter. A devilish smirk spread across his face.

"What's that for? You think you're gonna get some pussy?" you scoffed and made your way to the dresser across the room.

He looked at you confused, how cute. You pulled the top drawer open and rummaged around. Grabbing what you needed, you then turned and threw the rather large strap-on and bottle of lube onto the bed.

Homelander looked almost scared now, he kept searching your face for a joke that wasn't there.

"I-I don't think I can take that." he reffered to the strap.

"You can and you will. You need to be reminded of your place. Now get on your hands and knees." the way his fear made your cunt feel was amazing.

He stared at you, silently pleading then finally maneuvered himself on his hands and knees. Embarrassment was obvious all over his body, flushed red and almost trembling. You giggled sadistically, this big powerful man was on his hands and knees for you.

You ran your hand delicately over the curve of his spine, goosebumps being left in their trail. He bit his lip, his cock was already half hard when you came in and it's only getting harder. Your hand came to rest on his ass, you gave it a light squeeze before raising it.

A loud crack sounded through the room, Homelander whimpered at the pain on his ass. His head hung down, pressing into the pillows. You massaged the red welt before once again bringing down another smack.

He whimpered and trembled through the pain, he wasn't being as much of a baby as you thought. Dissatisfied with this reaction you grabbed his cock and pulled it between his thighs. Homelander jumped, and gave a moan at the pressure on his cock.

You started pumping the shaft, smacking his thigh every so often. Luring him into a false sense of security.

"Oh fuck!" he yelled as you tugged on his cock aggressively. The giggle you let out made him huff on annoyance.

"Did you think this would be nice for you? After what you did earlier?" You squeezed his cock and he gritted his teeth.

"What do you say when you do something wrong?" you asked, he stayed silent. You hummed and drug a finger up from his balls to his hole.

He shook his head, refusing to say the words. You prodded at the tight opening.

"It's almost like you want me to fuck your ass. All you have to do is say the words and I'll let you pound my cunt into the mattress." you spoke gently, mockingly.

His hole puckered as you continued to play with him. His breathing was heavy, but he was silent still.

"Fine." you abruptly shoved your finger into him. Homelander let out a strangled cry as the forced entry burned through him.

"I fucking hate you." he seethed through gritted teeth, muffled by the pillows.

"Really now. I can leave you like this." you curled your finger brushing up against his prostate.

Homelander let out a whorish moan, "No, no please. Fuck, goddammit fuck me!"

A smile split your face. "I'm serious if you hate me I can leave. Unless you want to tell me something."

He panted as you started to pump your finger in and out, the dry pull burned like hellfire. He shook his head 'no'.

You pulled your finger out, and grabbed the strap. "If you can't be polite, I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson. You haven't been a good boy."

Homelander whined, he hated being called a bad boy, even more than being bent over by his rival. You began to buckle the strap around your hips, adjusting it so it will rub against your clit while you thrust.

It was pitiful sight. America's Hero on his hands and knees, completely naked, ass spread wide and the Number Two Hero still in her suit, preparing her silicone cock just for him.

If only you could preserve this moment. Hm. You quickly hopped up, and went to your bag. Homelander looked at you curiously, and then in shock as you grabbed your phone.

Setting it to video, you placed it against the lamp. The camera captured a great view of Homelander's face.

"No, please. What if it gets out." he begged shoving his face into the bed.

"You should have been nicer." You got back behind him on your knees. Rubbing up his ass again, the plush skin still red from your abuse.

You grabbed the bottle of lube, and drizzled some down his ass. He sighed at the cold liquid. The tip of the strap teased his hole, puckering and begging to be filled.

He whined some more, his cock was rock hard now. Precum was dripping onto the sheets as his cock twitched in anticipation.

Homelander cried out as you shoved the strap in down to the hilt. "Fuck, ah!" he whimpered and hid his face in his arms.

"Nuh, uh." you grabbed his hair and forcefully lifted his head. The camera focused on his features, mouth agape, face flushed and his pupils blown with lust.

You started to thrust, a fast and hard pace. He wasn't getting babied, not this time.