#and he's that much closer to corrupting you and keeping you forever... just a perfect little pet made specifically for him...

[minnaci]

dreamy sigh... being hypnotized and trained until their commands are well and truly written in your subconscious... being so thoroughly corrupted that all it takes is a certain look or a specific word to make you weak at the knees... but best of all, seeing the love grow in their gaze as they shape and remake you into an object worthy of their affections <3

[vampiresfromxenon]

Kiss It Better

Astarion x gender neutral! Reader/Tav

Around 2.2K words 

Tags: Fluff, kissing, blood, soft!(ish?) Astarion, hurt/comfort, angst, 3rd person, no use of y/n

CW: Blood, deep wound on hand, existential thoughts (?)

Summary: After accidentally cutting your hand on your blade, Astarion is the only one in the camp to help you deal with it. You’ve been seeing him for awhile now, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen him actually care. Perhaps he does feel the same way about you…

~

With the daylight fading, you rest just outside your tent, wiping the blood off of your blade with a damp rag. As you sit there, shining it to perfection, you can’t help but analyze your reflection, thinking about the events that led you to having newer, fresher scars on your face. It’s been a few months since the start of this nightmare, since the start of having these things inside your head. The tadpoles weren't that bad to deal with, but your feelings were worse. 

You’ve grown to love all the companions you’ve met along the way, laughing and enjoying their company as you travel across the land, searching for answers, for a cure. You all keep each other safe in one way or another, and while you hate to get too attached, knowing this won’t last forever, you feel as though you found your family, especially since you can’t remember your real one. God, your real family. One you once knew but now have no memory of. Your past is a mystery, and it haunts you, much more than the gnawing idea that you could become a mind flayer at any waking moment. 

You want to remember. Oh, so desperately do you want to remember, but you can’t. That is not an option for you. And besides? What good would that do you now? You can only confront the horrors that lie before you. The thought of losing your friends, the thought of losing yourself. The thought of losing… No. You can’t bear the thought of losing him.

You find your heart sinking in your chest at the thought of him turning into a mind flayer. Your chest aches at the thought of where you promised you’d stab him if, Gods forbid, he turns. Looking into his eyes and seeing nothing, no life, no character, but a vessel. A vessel for these wretched things. It was becoming too much to handle. Your body begins to tremble from these false images enveloping your thoughts, these twisted and sickly ideas corrupting your mind for far too long. You’re so distracted by these terrors that you fail to notice the fact that you started to scrub the blade harder, or even more pressing, the fact that you dropped the rag. 

In one swift movement, your palm forcibly glides across the blade, drawing both blood from your palm and a string of curses from your mouth. The images disappear, fleeing your mind as you pick up the rag and crush it into the palm of your hand to stop the bleeding. The blade was no longer important in this moment, tossed off to the side for later. You storm into your tent, clutching your hand, searching for any sort of healing potion or power that you could find. Shadowheart and the rest of the camp had left to explore the town for the night, leaving you all to your lonesome, or so you thought. 

You sit on a cushion, exasperated and upset with yourself and your doomed existence. Removing the cloth, you take a closer look to see just how bad the wound is, trying to ignore the stinging feeling. Distracted by the blood, you fail to hear a visitor’s light footsteps approaching. 

“Oh dear, what happened to you?” A charming voice rings out. 

You turn to see a pale, slender elf standing in the opening of your tent, his white hair perfectly styled as always, his piercing red eyes invading your soul. Shoving the rag back into your burning palm, you attempt to hide your mistake, though you know he smells the blood from miles away. 

“I had a moment of clumsiness, nothing more.” You stated in a nonchalant tone, attempting to downplay your embarrassment. 

You turn your hand away from him, your eyes drifting around your tent, avoiding his gaze. He slowly approaches you, kneeling down on the cushion you are sitting on. He moves his head to meet your gaze, not wasting a second of eye-contact. 

“Mind if I take a look, darling?” He purrs, asking more nicely than usual. 

Your heart begins to race as he leans over you a little, prying into your personal space. If it were anyone else, you would push them away, but he invited himself in so much that you couldn’t help but miss it when he left. However, in this moment you did not want to feel this vulnerable, this embarrassed at your mistake; you couldn’t help but push him away just a little. After all, he is not known for having the best 'bedside manner’, if any at all. Meeting his eyes, you give him a knowing look.

“I’ll be alright on my own, thank you, Astarion. Besides, I thought you went into town with the rest of the camp?” You inquire, suddenly aware of just how much your feelings of being alone may have been an illusion. 

“I had no need to go, and honestly I couldn’t take any more of Gale’s whining about ‘needing to eat magical artifacts’. I know everyone complains about my diet, but let’s be realistic here for just a moment…” He looks away smirking, proud of his own snarky comment. Turning back to you, there is suddenly a shift in tone on his face. While he still has his typical look, one that is oozing with flirtatious energy, he looks a bit more serious, concerned even. You’ve never seen this side of him before, and it shocked you considering just how insignificant he’d find a wound like this normally. 

“Let me see it, please.” His voice was low, softer than usual, but commanding. One of his hands reaches across you, his hand ghosting over yours. You can’t help but lift your bloody hand so his palm touches the back of your hand. Never breaking eye-contact, he pulls your hand closer to him, gently pulling the rag from your white knuckles. Looking down, he notices just how bad the cut is, taking up most of your palm. 

“Oh, my dear… How did you do this?” His voice is more concerned now, his thumb gently rubbing circles into your wrist. His eyes soften, and you can’t help but think back to what put you in this mess to begin with. Your body trembles once more, eyes breaking his gaze as you stare down at your hand. 

“My hand slipped while cleaning my blade. It’s alright, I just need to wait for Shadowheart to come back…” You trail off. 

“Why wait for Shadowheart? I can make you feel better, you know…” His free, slender hand reaches down and grabs your chin, gently raising your head to face his again. You blush from his touch, his willingness to command your body. Your mouth falls open a little, unsure of what to say or how to respond to such a comment from him. You were used to his flirting, but this unlocked a whole new feeling in you. He could sense your speechlessness, and so he did the one thing he knew how to do best: make you even more flustered. 

“Would you like me to kiss it better?” He asks in his normal, teasing tone. This offering catches you off guard, breaking your immersion in this intimate moment. You can’t help but laugh, thinking now that he was only just charming you like he does everyone else. Continuing to laugh, you call him out. 

“Very funny, Astarion. Hilarious. Need I remind you of when I was opening up to you not that long ago and you said almost the exact same thing? Seems to me you’re running out of tactics here.” You roll your eyes, not amused by his antics.

You feel his grip tighten on your bleeding hand, pulling it closer to him. Looking to see what he is doing, you connect with his eyes one more time, seeing an almost predatory look. You stop laughing, your face heating up once again, your heart pounding as his soft lips connect with your wounded palm. It still stings, and you wince a little at the contact, but you can’t seem to look or pull away from him. He kisses all along your palm, and you can feel him gently sucking at the blood. Not only was he kissing you better, but he was feeding on you. 

If you weren’t so attracted to him, you’d be much more upset. Instead, you sit on this cushion while the vampire of your desires kneels before you, kissing and sucking at your wounded palm. You can feel his tongue lapping at your skin, his fangs ever so slightly poking out from behind his lips. Yes, he was feeding, but was he… actually kissing you too? His hands continue to massage the back of your hand and your wrist, trying to provide you comfort without completely invading your space. Eventually he stops, planting a final kiss on your wrist, his mouth covered in blood. He licks his lips, and you can’t help but tremble now but for a whole new reason. 

“Better?” He asks, smiling enough to show his fangs this time. 

“You just wanted an excuse to suck at my hand, didn’t you?” You raise an eyebrow, an attempt to see through him.

“I am always looking for any excuse to suck at any part of you, my sweet.” His voice is low once more, a rumbling laugh escaping his lips.

He finds a section of the rag not absolutely soaked in blood and pushes it back into your, now much cleaner, palm. Your whole face is flushed now, unable to think of any more witty remarks or comebacks. For the second time in just a few small minutes, he found yet another way to leave you completely speechless. The sly vampire decides to take advantage of your silence once more. 

Letting go of your hand, he leans forward, his lips connecting with yours. It’s soft, gentle, and new. To be fair, while you have spent a few intimate nights together, this moment here alone feels so much more real, so much more genuine. Almost as if he was kissing you… because he wanted to. A real, genuine want. His hand caresses the side of your face, his other landing on the small of your back as he continues to kiss you. Without hesitation, you lean into the kiss, your body elated by his touch. It’s not long before he deepens the kiss, his tongue parting your lips, wanting more from you. 

He tastes of iron, what more could you expect, but for once you don’t hate the taste. You invite it more into your mouth as he continues to lean even further over you. He begins to push you back, your body relaxing into the cushion. He breaks from the kiss, planting small kisses on your face, trailing them down your jaw and to the side of your neck. You can’t help but close your eyes, softly sighing as he kisses at your skin, sucking softly, his fangs once again poking you. He had been feeding off you almost every night now for weeks while you were dead asleep, and while it was unusual for you two, it was so much more enjoyable to experience it this way. He lifts his head, meeting your eyes as a way of warning you he was about to bite. He opens his mouth, his fangs protruding, ready for the taste of your flesh and blood. 

“Helloooo? Astarion? Tav? We’ve got some goods!” Yells out Karlach, just a few meters away from your tent.

Shit. He sits up, kneeling over you, looking dissatisfied. You sigh and throw your head back into the cushion, frustrated. His cool hand caresses your cheek before tracing down your arm. He leans in close to your face one last time, his breath warming your skin. 

“Shall we finish this later tonight, my love?” He purrs, not even remotely finished with you.

You nod, still unable to speak from the last few eventful minutes. He kisses your cheek before standing. “Find me in the woods at our little spot, just after everyone has gone to bed. Don’t keep me waiting.” He flashes one last cheeky smirk before exiting your tent. 

“Hello, Karlach. Gale find any boots to devour today?” He quips, and you can’t help but laugh when Gale offendly responds.

The camp erupts in conversation, and you find yourself leaving your tent after a few minutes to track down Shadowheart. She heals you in her tent, though she has quite a few questions. Giving vague enough responses, she accepts them and lets you be on your way, but she’ll definitely be curious about it for a while. 

No matter, the only thought you could think of now was what Astarion had planned for both of you tonight; you knew exactly what was going to happen, but there was this whole new sense of excitement now that you could tell there was something deeper, real, and authentic going on between you two. You lie there in your tent, waiting for the snoring and sleep talking to begin to resonate throughout the camp, eager to scamper off into the wilderness with the elf you adore.  

-

Author's Note:

Hello! I haven't written any fan fiction in a loooooong time, and none of it was ever good to begin with- I've been struggling with writer's block for awhile now, and this was the first thing to break me out of it... lmao. I am very new to BG3 in general honestly, and I just barely started act 2. Please no spoilers, but also if Astarion is sorta OOC, I hope that explains why too :)

I've only had Astarion for what, two, three weeks now, and this man is just so whewww. I thought of this fic idea right as soon as I started a longer drive, and I started recording my thoughts on video so that way I wouldn't forget anything before I could start writing hahaha- I blushed so hard writing this, hope y'all feel the same

Hope you enjoy!

[pursuitseternal]

Hello my partner-in-crime!

Could I pretty please have Sauron x Reader with prompt number 7: "Can you feel how much I want you?"

Love you! ❤️😘

“𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊…”

First Age Sauron x f!Reader | Dead Dove | 3.7K

Summary: There is no hope in Angband, in the dungeons of the Dark Vala…. But there is the Servant. Sauron.

A master craftsman and artist, forever seeking perfection, obsessed with creating his own beauty, and yet a victim of torment by his master that twists his sense of creativity to something vile and precious only to him.

CW: Dead dove: Do Not Eat, graphic violence, torture porn, bondage, temperature play, forge sex, corruption, marking branding biting, mind breaking, mind control, body worship, First Age Sauron, if evil why (literally) hot

Ao3 link | Tolkien Masterlist

You can see your breath, hear your heart beating slower and slower with each passing hour. Languishing. A slow death. A painful death. A merciless one that meant to break you without hope.

There is no hope in Angband.

Even the floors here are ice. Not even prison rats scurry around your cell. Your pointed ears have long grown deaf to the noises of the dungeon, numb from the icy chill of this evil frozen North. The chains on your neck and wrists have long since frozen to your skin. Death will be a relief, you sigh, when once again you’ll see the shores of Valinor and find comfort in the Halls of Mandos.

That thought makes your heart warm just enough to last a few more beats. But then you hear them—footsteps—lighter than Orc, more graceful than Balrog… and your body stiffens as you hear that sound on the icy air.

Humming. Music. Means one thing. Ainur.

Please not the Dark Lord, you beg to divine forces too far away to hear you. Your pleas have fallen on deaf ears. But you hope not this time.

“Do not fear,” that voice croons from the shadows. His presence seems to instantly thaw your extremities, warmth seeping in where there had only been cold for so, so long. You see eyes and movement in the darkness, but from his stature and bearing, you know it’s not the Lord of Angband…

It is the Servant.

His gaze is sharp, eyes darting over your crumpled mess of a body nearly frozen to the floor. His hair is bright; reds like blood and oranges like flames hang in long waves down his back and shoulders. His voice seems to tickle right in your ear, even at this distance, even as he stalks closer towards the bars of your cell. “Do not fear, I’m here to free you.”

“Wh-what?” You croak, the truth of those words do not deceive you, no matter how much you long for them to be true.

Those lips twitch as with a wave of his hand, the iron door swings open, the groaning hinges echoing against stone. “Well,” he suddenly sounds sharp, exacting, “free you from your cell, Elf. You are by no means free, not in body or in will, nor will you ever be again.”

Reality smacks you, your chest constricting.

“The Dark Lord has no need of such a small, frail Elf like you,” he strides in, grasping your chin in fingers impossibly hot. His touch sears like the fires of the forge, the stink of brimstone and smoke fill your nose. “You’d make a weak, pathetic Orc.” Then he shoves you by your face back to the ground at his feet. Your manacled hands catch yourself just in time to keep your nose from smashing against stone.

“Fortunately, what is unfit to serve the Master is deemed worthy of his Servant,” that voice returns to such silken, lilting tones, and you look into his face. His bright brown eyes rake over you, assessing and evaluating your worth, as if you were a precious gem examined for the flaws in your cut.

Those eyes, the more you stare into them, the brighter they seem to shine, a mix of golden browns that bubble and simmer with flame. You see them, the ripples of his power that creep beneath this disguise of a mortal form. “Come,” he orders you, those frozen irons and chains melting from your skin to clatter on the floor around you. “There is much work to be done.”

His grip on your wrist tightens, and you realize with certainty that his skin is hot… flushed and searing you by touch alone. It would frighten you, if it wasn’t for the sense of reprieve it gives from the biting cold that has settled in your bones from your imprisonment. If anything, you draw your scantily clad body closer to his, seeking that thawing sensation…his black robes barely brush your flesh, The bared skin of your arms, even patches of your torso where your gown has shredded to rags with violence and time crave to be nearer.

It feels so… good. After so long in the cold alone, to feel another’s touch, it makes you melt. He guides you through the dark, and even though your jaw aches from that fleeting ferocity in your cell, you can’t help but wish for more warmth shared against your skin.

The memory should terrify you but… it doesn’t. Your mind only remembers how good those fingers felt, their warmth, their command…

And you crave more against your better judgment. You would call it hope, but there is no hope in Angband. No hope. Only craving. As if you know that the only thing that awaits you is fire and blissful burning.

Shadows deepen as you walk, those brown-orange eyes flicker at you beside him as you both ascend the darkened stairs. That scent of smoke and ashen stone that clings to his skin suffocates you. Your frail lungs burn with every inhale, and as you reach the ascent, you see why.

No ice prison, he’s brought you to a massive forge. Torches burn and flicker, but no light is brighter than the gaping maw of a furnace. Orange flame reflects in his eye as he scans you. Grip deathly tight on your wrist, he leads you with graceful movements… lithe and sinuous. Like a snake.

Like a predator stalking his prey.

The faintest of smiles turns his full lips, and he stops you beside a great metal anvil… wide and long and big enough for any great creation. You recall the tales of such things from those of your kind who had come from Valinor, from the workshops of Aulë himself, or of Fëanor and his descendants.

It is on this warm, dark metal that he effortlessly lifts you up to seat you. Its surface is roughened with divets and grooves, the scars of the Servant’s work spanning its face. That relaxing heat creeps through the skin of your ass and climbs your spine until you feel a smile stretch on your cracked lips.

His fingers wander their soothing touch over your collarbone, the slightest push guides you to lay back on the heated anvil. You stare into the ceiling, seeing only the gathering darkness offset by rippling steam and flickering light. His touch continues to dance on your chest, tracing the parts of you where starvation has prodded your bones towards the surface.

And that sharp face, that handsome face, smiles… so warmly. “The Dark Lord insists that we each are forged in the shadows, that what has once been bathed in the light is made anew in the dark. Morgoth’s way is to maim… to ruin and torture and kill the light of beings he drafts into his service…”

You see a flicker behind his eyes, a memory of his own past perhaps, you surmise. A recollection none too pleasant as it darkens his gaze and stiffens the corners of his smiling lips.

Then, he turns that smile down upon you, spread so perfectly on his anvil. “But such is not my way. I am no jailer or executioner. I am an artisan, a craftsman of greatest skill, and I shall make you anew, my treasure.”

His fingers trace your gaunt face, warming it, caressing the spots that have grown stiff and lined with fear. His voice is dulcet, sweet and singsong as he purrs down, and you want nothing more than to feel those full, smirking lips on your skin and taste the sweet promises that drip from his tongue. Before you even realize your need, before you can name your inner burning as desire, two words fall from your panting mouth. “My Lord…” you whisper.

And the Servant smiles. It’s radiant, a flash of brightness in his eye and a brilliance to his grin. But he tuts his tongue, chiding you for the youthful creation you are. “Tsk, none of that. I am no Dark Lord. I am called many things… Admirable, Abominable… Gorthaur… Sauron…”

His hands come to rest at the top of your throat, a slight pressure around your neck as his thumb traces your lower lip.

“But you, my treasure, you shall call me by one simple word…. Hîr.”

Master.

Your breath catches in your burning lungs, your tongue already noiselessly testing out the syllable as it dances at its tip.

His reddish brows arch, pleased at your submission as he can see every little twitch of your mouth.

“You are a rare beauty,” he whispers, “the undiluted blessing of the One shines in the skin of the Elves, their eyes still bright with the memory of the Two Trees…”

He peers into yours, almost wistful, as if he longs to catch a glimpse of that Starlight to capture for his own. Sauron lowers his mouth, hovering just out of reach of your own lips. The scent of his forge is so strong, you can taste it, you are lost in the wash of his singeing breath on your face. “Hîr,” you obediently rasp, arching off the anvil to catch his lips.

And he lets you, lips and tongue so overwhelmingly warm, there is no sensation in your body other than his mouth as he devours.

Wave after wave of his mouth on yours, you fail to sense the snaking of chains around your arms and legs until they have chinched themselves bitingly hard into your flesh. Then you panic, your heart thundering no longer from pure arousal, but that wild rhythm of racing fear. You tug at them, fight them, and with one last desperate plea, you beg for Manwë, Varda… Eru himself to hear you.

But there is no rescue, no whisper of a reply to your prayers.

There is only Sauron’s shimmering toothy smile in the dark as his eyes dance over your form… spread so perfectly for him to work with. “Do you know, my treasure, why I’ve loathed the beauty of the Elves? Eru chose to bless you, to gift your kind the wisdom and graces first given only to me, to my kind… and you squander them. You cannot fathom, cannot see the greater purpose such power could serve.”

He’s pacing between your body and his tools, spread so evenly and orderly beside him. A long iron brand in his grip, he sticks it in the opening of the furnace.

The hissing of metal heating makes you shiver. Makes your skin crawl.

Fingers pull away the rest of your rags, baring every bit of your taut skin to his flickering gaze. “You are beautiful, but it is shallow, it is false. And I, my treasure, will purify you. I’ll remake you in my image and likeness, a thing of incomparable radiance ....” You whine as his hands wrap their warmth around your breasts. “You now are a thing to be admired… as I once was,” he croons down at you, pulling your ass to the edge of the anvil, your chain impossibly tight around your arms, breaking you in their unyielding hold as your legs hang down precariously.

Those lips press searing kisses down your neck, over the places where your mortal heart is thundering. His eyes flash up at you, and in that moment, you swear you see the reflection of the furnace beside you. Or perhaps it is more… the power that lies barely concealed in this handsome, sensual form. Those full lips wrap around one nipple, then the other, an inferno drummed up at his call races through your veins.

It is agony, hot and wild, that courses in your flesh. Never would one of your kind be so… wanton. Lust feeds your form, every bit of your skin wants to be touched… and the more he caresses your breasts and trails his mouth lower over the hollow of your belly, the less you care if that contact is pleasure… or pain.

They are one under his command, your mind purrs to your reason. Every thought reduces to the mere sensation of his mouth, his hands that press now between your spread thighs. The moment his tongue touches you, parting your folds to taste you, an unholy sound tears from your lips. Flames pulse through your veins, every lick and swirl of his tongue draws ungodly ecstacy. You weep for the feeling, the overwhelming waves of pleasure he coaxes from your nearly-broken body as if he drew your very soul, your fëa, to the surface.

Words tumble from your lips, nonsensical and varied in language until it is one word over and over again. You rasp it, cry it, scream it as he brings you right to the edge of your climax… Hîr… Hîr… Master.

His laughter tickles your flesh and your mind all at once, the sensation of his presence in your skull and his tongue in your walls throws you into oblivion. Your climax slams into you, all fire and heat and tension as he withdraws from you in that moment of bliss. Your chain grows impossibly tighter as you convulse on the metal beneath you, and for a split second, you wonder where he has gone….

At first you think it’s the ice of your prison again that slices through the warm pool of pleasure in your belly. But then, you open your eyes… it is not ice but white hot fire on your skin as his brand marks your inner thigh. The hissing, the steam, the scent of charming flesh takes over your pleasure, stealing it from your body. And all the while, he smirks down from between your soaked thighs. Orange hair catches the glow of the brand as he lifts it, a satisfied glint in the flames of his own gaze.

Fear races down your nerves, every corner of your being screams at you to fight, to run and resist… the pain almost breaks through those tendrils of shadow that have woven into your senses. And now, as you inhale, you can smell it.

Death. Ashen and purifying. You see him, eyes ringed in flame and breath blackened like smoke… your heart could burst from your need to resist…

Until you feel his hands on your skin again, that warmth somehow driving the dread back into the recesses of your mind.

That teasing touch traces the prongs of his mark, three of them, ugly and deformed, a perversion of the pronged crown that rests on the Dark Lord, the Dark Vala’s head.

Your body shakes with the shock of pain, even as he presses his lips to kiss that angry flesh. “Ninya,” he whispers against it. Mine.

The pain intensifies as he removes his touch, the euphoria of your climax dulling to leave you with only the searing agony he’s caused in its wake. “Mine, and like me, you shall be remade from admirable to abominable… and I will always possess you.”

The sound of liquid swirls in glass, the soft tapping of a brush against its rim… he stands over you, eyes roaming your bared form and lingering on the places he deems most worthy… or is it unworthy?

“The light of the Valar still shines too brightly on your skin, so soft almost like pearls of the Sea… it too shall have to be remade,” he rasps. The black bottle in his hand coming closer, the wooden brush wiping the excess fluid before he brings it to your legs.

The bite of acid eats at your skin, burning you, tearing you inside out. That music in his voice invades your mind, warping the pain into a warm sort of pleasure. Every drip of acid on your flesh as he paints higher and higher… your thighs, your belly… it shifts into that hot coil of need roiling behind your navel.

He doesn’t slather you, he’s not destroying you… it’s painstaking and exact the way he draws into your skin, making it burn and hiss and bubble anew. Remaking. Whirls and swirls and swipes in the precise places his critical eye deems worthy.

It’s agony… blissful agony… Every scream from your throat breaks into a moan. The perversion of your pain into bliss brings a drugged sort of grin to your face. The grin of a fool.

He sets the brush back inside the bottle, his hand tracing the rises and valleys of your face, your sharpened cheekbones, the hollows of your cheeks. His fingers dance on your wincing face, warm and burning, a herald of the pain you know he’s about to inflict. Your heart will surely explode, and your death might just be the final offering you make… But then, he cups your cheek, fingers laced in the mess of your long and knotted hair.

“Don’t be afraid, my treasure. You are being oh so brave… oh so valiant as you are remade.” His kiss instantly numbs your pain and slows your heart, the torture of resistance in your mind instantly silenced. That coil of need flames anew as his hand wanders back over your mound, dipping that addictive touch into your slick.

You gasp, eyes rolled back, spine arching off the anvil’s metal. Then you look into his face, the abyss of fire and darkness behind his eyes sucks you inside, lost to anything but the sensations of his fingers that tease you and torture you in a different way. A more pleasing way.

His fingers slide so easily, playing you like an instrument in his grasp. Your moans are the melody of his composing, the bucking of your hips keeps a steady rhythm, one perfectly timed to the thrust of his fingers. His mouth on yours once more, the biting of his teeth on your lips, the growls of his own pleasure in his throat form a counterpoint so intoxicating, there is nothing left but the music of him finger fucking you.

All that pain that is bound in your nerves and coiled in your belly bursts… white hot and violent as you come. Then, you scream until your voice cracks, until your vocal chords are fried from the force and volume he demands from your spent form.

“Good, my treasure…” he rasps against your lips as they fall silent. “Ninya… you’ve done so well,” he purrs into your pointed ear as the world grows dark to your vision, as your body gives in and falls unconscious. Those little praises bring a twisted smile to your face as you drift into oblivion. “When you wake, you’ll be mine alone, mine forever… the most beautiful abomination I have yet crafted…”

And the final sensation to pierce through the veil of your slumber is the sting of acid on your forehead and cheek… the flicker of pain plunging you completely into the darkness at long last.

There is no hope in Angband… There is also no time. Only darkness and craving. Hunger and satisfaction.

Pain. And pleasure.

It’s a lesson you are taught nightly, at least you assume it’s nightly… whenever it is that Sauron returns to his chambers where you are kept sequestered away. The chains from his forge are gone, replaced with elegant links of gold and gem-entrusted trappings that hang on your frame. Your hands fiddle with them, where they drape down your arms in layers, where they sweep over your bare skin to your middle.

You’ve long forgotten the feeling of clothes. There is only the bed and your elegant chains, the heat of his touch and the sting of his biting teeth and burning brand and lashing whips.

You wish that your memories would dim… that the burden of your elven heritage would forsake you as easily as that fair, starkissed body you once called your own. Tears prick your eyes, your own fingers steadily tracing your once soft skin, touch dancing over blade scars and the rough ridges of his burning… the brands of his possession forever glaring at you from your thighs, not unlike those ghostly flickering eyes that haunt you each day… whether Sauron visits you or not.

“Mairaza…” the whisper brushes your mind before it settles in your ear. “My precious…” you’ve learned his new tongue… this speech he’s created for his servants, for you.

The warmth of his body seeps into you from behind, that scent of fire, of ash and smoke and forge excites you now… it conjures that swirl of damp heat in your cunt. Already you grit your teeth, craving in excess, hungering for more. The thin chains of gold and jewels clink and jingle as those calloused hands caress your body. He lingers over his marks, the scars of his pleasure-pain that have molded you into his own creation.

“Can you feel it, Mairaza, can you feel how much I want you?”

You clench around nothingness, hoping beyond hope that he fills you soon and grants you release this time.

Soft words of his own invented tongue purr inside your brain, praising your scars, the healed-over bubbles of flesh from that day he claimed you…

Sauron turns you, your attention lost in the bottomless depth of his eyes as those magical fingers caress the scars that curve in serpentine shapes over your cheeks. “Beautiful, so beautiful,” he rasps. “Can you feel how much I want you, body and soul?” his lips whisper against your own. “Can you feel how much you are mine, Ninya?”

The words do not come to you outloud; they flood your very being, racing to your awareness down the tether that binds you to him.

That taste of his mouth swallows you whole, and there is nothing left of hope and peace. All that remains is the fire of lust and the darkness of desire. You cannot escape, nor would you seek to anymore. No lies or deception are required any longer, for you feel his want and crave his attentions…

He is always in your mind, his marks always on your body… his greatest creation. For now.

A gift to @myfavouritelunatic for her ask, for @marimosalad for betaing and inspired by @ogyscrypt and his masterpiece of a nsfw audio you should totally check out… Link on Reddit

[norsecoyote]

I do not as a rule read a lot of fanfic. This is partly because I don't get much time to read, period, and partly because I still have a bit of a cringe reaction to the whole concept, but also because I will get turned off a story quickly if the author gets something wrong either about a character (which I gather is common) or about the broader themes or point of the original story.

This is by way of saying that, now that I've thoroughly outed myself as an unironic fan of French children's animated superhero show Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir, I want to do what I believe is the next required step on tumblr.com: complain about something the fandom gets wrong.

Fair warning: this is not a meta-post about fandom or fanfic generally, this is 100% me, a nominal adult, bitching about People Being Wrong About Miraculous On The Internet. You stand at the Cringe Event Horizon; read on at your own risk.

So: the central interpersonal tension that powers the show is the "love rectangle" between the leads, where Marinette loves Adrien and Chat Noir loves Ladybug but neither knows the other's secret identity. The obvious solution is absurdly simple: reveal their identities and collapse the quantum superposition of crushes.

A ton of fanfic about the show does exactly that: contrive some scenario where they accidentally discover who each other are, they kiss, they live happily ever after (plus or minus one maniacally obsessed supervillain). And I get why, I think -- the show absolutely looks like it's going to keep this will they/won't they tension going forever, since it's one of its two central narrative motors, and a whole ton of early episodes play with one of the two trying to get closer to the other, failing, and returning exactly to the status quo. Given that, it makes sense why fans would want to just write the goddamn resolution already; it isn't until S3 that the two start making any real progress towards being together.

But. The problem, on many levels, is that the show's writers are smarter than that. Like on the very basic one, the show makes clear from very early on that the old master who gave the heroes their powers explicitly forbade them from revealing their identities, because doing so would let Hawk Moth find and defeat them. And this isn't like an arbitrary concern: Hawk Moth's whole deal is corrupting random people and getting them to work for him, so if he ever happened to even accidentally akumatize someone who knows their identities, that's more or less the whole ballgame. If you're writing a story where Ladybug and Chat Noir learn who each other are but they haven't defeated Hawk Moth yet -- and there are a bunch of these -- you have missed something rather crucial about why they couldn't just do that already.

(The first half of S5 -- which to be fair only came out a year ago -- does a very clever thing where it systematically explores basically every possible workaround to this issue, considering every new power or possibility opened up by events from across the previous four seasons, and methodically rejects each one by showing how it wouldn't solve the actual central problem. I bring this up not to throw shade on any fanfic authors, most of whom were writing before S5 released, but to credit (again) the show's writers for the depth of their understanding of what makes the show tick.)

More fundamentally -- and this is an insight very much stolen from that CJ the X video -- on a character growth/emotional level, Marinette and Adrian aren't ready to be in a relationship yet. Like, sure, they will be perfect for each other, but (at least for most of the series to date) they aren't yet. Marinette starts out with an extremely adolescent crush on a literal fashion model, and Adrien at first is clearly much more in love with his unexpected new freedom as Chat Noir than anything specific about his new partner. They are, to put as blunt a point on it as the show itself repeatedly does, kids.

And, critically, the show understands that they both need to learn to accept themselves first. From an adult perspective it's just duh that you can't have a mature romantic relationship without a solid sense of self (and self-confidence), but that's not remotely obvious to kids at the age of the show's target audience and it's genuinely refreshing to see it acknowledge and reflect that obstacle. One of the few active benefits of the show's extremely episodic pacing is that the writers have time to show both protagonists' slow but genuine character growth, Marinette building up her confidence in her own abilities and decisions and Adrien forging an identity separate from his father's business asset, until when they finally start building something real together in the fifth season it feels genuinely earned.

This emotional arc, in other words, is baked into the show's structure from the very beginning. Fanfic that tries to shortcut this process has, again, fundamentally failed to understand the characters it's nominally telling a story about. Like, I get wanting to experience the emotional high of seeing your favorite characters get their happy ending, but -- the fact that they can't just get that is kind of central to their entire characterization! Are you even writing about the same characters at that point?

[mysticstarlightduck]

For the fantasy ask game, Darkness and Desire

Thank you so much for the ask, @crowandmoonwriting! These are some good ones from the Ask Game! I'm excited to answer them! (:

I'm gonna go with some of my main WIPs for this one <3

DARKNESS - What do children fear most, and is it warranted?

Song Of Thorns -

Human children usually fear the Blood Plague and the strange Ghouls that lurk in the woods that divide the human lands from the magic lands. Some of the human children are also brought up to fear all Vampyrs/Fey and Elves and see them as blood thirsty monsters as well. As for whether it is warranted or not:

The Blood Plague - a very real concern, though the illness is supposedly "under control" by command of the royals and the Corvus Order, many of the commonfolk know that is not the case. People afflicted with this illness are often taken in by the Corvus practitioners, who claim they will heal them - but most do not return, and those that do are forever changed in various ways. The poor are expecially at the mercy of this plague, as many are exposed to less than ideal work conditions closer to the corrupted wild magic of the Borderlands, where the plague stems from. During the story, for example, one of the main characters - Tarrant - discovers that he is infected with the Blood Plague, but fearing both being sent to the Corvus Order and the rage of the warlord to whom he is soulbound, Tarrant decides to seek a cure on his own.

The Ghouls - also a very valid concern. The ghouls are undead humans that were infected with a dangerous strain of the Blood Plague and left untreated, as well as elves accidentally exposed to corrupted human magic and who end up transformed by it. They lurk the woods of the Borderlands, forlorn and ravenous, thirsting for blood and flesh to sate their vicious, cursed hunger, and that peril is all the more real at night, or for those that wander deap into the forests of the Reaper's Way without the guiding embers of an Eversummer Flame.

Vampyrs/Fey/Elves - not a valid concern. While the kingdoms are technically at war, the magical folk (vampyrs, fey, and elves) are actually the victims here. Humans were the ones who tampered with chaos magic that should've been left untouched, and all the realms paid the price for it. Because the human rulers didn't want to take accountability for the mistake they made, instead they fed prejudice and lies into the minds of their people, twisting them against anyone of magical origins, even though the real villains here are some of the humans themselves. Vampyr/Fey/Elves fear the humans and their so-called Monster Hunters much more than any humans should fear them, and they are much more merciful towards humankind than humankind is to them.

Crooked Fable -

In Crooked Fable, my twisted fairytale/dark fantasy WIP, as of the start of the story, their world - their magical, enchanted land - is considered by all to be a perfect haven of prosperity and magic, though the Queen and her followers are actually hiding dark secrets, especially those surrounding the evil Queen's true origins and her actual corrupted rise to power. However, there are a few things that children in this enchanted fairy tale land do fear:

The Vanishing: while in the beginning of the book the mysterious "vanishing" is thought to be just children's imagination or a misguided, spreading folk-tale to keep children in line, it is actually very true, and tied to the way the Evil Queen harnesses her immortal "perfection". People often vanish around these lands, though they're usually magically forgotten by most - their disappearances chalked up to hunting accidents, monster attacks or just coicidence. Some children, however, do suspect there is something more to this situation than it seems. For example, in the first chapters of this story, young cartographer and letterbound mage, Faye, one of the MCs ends up witnessing a strange occurance that led to her half brother's sudden dissapearance, and decides to investigate it - despite considering Heath, her half brother, annoying and overbearing, she couldn't bring herself to just forget what she had seen - leading her to slowly uncover the true secrets of their kingdom's woven magic.

There are a few monsters native to these lands, born of myths and internal fears that spring them subconsciously to life. Some are akin to the Jabberwocky from Alice in Wonderland, others are more akin to Greek Myths, and others are just straight up eldritch. The appearances of these creatures vary heavily from each region, and the ways to avoid them are also much different depending on where you are and which creature you're dealing with. Most kids grow up hearing tales about these monsters so that they don't wander off alone, but some do end up prey to those creatures once every few years, so it is a valid concern.

DESIRE - Why do you write fantasy?

Fantasy has always been my all time favorite genre, along with Science Fiction and Superhero Stories. I was always reading books like the Chronicles of Narnia, the Grimm Fairytales, Percy Jackson or Trials of Apollo, and many, many others! Plus, I loved all movies that were fantasy adventure in some way - from How To Train Your Dragon, to Hunchback of Notre Dame or Avatar The Last Airbender - fantasy stories with compelling settings and interesting characters have always, always been something I enjoyed. To this day, I love those stories very much, and they provide me with a sense of wonder, adventure, heroism and just downright coolness that I just can't find anywhere else when it comes to fiction. I usually don't like contemporary movies at all - they aren't as compelling to me, and quite frankly, they often feel bland and boring (not to offend those who enjoy them of course!) to me, as we already experience real life IRL - why spend our downtime watching more of it instead of something wonderful?

Nowadays, movies, books, musicals and series like The Hobbit, The Dragon Prince, Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, Epic The Musical, Star Wars, Star Trek, anything that has superheroes (from traditional superhero movies to the dark and gritty alternative ones), are still my favorite genres to watch - and I'm always coming back to these stories when I need a good tale to entertain myself or when I'm just really needing inspiration. <3

[azuredrg]

3. Tell me more about Raiden’s kids!!

the firstborn is Naomi (they/she), who later took the name Ivette when moving to Ishgard (i use the 2 names interchangeably)

Raiden was (unknowingly, whoops!) pregnant with them throughout shadowbringers. The reason he was able to take so much corrupted aether is because a majority of it went to Naomi (whoops!) she's why he's mostly (physically) unscathed from light corruption. They were born on the source though, like directly after returning. Because of the light corruption, they have a sin eater appearance and actually were altered to show traits of both of Raiden's partners since they were like Raidens pure love for them or however sin eater transformation works 🕊️ (i wanted a raifou baby but both of them r trans) DO NOT FRET! Like the first, the sources balanced aether had the corruption slowly leave them (not entirely. still a lot of long term/forever effects) actually now that i think about it its like how zero was born part voidsent.

personality wise, they're very frank. A biting edge to their words and usually, they don't notice that it's an issue. They have a one track mind & like, perfect memory. If u can't tell already they are so, incredibly autistic. They do not like any of their parents (changed name exclusively to not have the name given to them), instead living in Ishgard under house Borel with their godfather. They have recently learned they also hate high society and frigid temperatures.

& then there is the twins!!!!! Ruki (left, he/him) and Itsuki (right, he/she/they) right now im so-so on names because i know Raiden would want to give them hingan names, but since they're mostly raised in Thavnair would they have hannish names to fit in culturally...? i don't know! so i also use their names interchangeably until i have a better idea (ruki -> ravi, itsuki -> suraj)

they're 4 years younger than Naomi, and Ruki is 2 minutes older than Itsuki (this 2 minutes is constantly held over their head.) In the story timeline, I think I'd place their birth after 7.0 (maybe?) They were born raen with normal scale patterns, but ☝️ well nidhogg had one last laugh. raiden & estinien have leftover dragon aether from both being the azure dragoon so it manifested in this way (i wonder if naomi would share this fate if the light corruption hadn't gotten there first...) it was a very slow transformation, and it's still ongoing as u can tell from the golden scales!! Their natural hair at birth was closer to a blonde, which Ruki desperately tries to keep up, but it's now this forest green, like Itsuki.

Itsuki is kindof like a hare, very aware of her place in the world. They do not like being part dragon considering their parents are famous in history for killing Nidhogg, (see above about the whole nidhogg thing.) They're very timid and soft-spoken. They like learning about the Arcane and upon learning to summon carbuncle that is like his best friend now. She spends a lot of time with the alchemist of al kimya. only caster in the family.

Ruki is.. hmm... explosive, personality wise. Short-tempered, very no-nonsense. Soft spot for baby brother (by 2 minutes) He enjoys fashion and music, it is a big passion he holds that he doesn't like telling anyone about. unlike his twin, he doesn't gaf about being a dragon. and unlike his twin, he wants to be just like the legends of his parents. Can't stand being told to not do that or that he is too young or that, like, there's literally no wars happening can you stop wishing to go and die in battle. Very bull-headed that one....

[noteguk]

devilish | kth | m

— summary; in which Taehyung has a bit too much fun toying with your limits. 

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, Taehyung x reader, established relationship, edging, guided masturbation, dirty talk, corruption kink, sliiiight dumbification, dom!tae, mentions of past virginity loss, mentions of blowjobs, mirror, begging, orgasm control, praise kink, use of the word “slut”, cockwarming, unprotected sex 

— words; 2,4k

— author’s note; this request has been sitting in my askbox since forever because I was stuck with the last version of it. Eventually I deleted that document and completely changed the plot (or lack thereof), and now here we are. I really like corruption kink so :) this was a nice ride 

Requested by anon! 

Taehyung was almost convinced that you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

Granted, he was biased. He had been dating you for some time now, but, in his defense, he was positive that the wind had been knocked out of him (how cliche) the first time he had laid eyes on you. And it all went downhill from there. Taehyung became a bit more crazy about you every time he saw you, paid a bit more attention to the small details that he might have missed before — the way you played with your hair, the shy tug of your lips every time he made a flirtatious remark, the fluttering of your eyelashes when you leaned away after a kiss. It was all beautiful, perfect, created by angels just for him. And he loved every second of it. 

It was just a matter of time before his little obsession leaked into the bedroom and Taehyung didn’t hesitate to make good use of it. Even if you were a bit embarrassed by it, always so shy, Taehyung liked to watch you play with yourself as he told you what to do: where to touch, how to move, when to stop. And you were always so good for him — following his orders eagerly, giving him more every time he asked you to. 

You were so, so perfect that he thought he was dreaming. He couldn’t have wished for a better girlfriend. 

“That’s it, baby, take it slow,” his husky voice sounded next to your ear, one of his hands caressing your hair gently. You had your back pressed against his chest, sitting between his legs, with your own thighs open and pushed up to the level of your breasts. He could see everything like that. “So pretty. You’re always so pretty for me.” 

Taehyung had his eyes zeroed in the reflection before you two, the large rectangular mirror presenting him with the glorious view of your flushed heat. He followed, mesmerized, as you circled your clit with two of your fingers, whining beautifully at your growing pleasure, back arching and eyes closing. 

Taehyung was used to your body, how it reacted; he knew the telltale signs that your orgasm was getting closer. And that was the dangerous part. “Shhh, you’re almost there, baby,” he mumbled, the venom in his tone telling you that he would do it again — ask you to stop just as you were about to cum, making you cry and whine until he allowed you to start over. But then your pleasure was almost gone, and you had to build it back up from zero. “Look at you, you’re so desperate. You like playing with your little pussy?” 

You nodded, a frail moan leaving your mouth. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing, begging to be filled up. 

“You do? That’s so dirty,” he teased. Taehyung’s hands were resting on either side of his body now, supporting his weight. No matter how much you wanted him to touch you, you knew that he wouldn’t. He found much more satisfaction watching you do it. “Is that pussy wet for me, baby? Does it want to cum?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you implored, overwhelmed. Taehyung had made you edge yourself five times already, it had been going on for too long, and you didn’t think you could stop it again. You would try, though, of course you would, but you were afraid that your body wouldn’t respond in time. “I want to cum, Tae, please.” 

He hummed, placing a wet kiss against the nape of your neck. Taehyung was breathing heavy, fighting against every cell of his body so he wouldn’t bend you over and fuck you full of his cock. He also had his needs, but his objective was to teach you some discipline. He needed you to need him. 

“One more time for me, baby,” he said. His cock was unbearably hard inside his pants, leaking into his underwear as he heard the beautiful sounds of your soaked pussy. He was going insane thinking about how well it would wrap around him, how gorgeous you looked when you were full of his cock. “Stop it one more time.” 

You almost cried out at his words. “N-No, I can’t,” you whined. You could feel your orgasm just about to overflow, your thighs shaking as you continued to rub your clit. “I can’t do one more.” 

“Shhh, you can,” he calmed you down. Another kiss against your neck and you swore you were about to die. “Stop now.” 

And you actually stopped, because you were such a sweet, obedient girl for him. Taehyung watched as your chest heaved, your eyes closing as you pulled your hand away from your pussy, a shaky moan of frustration leaving your lips as you let your orgasm slip away for the sixth time that afternoon. He felt his cock throb in his pants when he saw how soaked and puffy your cunt was for him, caught himself groaning out in hunger. 

“That’s such an obedient slut,” he complimented, his voice a hoarse vibration against your shoulder. Taehyung knew you were on your limit, and he loved that, still, you followed what he told you to do. “You used to be such a good girl, baby, now look at you: edging that little pussy of yours, begging me to let you cum. That makes me so fucking hard.” 

You could only whine, because your limbs had turned to jello and you didn’t think you could find your voice quick enough. Your own reflection stared back at you in the mirror — your skirt pulled up and panties brushed to the side, your heat dripping against the bed, making a mess that you were sure Taehyung would tease you about later. You didn’t know what had happened to you, it seemed as if your life had completely turned around ever since he had walked right into it. 

And, as if he was reading your mind, Taehyung continued talking as your pleasure melted away. 

“When I met you, you couldn’t even kiss me without getting shy,” he started, one of his hands leaving the bed and resting on your waist. Your body shivered at the warm contact, sensitive. “You were this timid little virgin, you hadn’t even touched yourself yet, baby. You didn’t even know how to.” Another kiss against your neck had you shuddering, hoping for more. “And now you are soaking all over my sheets like a good slut. You learned how to take my cock so well, didn’t you? I taught you well.” 

You nodded, brain flooded with images from your past. Taehyung had always been drawn to your innocence, found his delight watching you discover your pleasure for the first time — rather, he loved teaching you, breaking that inexperience apart until he had you whimpering for more, embarrassed and needy, grinding your pussy against him just to feel something. He had turned you into a desperate little thing, an obedient girl that could cum just by playing with your tits, or that would start crying when it became too much — and still would ask him to keep going. 

You were a giver: you liked to provide Taehyung with whatever it was that he asked you to, loved to be showered with his praises every time you made him cum. You liked to play up your innocence just to see how he reacted, weaponized your apparent cluelessness because you knew that he loved to show you how to do things. It was a perfect game that you two played, and it always ended up just like both of you wanted to. 

Taehyung’s hand slithered up your stomach and groped your covered breast, pulling you out of your reveries. You pressed yourself closer to his chest, a shot of pleasure going straight to your core as his fingers brushed against your hardened nipple. 

“Taehyung, please,” you begged once again, your voice a pathetic little thing, “let me cum.” 

“My baby wants to play with her pussy again?” He asked, his voice an octave lower. You nodded. “Hm? Want to make that tight little cunt cum?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you were losing your mind, droplets of sweat running between your breasts. The bedroom was so hot, you felt like you couldn’t even breathe. “I need it so bad.”

He chuckled devilishly against your skin, his thumb grazing your nipple. “Alright, baby, you’ve been good,” Taehyung finally gave in, making you breathe out in relief. “But sit on my cock first.” 

Your heart hammered against your rib cage, your pussy clenching in anticipation. “What?”

“You heard what I said, baby.” He removed his hand from your tit and used it to unzip his pants. The sound was harsh and loud, shooting straight to your dripping core. “Come on, I’m not very patient.” 

Taehyung was patient, though, that was how he managed to edge you so many times without losing his cool. But you bought his act and moved forward so he could fumble with his pants, your eyes following his movements on the mirror as he pulled his cock free. 

You sighed at the sight, your mouth watering with the thought of licking his cock clean. He was so hard and heavy, leaking all over himself, and if you weren’t so desperate to have him inside you, you would’ve turned around and sucked him like he had teached you, until you were crying and he was cumming down your throat. 

“Don’t ride it. Just keep it in.” Taehyung shattered your dreams just as fast as he had built them, a frown covering your features as he placed his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. “Keep my cock warm as you touch yourself, baby. Make a mess on it and I’ll think about fucking you, alright?” 

Taehyung always had wonderful arguments, because that had you agreeing within a second. You struggled to place yourself over him, lining his tip with your entrance and, just as you were about to sink down, he stopped you. 

“No, baby.” Taehyung placed his hand on your chin, tilting your head towards the mirror. “Want you to watch too.” 

“I’ll watch,” you guaranteed, earning a soft smile in return. 

You sat down on his member with ease, thankful for how absolutely soaked you were. Ever since Taehyung had taken your virginity, you realized that you would never get enough of that feeling — of his length stretching you wide open, hitting every spot and throbbing inside you. Back when you had your first time, you had been so flustered that you couldn’t even watch when Taehyung entered you and, now, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from your reflection, your hand clenching the hem of your skirt so it didn’t cover the view. 

Behind you, Taehyung moaned out at the sensation, his eyes closing. “That’s it, baby, fuck.” He breathed out. “This pussy was made for me.” 

And you felt the same, felt like the two of you were made to be together like that, a perfect match for one another. 

Before you could react, his hands were back on your body, playing with your tits as you squirmed under his touches. The movement of your hips against him was automatic, filling the room with the sounds of your wetness and a beautiful whimper coming from your throat. “T-Tae, I’m…” 

“Sit still,” he commanded, ignoring your shy requests for forgiveness. You managed to stop your body from moving, instead focusing on how perfectly he was buried inside you, his pelvis glued against your ass. “Didn’t you want to cum? So, go ahead. Play with your clit, baby.” 

Another moan left you as he pushed your breasts together. “But I want to—“ 

“No, no. You already asked for what you wanted,” he interrupted. Taehyung’s eyes were hooded and dark, looking at you from the reflection like they were daring you to disobey him. “Play with your pussy for me, baby. Cum all over my cock. That’s all you’re gonna get for now.” 

You agreed with a frail movement of your head, your fingers moving back to your sensitive nub. You coated them in your juices before pressing down on your clit, crying out in sensitivity as you started to rub yourself again. This time, with the feeling of Taehyung’s cock inside you, it was much easier to find where you had left off, your walls clenching dangerously tight around him as you searched for your high. 

Taehyung continued to watch you, his gaze burning your body. He was biased, yes, but you were the hottest thing he had ever laid eyes upon. And he wasn’t ignoring the way you were moaning out his name, your perfect cunt clenching around his cock, the sweet smell of your perfume infiltrating his nose. All of you was perfect, handmade for him, and he was going insane knowing that you were all his. 

“Gonna cum,” you warned, looking at him through parted lids. Taehyung, of course, knew that already. He knew your body better than yourself. “Can I cum?” 

Taehyung smiled — you were so cute. He had already allowed you to and, yet, there you were, making sure his desires hadn’t changed. Even though you were about to break, you still needed his permission. “Of course, baby,” he said. “You’ve been so patient. So perfect for me. You can cum whenever you want.” 

He could not even blink when you finally tipped over the edge, your pussy gushing down on his cock and pulsating around it as you finally — finally! — found your high. Taehyung knew all those small mannerisms already — the opening of your lips, the rolling of your eyes, the high pitch of your voice — but he couldn’t help but feel like he was experiencing them for the very first time. 

And as you came down from your moment of euphoria, your thighs jittery from overstimulation, Taehyung had erased every single doubt from his mind: you were, undoubtedly, the most precious, beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

[elysianslove]

6 + 38 from the smut prompt list w sukuna please!

loving how everyone’s collectively horny for sukuna 

nsfw under the cut, my loves!

500 Follower Event; 6. size kink, 38. corruption kink ━ ryomen sukuna 

sukuna’s always been painfully aware of the effect you have on him, ever since he’d agreed to being your lover and partner. it hadn’t been noticeable at first, and he’d figured it was simple emotions at play, but whenever your hand dipped to intertwine your fingers, and he’d notice just how much smaller it is in comparison to his, or whenever you reached over to shower him in physical affection, having to reach up on your toes to kiss him, having him completely dwarf you in size when you wrap your arms around him — it was dizzyingly arousing. 

he loved the notion of having you be so small and vulnerable for him. he could so easily break you, god he wanted to. but he holds back, for a reason unknown to him. he never lets it go farther than he wants it to be, never lets your kissing transgress into something more sinful, because if he’s honest, he does want to break you and pull you apart at the seams. but not now. later.

he’d never expected it to be this soon, however. it’s you that’s pulling at his clothes like they offend you, it’s you pulling at his hair and tugging at his lips and sinking your hips down onto him. even on his lap you’re tiny, but still, he hesitates, because is it the optimal time? is this the perfect time? 

it’s what you say, in a whiny, pleading, breathless tone, that sends him over the edge. “please, i want you,” you say, hands gripping at the base of his neck. his eyes flash momentarily at the sight of you, and then you add, “want you to be my first.” 

your first. 

first.

his heart sinks with desire to his stomach, and he holds back an animalistic growl as his hands settle on your waist, fingers digging deep into the flesh as he picks you up and tosses you over onto the bed, off his lap. he does so with so much ease, his mouth parting in wonder as you land with a bounce, your squeals echoing in the small room. in seconds, he’s on you again, kissing you hungrily, feverishly, with so much want and need, as his hands pick apart at your clothes, tearing them off of you as quickly as he can. he’s quick to follow, his own attire following the placement of yours on the ground. 

at the sound of your small gasp and the tiny widening of your eyes at the sight of his large dick hardening, he holds back a grin. “want me to ruin you, huh?” he teases, crawling back over to you. his palms find their way to your stomach, caressing up to your breasts. he can fit them so perfectly in his hands, so nice and dainty in his hold. you shiver beneath him as he squeezes them harshly, fingers twisting to reveal one of your nipples to him. “anybody ever touch you like this?” he asks, his voice surprisingly deeper. 

you whimper, shaking your head rapidly. he grins up at you, tongue swiping once over the hardened bud, before his lips latch onto it, sucking hotly. his mouth feels incredible on you, and your mind is already so overwhelmed that when his other hand travels down to the heat between your legs, you have no other option but to shout out in surprise, hips bucking up. “fuck,” he groans, teeth tugging at your nipple as he sinks one finger into you, down to the first knuckle. the vibrations of his voice, with the added intrusion between your legs, leave you a whining mess. 

he shifts his weight to push you back down onto the bed, his finger slowly thrusting into you, before he adds a second. as they work at stretching you, gently scissoring and curling inside you, his mouth leaves your aching nipple, lips pressing onto yours for a change. he swallows all your moans down his throat, his fingers and palm drenched with your arousal. 

you let out another strangled moan, throwing your head back to disconnect your lips. “m’ready for you,” you whine. “please, sukuna, please.” at the utterance of those words, sukuna’s fingers thrust particularly harshly inside of you, curling menacingly. your back arches and you wail, the unexpected orgasm washing over you in ragged waves. desperately, you try to push him away, his fingers still pressed deep inside you, brushing against that oversensitive spot that sukuna knows you didn’t even know existed. 

he hums approvingly, satisfied with the state you’re in as he slowly pulls his fingers out of your glistening pussy. pathetically, your inner walls try to suck his fingers back in, but he only chuckles, giving your clit a soft pat, watching as you squirm away from his touch. his dick is painfully hard by now, upright and throbbing against his stomach. “are you gonna take it like a good girl?” he asks, sitting up on his knees as his hand grabs his dick. from this perspective, you seem even smaller, and when he kneels closer to you, he presses his dick onto your stomach, visualizing just how deep he can split you open. 

you’re nodding at him, helplessly, and he nods back with a hum, almost mockingly, as he brings his dick to your entrance. “so eager for my cock,” he tuts, but even he’s slowly losing semblance of self control. his fingers squeeze at the tip, smearing your arousal and his precum along your folds, reveling in the way you twitch and squirm beneath his touch. and then, agonizingly slow, he presses the tip in, his thumb guiding his way in. his eyes, however, remain on you, on the way your mouth falls agape, and the way your back slightly arches at the foreign feeling of something so thick stretching you out. 

he presses in deeper, watches as your eyes screw shut, and he knows it’s painful, he knows it’s unfamiliar and that you’re overwhelmed, but he can’t seem to stop. if anything, it’s spurring him on, driving deeper into you. and it doesn’t help that you suck him in so perfectly, so tight and wet and warm, just for him. his eyes flicker momentarily at where he’s nearly bottomed out, with his hands gripping your hips intensely to prevent you from moving too much. “it’s like you were made for this,” he sneers. “like this pussy was made for my cock.” finally, he presses in fully, his hips against yours. he watches, mesmerized, as he grinds his hips, still fully inside of you, and your jaw going slack, a sob wrenching out. 

“so full,” you yell, chest heaving as your hands grip the bedsheets above you. fuck, fuck, you’re so perfect for him, only for him, and he always wants to be like this; he could stay forever like this. 

steadying your hips once more, he pulls out slowly, only to thrust back into you fully. your breasts bounce at the forcefulness of the impact, and he does it again, and again, and again. he’s doing it so slow but he’s going in so deep, and you’re positive you’re seeing stars. your entire body shakes, moving with him as he thrusts into you like he wants to imprint his dick on your inner walls, wants to reshape them so only he can fuck you. 

you’re a mess, mouth hanging open as drool falls onto the pillow beneath your head, your nails scratching at his toned stomach, your legs shaking beneath him. the sounds your pussy is making as it milks him is so lewd and sukuna can’t get enough, can’t get enough of how you’re outright drenching your thighs and his balls and the bed beneath you with your arousal, how you’re so wet for him. 

you sob again, and sukuna curses, his hands leaving your hips and falling to your sides, gripping the bedsheets instead as he starts to lose more and more control of his movements. he can feel you tightening impossibly around him, and he buries his face in your chest again, sucking and tugging and licking at your breasts and nipples. you hold him close to you, nails digging into his back, marking him just as he’s marking you. “sukuna, sukuna, sukuna.” you’re babbling at this point, chanting his name, repeating it like it’s the only word you know. 

your walls squeeze against him again, and he grunts, shifting his hips to fuck you even deeper. “fuck, keep doing that,” he encourages, praising you diligently as you clench around him, until you’re screaming again, clenching involuntarily and sukuna can’t believe he made you cum twice just from fucking you. god, your body must be so new to all this, and it’s driving him insane. “yes, shit yes,” he groans, his breathing ragged. his balls tighten, and just as he feels himself tip over the edge, he lifts himself up, pulling out quickly and stroking himself.

if he thought being the first to fill you up with their cock was insanely arousing, then he might actually lose his mind at the sight of you covered in his cum. spurts of it paint the skin of your stomach white, while some rests on your heaving chest and sensitive nipples, and he swears you look like a painting. he wants to admire you forever, wants to drench in his cum every night, wants to hear you sobbing for his dick all day, everyday. as he falls tiredly to your side, your breathing matching his in irregularity, he locks tonight to memory, and promises himself he’ll reduce you to this state again. 

end note; sukuna brainrot eeeeee

500 Follower Event is now closed!

[miekasa]

future nostalgia (eren jaeger)

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x (fem) reader, armin is absolutely putting in the work and deserves wingman of the year, mikasa is your well-reasoned, protective friend how you like them apples

↯ genres and warnings: college au, fluff, everybody is a little bit of an idiot, armin and eren supremacy, i will find a way to make levi captain of something in any and every au

↯ word count: 1.5k

↯ summary: armin arlert is the greatest wingman a boy could ask for; unfortunately he’s also oblivious as hell and painfully single himself, but you know what, he’s doing his best (aka you and eren putting your friends through the mental wingman/wingwoman olympics).

↯ notes: i’m running out of gifs to use i’m going to have to learn how to use photoshop to make headers rip in peace to me, also this an old piece, reworked for eren again, sometimes i cheat off of myself it’s okay  

“Just come by the rink during practice,” Armin pleas, “I promise, he can put his hot-headedness to good use!”

“I don’t doubt that,” you chuckle, your voice booming through the speaker of his phone, “But I’m pretty sure the rink is closed to non-athletes or team members, Armin.”

“But I can get you access! Manager’s privileges!” Armin boasts.

“While I appreciate the reminder about how single you think I am—and, I do, truly, Armin, from the bottom of my heart, thank you—you don’t have to try and set me up with one of your hockey jockeys.”

“They’re not jockeys!” Armin protests.

“Reiner Braun is most definitely a jockey.”

Armin slumps down a bit. Okay, most of them are good people. Most of the time. Look, Reiner is the exception, not the norm, but even he could be analytical and composed when he needed to be. 

“I’m going to tell him you said that,” Armin threatens.

“Fine, then I’ll tell him that you almost leaked his nudes to the entire girls volleyball team freshman year.”

“You play dirty,” Armin pouts, face growing red at the memory. (In his defense, it was freshman year, pretty much the first time in his life he’d had alcohol unsupervised, and in his drunken haze he thought he might have been doing Reiner a favor; he was pining over Christa pretty hard). “Which is exactly why you’ll love Eren!”

“Eren, still?” you question, trying to hide the amusement in your tone. “What’s the infatuation with me and Eren? You know, if I’m being honest, Jean is more my type, or even the captain—what’s his name again?”

“You mean Levi?” Armin questions, incredulous, “He’s the exact opposite of your type, don’t lie to me!”

“He’s still hot.”

“Is he really?” Mikasa’s voice questions doubtfully; and you can practically feel her rolling her eyes from across the receiver, “You can do better than him, (Y/N).”

“Wait, am I on speaker?” you ask.

“Maybe, doesn’t matter,” Armin hums, brushing away the topic, “Like I was saying, Eren is great, and you’re great, so you’d be great together! Plus, he’s kind of loaded, and very generous. Not that you’re shallow or anything, but I’m just saying, he’d take you on nice dates.”

“You’re kind of loaded and you don’t take me on nice dates.”

“Because we’re not dating.”

“You could take me on a friend date,” you muse, “Don’t be stingy, Armin.”

“She has a point,” Mikasa quips, “You always go to the fancy museums and don’t invite us.”

“Because the last time I did, you fell asleep! In the middle of the coral reef exhibit!” Armin whines.

“Because it was boring as fuck,” Mikasa deadpans, prompting you to chuckle.

“I have to agree. I’m afraid if you and Eren have the same taste in dates, it will never work out.”

“We don’t!” Armin insists, “Look, Eren is exactly your type, (Y/N), I’m telling you! He’s cute, athletic, but not bulky, and little clumsy, but it can be charming! Plus he loves puppies, cares about the environment, believes the healthcare system is corrupt, and hates most branches of law enforcement! What more could you want!”

“Armin,” you pause, holding back your laughter, “Maybe you should set yourself up with Eren if you think he’s that great.”

Armin chokes on the other end of the line, and your chuckles stumble out; you can imagine the blonde growing red and increasingly embarrassed with every passing second.

Mikasa hums. “Armin and Eren do have good chemistry—”

“Hello?! I don’t want to date Eren!”

“—but, I’ll vouch for Eren on this, too,” Mikasa continues, “I think you two would be good together.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You’d always known Mikasa was in support of setting you up with Eren too—albeit much more subtle than her blonde counterpart—but she’d never said it explicitly; showing her approval in contended nods and hums whenever Armin would scheme to get you and Eren together. It was somewhat reassuring to hear.

You’re about to continue teasing Armin about the subject, when you hear your apartment door unlock. You shift your phone to your other hand, as you hear the sound of keys clanging onto the hook near the door.

“Look, guys, I gotta go,” you tell him, “This is been fun, but maybe focus on working out your feelings before setting me up, yeah? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of such a beautiful friends to lovers story.”

“Will you—I want you to date Eren, not date him myself! There—be quiet, Mikasa—there are no feelings to work out, I don’t even like g—”

“Sounds, good Armin,” you chuckle, words hurried as you hear footsteps approaching you, “Try and get Levi’s number for me, would you? Rumor has it he’s loaded, too—old money rich and everything.”

“But Eren is perfect—” is all you hear before you end the call, a pair of arms wrapping around your waist from behind, just as your thumb presses against your screen.

Ruffled, brown hair falls onto your shoulders as a chin is propped up against your neck; a flurry feather light kisses greeting you soon after. You hum, reaching your hand back to curl into the brown tresses, a final, exaggerated kiss pressed into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Why are you trying to get Captain’s number,” Eren questions, voice muffled as he nuzzles his nose behind your ear, “No offense, but I think you’d have to line up behind his hundred and one fangirls first, babe.”

You chuckle lightly, neck growing warm as Eren continues to bury himself into your skin. His is cold from the winter air, but you don’t know why he insists on inflicting it onto you, when you know he’ll be back to furnace temperatures within the next ten minutes.

“I’m just messing with Armin,” you answer, resting on of your hands over Eren’s at your waist and giving it a squeeze, “He’s still trying to set us up.”

Eren chuckles, undoing his hold on you to spin you around to face him, cold hands cupping either side of your face. You scrunch your nose at the frigid feeling, but Eren finds it cute, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of your nose as an apology.

“Well, Armin is nothing if not loyal,” Eren muses.

“He’s too good for you,” you jest, poking at Eren’s forehead playfully, “He’s putting in all this work to be a good wingman, and you’re slacking off.”

“Technically, he’s not doing any work, we’re already together.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Eren questions, using his hands to squish your cheeks together, “I wanted to tell him two months ago.”

“First of all, this secret thing was your idea to begin with,” you point out, “Which—oh, by the way, I told you Mikasa approves of you; she said we’d be cute together on the phone.”

“That doesn’t mean she still won’t castrate me if we ever break up,” Eren says, a shudder running down his spine at the thought of it.

It’s not that he wanted to keep your relationship a complete secret from all of your friends forever, but he was hesitant at first, unsure of how your two friend groups would merge and take the news. And, he knew how much Mikasa cared about you, and truthfully, the dark haired girl scared him a little.

But it was bordering on half a year now, and he was certain that somebody would catch on soon enough. That, or Eren would accidentally let it slip to the entire hockey team one of these days—he almost has on a handful of occasions, but you don’t need to know about all of that.

And while a part of him did like the privacy that came along with dating in secrecy, Eren was finding it increasingly difficult to pretend to not be in love with you whenever you two went out with your friends; and to not brag that he had a super hot, super supportive girlfriend to wear his jersey during games, and Jean didn’t.

“You have plans to break up with me, Jaeger?” you question, but there’s a playful lilt in your voice.

It makes Eren grin, using his grip on your face to pull you closer, words ghosting over your lips before he pulls you in for a kiss, “Not in a million years.”

[notsoheadless]

Remember Longcat, Jane? I remember Longcat. Fuck the picture on this page, I want to talk about Longcat. Memes were simpler back then, in 2006. They stood for something. And that something was nothing. Memes just were. “Longcat is long.” An undeniably true, self-reflexive statement. Water is wet, fire is hot, Longcat is long. Memes were floating signifiers without signifieds, meaningful in their meaninglessness. Nobody made memes, they just arose through spontaneous generation; Athena being birthed, fully formed, from her own skull.     You could talk about them around the proverbial water cooler, taking comfort in their absurdity. “Hey, Johnston, have you seen the picture of that cat? They call it Longcat because it’s long!” “Ha ha, sounds like good fun, Stevenson! That reminds me, I need to show you this webpage I found the other day; it contains numerous animated dancing hamsters. It’s called — you’ll never believe this — hamsterdance!” And then Johnston and Stevenson went on to have a wonderful friendship based on the comfortable banality of self-evident digitized animals.     But then 2007 came, and along with it came I Can Has, and everything was forever ruined. It was hubris, Jane. We did it to ourselves. The minute we added written language beyond the reflexive, it all went to shit. Suddenly memes had an excess of information to be parsed. It wasn’t just a picture of a cat, perhaps with a simple description appended to it; now the cat spoke to us via a written caption on the picture itself. It referred to an item of food that existed in our world but not in the world of the meme, rupturing the boundary between the two. The cat wanted something. Which forced us to recognize that what it wanted was us, was our attention. WE are the cheezburger, Jane, and we always were. But by the time we realized this, it was too late. We were slaves to the very memes that we had created. We toiled to earn the privilege of being distracted by them. They fiddled while Rome burned, and we threw ourselves into the fire so that we might listen to the music. The memes had us. Or, rather, they could has us.     And it just got worse from there. Soon the cats had invisible bicycles and played keyboards. They gained complex identities, and so we hollowed out our own identities to accommodate them. We prayed to return to the simple days when we would admire a cat for its exceptional length alone, the days when the cat itself was the meme and not merely a vehicle for the complex memetic text. And the fact that this text was so sparse, informal, and broken ironically made it even more demanding. The intentional grammatical and syntactical flaws drew attention to themselves, making the meme even more about the captioning words and less about the pictures. Words, words, words. Wurds werds wordz. Stumbling through a crooked, dead-end hallway of a mangled clause describing a simple feline sentiment was a torture that we inflicted on ourselves daily. Let’s not forget where the word “caption” itself comes from: capio, Latin for both “I understand” and “I capture.” We thought that by captioning the memes, we were understanding them. Instead, our captions allowed them to capture us. The memes that had once been a cure for our cultural ills were now the illness itself.     It goes right back to the Phaedrus, really. Think about it. Back in the innocent days of 2006, we naïvely thought that the grapheme had subjugated the phoneme, that the belief in the primacy of the spoken word was an ancient and backwards folly on par with burning witches or practicing phrenology or thinking that Smash Mouth was good. Fucking Smash Mouth. But we were wrong. About the phoneme, I mean. Theuth came to us again, this time in the guise of a grinning grey cat. The cat hungered, and so did Theuth. He offered us an updated choice, and we greedily took it, oblivious to the consequences. To borrow the parlance of a contemporary meme, he baked us a pharmakon, and we eated it.     Pharmakon, φάρμακον, the Greek word that means both “poison” and “cure,” but, because of the

limitations of the English language, can only be translated one way or the other depending on the context and the translator’s whims. No possible translation can capture the full implications of a Greek text including this word. In the Phaedrus, writing is the pharmakon that the trickster god Theuth offers, the toxin and remedy in one. With writing, man will no longer forget; but he will also no longer think. A double-edged (s)word, if you will. But the new iteration of the pharmakon is the meme. Specifically, the post-I-Can-Has memescape of 2007 onward. And it was the language that did it, Jane. The addition of written language twisted the remedy into a poison, flipped the pharmakon on its invisible axis.     In retrospect, it was in front of our eyes all along. Meme. The noxious word was given to us by who else but those wily ancient Greeks themselves. μίμημα, or mīmēma. Defined as an imitation, a copy. The exact thing Plato warned us against in the Republic. Remember? The simulacrum that is two steps removed from the perfection of the original by the process of — note the root of the word — mimesis. The Platonic ideal of an object is the source: the father, the sun, the ghostly whole. The corporeal manifestation of the object is one step removed from perfection. The image of the object (be it in letters or in pigments) is two steps removed. The author is inferior to the craftsman is inferior to God.     Fuck, out of space. Okay, the illustration on page 46 is fucking useless; I’ll see you there. (21) But we’ll go farther than Plato. Longcat, a photograph, is a textbook example of a second-degree mimesis. (We might promote it to the third degree since the image on the internet is a digital copy of the original photograph of the physical cat which is itself a copy of Platonic ideal of a cat (the Godcat, if you will); but this line of thought doesn’t change anything in the argument.) The text-supplemented meme, on the other hand, the captioned cat, is at an infinite remove from the Godcat, the ultimate mimesis, copying the copy of itself eternally, the written language and the image echoing off each other, until it finally loops back around to the truth by virtue of being so far from it. It becomes its own truth, the fidelity of the eternal copy. It becomes a God.     Writing itself is the archetypical pharmakon and the archetypical copy, if you’ll come back with me to the Phaedrus (if we ever really left it). Speech is the real deal, Socrates says, with a smug little wink to his (written) dialogic buddy. Speech is alive, it can defend itself, it can adapt and change. Writing is its bastard son, the mimic, the dead, rigid simulacrum. Writing is a copy, a mīmēma, of truth in speech. To return to our analogous issue: the image of the cheezburger cat, the copy of the picture-copy-copy, is so much closer to the original Platonic ideal than the written language that accompanies it. (“Pharmakon” can also mean “paint.” Think about it, Jane. Just think about it.) The image is still fake, but it’s the caption on the cat that is the downfall of the republic, the real fakeness, which is both realer and faker than whatever original it is that it represents.    Men and gods abhor the lie, Plato says in sections 382 a and b of the Republic. οὐκ οἶσθα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι τό γε ὡς ἀληθῶς ψεῦδος, εἰ οἷόν τε τοῦτο εἰπεῖν, πάντες θεοί τε καὶ ἄνθρωποι μισοῦσιν; πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις; οὕτως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι τῷ κυριωτάτῳ που ἑαυτῶν ψεύδεσθαι καὶ περὶ τὰ κυριώτατα οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν ἐθέλει, ἀλλὰ πάντων μάλιστα φοβεῖται ἐκεῖ αὐτὸ κεκτῆσθαι. “Don’t you know,” said I, “that the veritable lie, if the expression is permissible, is a thing that all gods and men abhor?” “What do you     mean?” he said. “This,” said I, “that falsehood in the most vital part of themselves, and about their most vital concerns, is something that no one willingly accepts, but it is there above all that everyone fears it.” Man’s worst fear is that he will hold existential falsehood within himself. And the verbal lies that he tells are a copy of this feared dishonesty in the soul.

Plato goes on to elaborate: “the falsehood in words is a copy of the affection in the soul, an after-rising image of it and not an altogether unmixed falsehood.” A copy of man’s false internal copy of truth. And what word does Plato use for “copy” in this sentence? That’s fucking right, μίμημα. Mīmēma. Mimesis. Meme. The new meme is a lie, manifested in (written) words, that reflects the lack of truth, the emptiness, within the very soul of a human. The meme is now not only an inferior copy, it is a deceptive copy.     But just wait, it gets better. Plato continues in the very next section of the Republic, 382 c. Sometimes, he says, the lie, the meme, is appropriate, even moral. It is not abhorrent to lie to your enemy, or to your friend in order to keep him from harm. “Does it [the lie] not then become useful to avert the evil—as a medicine?” You get one fucking guess for what Greek word is being translated as “medicine” in this passage. Ding ding motherfucking ding, you got it, φάρμακον, pharmakon. The μίμημα is a φάρμακον, the lie is a medicine/poison, the meme is a pharmakon.     But I’m sure that by now you’ve realized the (intentional) mistake in my argument that brought us to this point. I said earlier that the addition of written language to the meme flipped the pharmakon on its axis. But the pharmakon didn’t flip, it doesn’t have an axis. It was always both remedy and poison. The fact that this isn’t obvious to us from the very beginning of the discussion is the fault of, you guessed it, language. The initial lie (writing) clouds our vision and keeps us from realizing how false the second-order lie (the meme) is.     The very structure of the lying meme mirrors the structure of the written word that defines and corrupts it. Once you try to identify an “outside” in order to reveal the lie, the whole framework turns itself inside-out so that you can never escape it. The cat wants the cheezburger that exists outside the meme, but only through the meme do we become aware of the presumed existence of the cheezburger — we can’t point out the absurdity of the world of the meme without also indicting our own world. We can’t talk about language without language, we can’t meme without mimesis. Memes didn’t change between ‘06 and ‘07, it was us who changed. Or rather, our understanding of what we had always been changed. The lie became truth, the remedy became the poison, the outside became the inside. Which is to say that the truth became lie, the pharmakon was always the remedy and the poison, and the inside retreated further inside. It all came full circle. Because here’s the secret, Jane. Language ruined the meme, yes. But language itself had already been ruined. By that initial poisonous, lying copy. Writing.     The First Meme.     Language didn’t attack the meme in 2007 out of spite. It attacked it to get revenge.     Longcat is long. Language is language. Pharmakon is pharmakon. The phoneme topples the grapheme, witches ride through the night, our skulls hide secret messages on their surfaces, Smash Mouth is good after all. Hey now, you’re an all-star. Get your game on.     Go play.

[mypoisonedvine]

Rough Ride | biker!Chris Evans x reader

summary: for a biker, chris is quite the romantic.  for a small-town waitress, you’re quite the rebel for falling for a biker.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut!!, biker gang shenanigans, references to smoking, love at first sight, a touch of possessiveness, vaguely soulmate au?? (because of aforementioned love at first sight), kinda innocent reader, shy reader, essentially a very fluffy pwp

The gang had never really scared you, even if the other girls working here were intimidated by them.  In your mind, having a motorcycle club frequent your hole-in-the-wall meant being more protected rather than more vulnerable.  Most of them were nice enough, even if their glances were less than subtle and they brought in the smell of cigarettes with them.  They tipped well, and what matters other than that?  

When you saw Chris for the first time, though, you were intimidated.  Maybe that wasn’t the right word.  It wasn’t him that scared you at all, but the rush of feelings that overcame you.  What scared you was knowing that, as absurd as it was, you were in love.

He sat at your table, as if he knew you’d be serving him, spreading his legs as he got comfortable and draping a leather jacketed arm over the worn pleather booth.  You’d tried to keep your cool, taking his order in spite of those crystal blue eyes piercing right through you.  Ink decorated his skin, peeking out from every edge of his clothing— unreadable words on his neck, abstract shapes on his wrists and hands, letters on his knuckles.  You watched from the kitchen as those tattooed fingers wrapped around the mug of coffee you’d served him, his neck tattoo shifting a little as he took a long sip.

“Do y’all want anything to eat?” you asked quietly, waiting for a chance to hear his voice.  His buddies answered first, ordering hashbrowns and bacon and their various usuals.  With no one else left to ask, your eyes met his and you waited in tense silence for him to say something.

“You got pancakes?”  

How stupid that those were the words that made your heart stop, slurred with a Boston accent, monotone to the point it barely sounded like a question.

You were in love with him.  Before now you hadn’t been the type to dream about soulmates, to wait for your Prince Charming to come save you.  But this guy had a noble steed you could ride off into the sunset with— except it was a Ducati, and sunset wasn’t for another nine hours…

“Hello?” he frowned.

Oh, had you forgotten to actually say something?

“Y-yes,” you finally blurted out, “we’ve got pancakes.  Best in the county.”

“Blueberry?”

You nodded quickly.  “Or cinnamon, or banana, or original…”

“Blueberry then,” he decided.  “Thanks.”

You shuffled to the back, spinning behind the saloon door into the kitchen and leaning against the wall with a sigh.  It was a miracle you remembered any of the other orders, since all you could think about was him and his eyes and his voice and those ridiculously lovely tats.

You passed the order on to the cook, taking off the apron part of your uniform so you could try to cool off for a second, only peering out to check that the table didn’t need anything every few minutes.  As much as you wanted to hide away in the kitchen forever, you could see that a few of the mugs were empty at his table and you needed to give them a refill.  

Sighing and grabbing a fresh pot from the coffeemaker, you ventured back into the dining area; of course it only took him a split second to lock his eyes on you, watching you come closer with a stare that made the silence so much more oppressive.

“Everything alright so far?” you asked, voice much shakier than you meant for it to be.  One of the other bikers asked about getting a cup of decaf, another wanted more creamer, but he just sipped at the black coffee and kept his eyes trained on you over the rim on the mug.  “Food should be out in a minute…”

You all but ran back to the kitchen; you could only take so much of him at once.  Looking at him was like looking at the sun, and looking anywhere else was like a waste of your vision.

You made busywork for yourself in the kitchen, rearranging utensils and refilling ketchup bottles.  You heard the kitchen door swing open behind you, the light shifting in the corner of your eye.

“Charlene, can you cover my table for a while?  I can’t go back out there—” you began, but heavy footsteps stopping behind you made you realize it was most certainly not Charlene.  You spun around to find him staring down at you, contemplating the way you shrunk into his shadow.

“Were you really gonna run so quick?  Make Charlene bring me my pancakes?” he asked with a gentle voice, stepping slightly closer.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” you explained sheepishly.

“I heard we own this place,” he returned, raising an eyebrow, “and everything in it.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “something like that…”

Then he moved in so close— almost too close, even though you simultaneously wanted more— until you were clutching the cool metal table behind you, your eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips and back.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he whispered, “do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I’m starting to,” you admitted quietly.  And he kissed you, so much more delicate and tender than he had any right to be.  Maybe you should’ve feigned disinterest, but not even for a moment could you do anything but kiss him back, slipping your arms around his neck.  But that wasn’t enough to keep him close, unfortunately, as he pulled away much too soon.

“How about now?” he pressed, and your eyes were a little delayed in opening again as you tried to process the fact that you’d just experienced the most perfect kiss of all time.

You nodded a little, looking back up at him and biting your lip slightly.  “You never told me your name,” you realized.

“Chris,” he answered quickly.  You started to tell him yours but he finished it for you, making your eyes go wide.

“How did you—?”

He smirked and tapped on the hard plastic nametag pinned to your chest.

“Oh,” you giggled, “right…”

He leaned in a little closer, one arm caging you in as it rested against the wall by your head, while the other was playing with the hem of your yellow uniform.  “When do you get off?” he purred in your ear, his fingers brushing over your legs just under your skirt.

“Whenever you want me to get off,” you answered quickly, not even noticing the double entendre.

“Right now,” he decided.  “Your shift ends right now, and you’re gonna get on the back of my bike and ride with me.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

You stood a few feet away on the gravel while he started the engine, enraptured at the way his fingers gripped the handles and pumped the gas and brakes to test them.  When he guided you to get on the back, you tried not to notice the way the vibrations of the bike shot right through you, and just focused on his face as he turned back to look at you.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Your place.”

He chuckled lightly but revved the engine, kicking off and sending the bike spurring forward onto the highway.  You clutched at his torso tightly, resting your face on the leather of his jacket and watching your tiny little town roll by.

//

Normally this would be the time to describe his apartment, but you didn’t even notice it; you were too busy grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him into you the second he’d unlocked the door.  You’d never kissed anyone like this, or ever tried to, or ever wanted to, so you didn’t know if you were doing it right.  But he sure seemed to like it considering he pressed against you and moaned a little into your mouth.

Maybe it was all a game for him, his chance to corrupt an innocent waitress who bought his crap because she was gullible enough to believe he loved her.  You knew that was more likely than not, you weren’t stupid for all your naivete, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to believe it.  It felt so real, the way he pulled you closer, the way he kissed you— it didn’t feel like he was rushing you, since you were the one who helped him take his jacket off before you started to unbutton your uniform, and pushed him back onto the mattress on the floor, straddling him as you moaned into his mouth.

“Baby,” he whispered against your lips, something like shock mixed with pride painting the tone of his voice.

“I need you,” you whimpered, “I’ve never— I don’t usually— this isn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he nodded, “I get it.  I’ve never felt this way before either.”

He pushed your hands away from their task of opening the uniform, his thick and ink-decorated fingers taking over instead.  Your face warmed as he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, revealing your practical bra— not very sexy, unfortunately, but he didn’t seem to mind as he ran his hands all over your newly-exposed skin.

Not that you would’ve been especially irritated if it took him a minute to unhook your bra, but of course he did it seamlessly.  Faster than when you tried to do it yourself, even.

His palms were warm as they cupped your breasts, your nipples already hard but reacting further to being tweaked between his thumb and forefingers.  A shiver danced down your spine, and you fought between looking back into his piercing gaze or glancing away to spare yourself the intensity of it all.  You stammered out his name when he pinched a little harder, almost losing your balance but catching yourself on his chest.

He stopped and sat up to quickly pull his shirt off, and you bit your lip at the sight of his chest and torso littered in ink.  You wanted to trace each one with your tongue, but that would have to wait for another time; instantly he pushed you off of him and flipped you onto your back, caging you in with his absurdly thick arms and grinning as he hovered above you.

“You are so goddamn beautiful,” he mumbled, “did you know that?”

You stammered, never really getting out an effective reply, as he reached down and toyed with the hem of your panties.  His fingers tickled your skin while he started to pull them down, excruciatingly slow; his eyes bore into yours for the longest time, dark and brooding, until he finally glanced down and watched the fabric slide over your thighs.

With bated breath, you waited for his reaction to your nude body.  He was silent as he pushed your legs apart, finally letting out a low growl as he spread your folds.  “Fuck, baby…” he sighed just under his breath.

The moment his fingers made contact with your soaked folds, you gasped; he gathered the abundant slick he found there and spread it over your clit, drawing relaxed circles over it as you fought not to buck your hips up already.  That was impossible, though, when he slipped a finger into your soaking entrance, and then another.

“Oh—” you gasped, sitting up to watch him work as if you couldn’t really believe it was happening otherwise.

Watching his tattoos disappear inside you was… indescribable.  Your head fell back as those fingers curled inside you, his thumb rubbing over your clit roughly.  “Fuck,” you groaned, “Chris, don’t stop…”

He didn’t, in fact he only pumped and twisted his fingers faster until you clutched at the sheets beneath you and arched your back.  You couldn’t exactly keep track of what you were saying, or how long it had been going, but you were pretty sure that you were doing lots of begging and that it had not been long enough to justify the fact that you were already right on the edge of coming.  When his fingers moved a little faster and a little rougher, you moaned his name before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah, you gonna make a mess all over my hand, baby?” he growled through his teeth.

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, I’m so close.”

“Then do it,” he encouraged gruffly, “come for me.”

You must have reached up and grabbed him at some point, because your nails were digging into his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark if it weren’t for the marks already there— hard to see a bruise on black ink.  Hard to see anything when you’re coming so hard that your vision goes a little spotty.  If you had realized the intensity of your involuntary convulsions in that moment, you would’ve likely been self-conscious about it, but you didn’t really notice since you were too busy gasping and moaning and writhing for him— and he didn’t even stop until you reached down and grabbed his wrist.  You weren’t strong enough to push him away, of course, but it was a clear signal, and he thankfully slowed down to a stop.  You whimpered a little when he pulled his fingers out of you; he hummed as he brought the digits to his lips and sucked your flavor from them.

Any other day and one orgasm would satisfy you, especially one like that.  And in a sense, you were satisfied; but in another (and stronger) sense, you needed more— you needed everything.  You just hoped that sitting up and fumbling with his belt would get the point across.

He didn’t help you this time, happy to sit there breathing heavily and watching you work on his belt, then his fly, then his boxers until you were gasping as you revealed his thick cock.  Maybe it was just going to go straight to his ego, but you had no interest in hiding your shock at the sight of it, a drop of precum forming at the slit; a picturesque vein running up the underside.  “Fuck,” you groaned, wrapping your hand around it and giving it a few slow strokes.

You yelped a little, in a good way, as he pushed you back onto the bed and kissed you deeply: it was needy, but not quite rough.

When the tip of him prodded at your entrance, you gasped against his lips, and yet you were still a little disappointed when he broke the kiss and pulled away, his eyes rapidly scanning your expression.

“You want it?” he asked— not a taunt, a genuine question.

“Yes,” you nodded, “more than anything.”

“This isn’t a fling,” he told you sternly.  “This isn’t a one-night stand.  We do this, you’re mine, you understand?”

“Yours,” you agreed with a breathless nod, and he finally pushed the tip into you.  He stopped when you winced, but you didn’t mind the sting so much— you wanted to feel everything, even the pain, as long as it was him.  You wrapped your legs around his hips and tried to push him in deeper, but he resisted.  “I want it all, please,” you begged weakly.

“Not sure you can take it,” he admitted nervously.

“I can, please, just need you inside me,” you whined.

He sighed a little but relented and pushed all the way in, still maintaining a measured pace; you sighed with relief when his hips were flush against yours.  The sting was nothing compared to the perfection of his body nestled in yours, the way he looked down at you before he kissed you again.  It was less rushed than before, less desperate as he savored every inch of you, like you had all the time in the world— it certainly felt like you did.

He didn’t pull out very far, focusing instead on grinding his hips against yours, which not only served to keep him so deep inside you that you could barely breathe but also pressed some very hard part of him right into your clit.  It was nearly overwhelming, but his kiss kept you grounded, along with his arms slipping under you so he could hold you tight.  You clutched at his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, kissing him back and moaning against his tongue.  It helped you relax a little, until your body opened up to his size and he could thrust a bit harder without resistance.  Even then, he kept it slow and steady, waiting until you whined and pleaded for more to start really fucking you.

You couldn’t keep up with the kiss anymore when he pounded into you like that, your head falling back and giving him perfect access to gently bite at your neck.  It only made you wetter to imagine that while he wore his tattoos on his neck, you could bare whatever marks he made on your skin with his lips and teeth and tongue.  Too bad yours would be less permanent.

“How’s it feel?” he asked you darkly, his voice rough but warm against your ear.

“So good,” you panted, “you feel so good.”

He reached down to grab your parted legs and hold them open wider, and you hadn’t realized that it would send the tip of him spearing straight into your most delicate spot.  Your back arched instantly and you made a somewhat embarrassing noise, but he grinned and nibbled at your jaw, thrusting a little faster and repeating the motion.

“F-fuck,” you shuddered.

“You’re— shit, you’re squeezin’ on me,” he groaned, and you took pride in the way pleasure affected his voice.  “Can feel you tryin’ to milk my cock.”

Lewd talk like that had never turned you on so much before, but it was different the way he said it.  Then again, everything was different when he did it, especially the way his fingertips were sure to leave little bruises on your legs from how tight he was holding.

“Look down,” he instructed as he sat up slightly, “look at how good you’re takin’ me, baby.”

You did, and sure enough, it was hard to believe that every time he pulled back, his massive cock was somehow going to fit back inside you again— or that it ever did in the first place.  But with every stroke he filled you to the brim, and when you looked back up, he was already staring down at you with those damn eyes that kept you frozen in place every time.

He pulled out suddenly, making you whimper at the loss as he stared down at you.  “Flip over, get on your hands and knees for me.”

You surprised yourself with how quickly you obeyed, arching your back as his rough hands gripped at your hips tightly.  When he pulled you back and speared you on his cock, it was like an entirely new sensation.  His cock was even deeper, stretching your walls in new ways as you keened and whimpered beneath him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” he groaned, already setting a new and much more aggressive pace.

“So good,” you cried, “it’s so good, you’re so good…”

“You like how I fuck you?” he pressed, like your mouth hung slack and your hands struggling to hold onto the mattress weren’t enough to make it obvious that you did.

“Love it,” you moaned, “please, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t, thankfully, not even close; he held your body and pulled you back onto him in time with his own thrusts forward, the sound of skin on skin rivalled only by your constant stream of moans and cries.  

Another orgasm was well on its way, though this one felt different than the first— coming on slower but stronger, making your legs shake as they fought to hold you up your weight.  

When the coil finally snapped, you didn’t feel the need to tell him you were coming again, because it was so obvious from the way you moaned and how your walls rippled and tightened on him harder than ever.  And just in case it wasn’t clear that he noticed you hitting the height of your pleasure, he leaned down a little and mumbled right against your ear: “Feels so good when you come for me, baby.”

You whimpered and let your upper body collapse onto the bed; the dramatic arch in your back was slightly uncomfortable, but your orgasm had made your whole body a little numb so you didn’t notice.

“Want you to come too,” you sighed, desperate to make him feel even a fraction as good as he’d made you feel.

“Fuck, I will,” he warned you, “god, you feel so good, gonna come inside you.”

“Please,” you sighed, “want it all in me, Chris, please…”

He followed through on his promise with a stuttered gasp, stopping his thrusts to stay buried deep in you as you felt his cock swell and flex against your walls.  Warmth spread within you as you hummed contentedly, his heavy breathing slowly stabilizing before he gently pulled out and guided you to lay beside him on the bed.

For a moment, you feared that he’d gotten what he wanted and would either toss you out or just slowly disappear from your life.  After all, he was him, and you were you, and there was something oil-and-water about it all, right?

Wrong.  He wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you into him, and kissed you one more time.  You reciprocated quickly and tried not to smile too hard.

“If I say something really stupid,” he whispered when he pulled back slightly. “will you promise not to freak out?  I mean, I know it’s impossible and it doesn’t make any sense and we just met but—”

“I love you too,” you interrupted, and he smiled back at you, letting out a sigh of bemused relief.  

“Bein’ a biker’s girl isn’t easy,” he warned you, “but I’ll keep you safe, I can promise that.”

His words were just that; words.  But the way he held you tightly and kissed you deeply made you sure that he would keep his promise. 

[binxyu]

Desire. The word of many meanings. Lust? Money? People desire what they can not have. You? You desired power. The power to hurt those who had wronged you. San? He desired to have you and if offering you your desire would get him that then he was going to give it.

>>Pairing: Choi San (dom) x fem!reader (sub) | demon!san x power hungry!reader

>>Word Count: 3.6k

>>Genre: Oneshot / Smut

>>Warnings/Kinks: Demonic themes, yandere themes, bondage, branding, biting, blood play, choking, cockwarming, corruption, creampie, degrading, fingering, marking, murder (graphic), oral (receiving), overstimulation, size kink, slapping, and spitting/saliva

“Do it”.

The voice rang in your head as it always did. It was similar to a little devil on your shoulder. Someone telling you to do the worst you could do.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to”.

You closed your eyes, the gun shaking in your grip. You had nothing against this person but the voice in your head knew how much you enjoyed the thrill.

The thrill of pulling the trigger.

The thrill of having the power to do so and end someone else’s life.

“We had a deal, baby. Each kill I help you with in your favor will result in one kill for me. Kill him”.

Your finger felt controlled, a silent pull to just come forward a little. Just enough to send a bullet into the man’s chest.

He looked at you with such pleading eyes, coated in the finest ocean blue that could have any other woman in his hands.

Not you.

You were in love with the voice in your head.

A voice you couldn’t explain. A voice that offered you power in exchange for completing their dirty work.

Finally, you let yourself fall to the desire and pulled the trigger, a bullet flying into the man’s heart.

“Good girl”.

It was a raspy voice, one full of authority and mischief. You knew the voice better than you knew your own family’s.

A wave of relief overcame you when the voice went quiet. You looked at the man in front of you and wondered what he could have done to have been so worthy of death.

The gun was placed back into your pocket once the safety was on and you simply walked out of the place. You couldn’t dwell on what you had done. It was all worth it in the end.

Miraculously, the deal between yourself and the voice was true and, as you killed upon their request, you gained more power. More reputation and strength.

There was odd downsides to this deal, however. Like the dreams that occurred every night.

Dreams about the same man that left you wanting so much more when you woke up.

“Oh, it’s you again”, your voice seemed to echo in your own bedroom as you looked at the familiar... creature.

“Who else would be here?”, there it was. The same voice that appeared in your head throughout the day.

You felt witless. He was right. No other thing or person visited the realm of your dreams as often as he did.

“You did well today”, was all he muttered when you remained silent. All you could do was stare at him as he walked closer.

His wings were a masterpiece on their own, a marvelous display of black. It was a beautiful way of showing he was rather symbolic of darkness.

His eyes glowed a blood red as they looked into your’s, his pupils blown out due to his hunger. You winced as his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to examine you as if he was deciding if you were worthy of another night with him.

“You still won’t tell me what or who you are”, the creature chuckled, a sound so unfitting for him.

“You’ll find out soon”, and he was gone.

Another unspoken rule of the deal between you and the creature was isolation. You were not permitted to speak to others.

That much was clear when one of your co-workers was found drained of blood, a horrific sight to anyone but you. You had seen it before and that’s when you realized you were literally in a deal with a devil.

So, you avoided others in hopes that the little devil on your shoulder would keep quiet. No one would get hurt that way.

You were wrong. Horribly wrong.

You hadn’t realized but people slowly disappeared when they were around you. Just because the little devil wanted you all to himself.

“Y/n, come here. I need your help”, your boss ordered you and you felt an itch within you. An itch and desire for that control you were used to.

Reluctantly, you walked over and picked up the heavy box.

What is this guy moving? Rocks?

“Where to?”, your soft voice asked politely, sucking up to the man that could potentially give you more wealth than you could imagine.

“My office obviously”, his tone was cold as it always was and you nibbled your bottom lip in annoyance. You turned around, about to make your way out of the meeting room and to his office when you heard his screams.

Your head whirled around to see him on the floor, his finger pointing in sheer horror at something across the room. The door slammed behind you and your eyes finally found what he was screaming about.

“Hello baby”, there he was in all his unholy glory. The same man inside your head and your dreams.

“I figured I’d take care of your little problem here”, you shook your head, either from shock, fear, or denial. You couldn’t tell which.

“N-no you don’t have to”, the creature laughed at that and with a wave of his hand, the boss’s throat was slit. He quickly bled out and his body fell in a heap on the floor.

“I didn’t ask”, his smile was insincere, a warning to watch your mouth. You noticed it and shut up, noticing how his wings were not as perfect as they had been previously in your dreams.

The bone seeming to hold them together to his back was unnaturally bent, looking horrendous and painful. The feathers surrounding those areas were anything but perfect. Yet, he seemed effortlessly attractive.

“What do you want?”, your voice came out small and weak, a contrast to the usual powerful voice that came from your body. It was obvious the creature could take away your power just as he had given it to you.

“Surely you remember why I’m even here to begin with, little one”, the nickname shocked you as the memory resurfaced once again.

The shovel was cold in your grip, causing a bone chilling spark to run down your spine as you covered up the box. It was the standard recipe.

The bones of a dead black cat, a photograph of yourself, and graveyard dirt. All compacted in the small box now buried deep in the center of the crossroads.

You were younger at the time by a few years, a little more gullible. A little more desperate.

As the blood moon rose, you could feel the presence of someone else in the area. Well, more like something else.

The red light shun on him gracefully as he sat on the hood of your car, not caring how dinted it could become. Your eyes trailed down his body, engulfing any feature you could take in to remember him by.

At the time, his hair was a light brown and his eyes were not that blood red you had grown used to. They were a warm brown. They were so welcoming.

“Are you the devil?”, you wanted to keep your distance from him, but it felt like an invisible string was pulling you right to him. Your body soon stood in front of his own, barely away from being considered between his legs.

“No, little one. Just something awfully close. Now, what are you selling your soul for?”, the demon expected many things. Things he had heard so many times before. Money, love, saving, etc.

What he didn’t expect you to say was that you needed a way to get revenge on the murderer of your mother.

“What? You don’t strike me as the revenge type”, his infamous chuckle came after the words and you huffed. You hated being considered too weak or kind. People already played around with you for that reason.

“Are you going to help me or not?”, your hand found solace on your hip as you waited for his response. He hummed as if in deep thought before tilting his head in a teasing manner.

“Depends. What do I get in return?”, you noticed how his gaze had lingered on your hand, watching how it softly kneaded the flesh there.

“Keep our options open? You can have my soul or whatever you want whenever you want. I just want that man in the ground by the end of the week”, he didn’t expect the hint of sass in your tone but he loved it.

“I’ll need to put that in writing darling, but you have a deal”.

“Why did I not remember you before?”, you were sure you had never had that memory before now. The demon only smirked before walking towards you, his hands holding your waist. He rubbed them up and down as if he was memorizing every curve.

“I couldn’t have you running off. Besides, it was so precious to watch you think you had killed that man. You seemed so... proud”, he bit his lip, admiring you.

“It’s been you, hasn’t it? The voice?”, the demon nodded and took your jaw in his hold, tilting it every which way as if he was deciding to auction you or not.

“Yes. Your power comes from me and I think I’ve finally decided what I’ll be requesting for your end of the deal”, a thick lump formed in your throat, hoping that this wasn’t going to be your last day on Earth.

“You have been doing my dirty work for years now. No one is more fit to be my prophet than you. I want you to be mine. My little prophet”, your eyebrows furrowed as his words processed in your head.

“Prophet? For what?”, you had to sit down, walking over the body on the floor still and sitting on the desk.

“To be the next crossroad demon. Imagine it, baby. All the power you have now will be tripled, you’ll be immortal, and we’ll be together forever. I can tell you desire nothing more than power”, you found yourself nodding before you could even register any consequences. He had you at the power being tripled.

“How insatiable”, the demon tapped his fingers against the desk as he hovered over you, “if I didn’t know better than I’d consider you a deadly sin. I think you’re more greedy than actual greed is” before you could argue his lips were pressed against your own in a feverous manner. It filled your body with warmth from the tips of your toes to the very top of your head.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him back, feeling how his body got impossibly closer. You moaned into his mouth when you felt his crotch rub against your own.

“Unless you’re even crazier than I thought, let’s do this somewhere there isn’t a dead body”, he laughed once he pulled away, your eyes going to the forgotten body on the floor. Your cheeks went red as the demon picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His wings wrapped around your body, encasing you in a makeshift shield as black smoke surrounded you both. His wings opened up to reveal your bedroom and you realized something as your back landed on the soft mattress.

“Wait- what’s your name?”, contrary to popular myths, demons had no trouble sharing their names. He had just simply forgotten.

“San”, his lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting the skin there as if you already belonged to him.

“San”, you repeated, testing the name and a rumble came from the demon’s chest. It was so similar to a growl that you had to look around the room to make sure no animals were there.

“Fuck, say it again”, his hands gripped the thin fabric of your shirt but he waited.

“San. Please”, there was a hint of desperation in your voice and it was something San had never heard from you. It made his eyes go blood red for a moment.

“Are you sure you want this? It will change everything”, you stared into his eyes and, for once, there wasn’t any fear in you. They were warm as they stared back at you, a sure fire way of San telling you he would never betray you.

“I’m sure. Let’s be powerful together”, you nodded and the demon smiled, ripping the fabric of your shirt apart like it was just some dusty old rag. Your hands held onto his suit and then you remembered something.

“Can I see them?”, San stopped to ponder what you meant. That’s when you lowered your hands to the small of his back, your hands gliding over the cuts on his back. That’s when he knew what you wanted.

“I didn’t think humans liked them”, he chuckled as he took off his own shirt, his wings springing out soon after. He kept them tucked towards him to avoid hitting anything on your end tables and all you could do was admire them as you laid there.

“I love them. So beautiful”, your fingers gently stroked them, trailing along the curve of the bone as if to memorize the feeling of them under your touch.

San nodded with a sincere smile, one you had yet to see. It took you off guard but you loved it. San pulled up your skirt and groaned when he saw how wet your panties had become. They were stuck to your folds, showing everything to him.

“You’re so wet, baby”, you whimpered when he trailed his finger up your folds and back down again. He simply pulled the panties to the side and you gasped when you felt his spit coat your opening. He then plunged it into you with his tongue, thrusting it inside of you and swirling his tongue to cut your walls with his saliva.

That’s when he realized you were already clenching around him in absolute sensitivity and pleasure. He looked up at you as he slowly pulled his tongue out, watching how your eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”, you flushed red from the question no matter how simple it sounded. San already knew the answer but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Yeah, I am”, you sit up a little on your elbows, expecting the demon to stop. However, all he did was smirk and thrust his tongue back inside of you, causing your head to fall back. He swirled his tongue, searching for that certain spot inside of you that even you had never found before.

His fingers pinched and rubbed at your clit as he prepped you, causing your sweet moans to fill the room. The only thing San could think about was how badly he wanted to ruin you.

Eventually, he felt you were ready and he replaced his tongue with his fingers, scissoring you open. Then, he hit it. That special spot deep inside of you with his middle finger.

“Right there! Please”, you had never felt so good and your back arched as San kept hitting that spot with his fingers over and over like clock work.

You clenched around his fingers and he kept his pace steady as you came all over his fingers, coating them with your juices. He had you ride out your high and watched as you shook from the stimulation, barely holding onto his humanity.

He took his fingers out and you whined, feeling so hopelessly empty without them there. San licked one of his fingers, humming from how sweet you tasted. Then, he had another finger in front of your mouth.

You opened your mouth and he put the digit inside, your lips closing around it as you sucked on it to taste yourself. You did taste perfectly sweet.

“Sorry sweetheart, I can’t wait any longer”, you gulped when you saw something inside the demon snap. His hands quickly pulled his belt off and he tied your wrists together with them, attached to the bedpost.

You were too in awe from the sight of his cock to even care about the rough leather rubbing against your skin, his tip red and angry, coated in pre-cum. You wondered how it would even fit.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be just fine”, before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his lips were on your’s as he lined himself up with your pussy. He slowly pushed in and you began to fill the pain until... you didn’t anymore.

It was as if the kiss was enough to blur your nerves and, before you knew it, San was all the way inside of you. The sight of his bulge was prominent in your stomach and, when he pulled away from the kiss, you could feel the tip brush against your cervix.

Your feelings rushed back in and you felt the stretch but it was no longer painful, your cunt used to being stuffed now. As he realized you were fine, San slowly started moving, groaning as your walls hugged his dick. You were so small in comparison to him and it felt perfect. You felt perfect.

Restraint inside of the demon slowly disappeared as he pounded into you, his hips snapping against your’s. His hand wrapped tightly around your throat when you got louder, squeezing it to cut off the air going to your lungs a little. Your eyes rolled back from all the pleasure and stimulation.

“Such a pretty whore. You feel so good”, San chuckled darkly, licking his lips as he looked down at you. Your breasts bounced from the force and he watched them, almost mesmerized by the movement as his tip continuously rammed into your g-spot.

You winced when San slapped you, a red hand imprinted on your skin. The sting only seemed to add to the pleasure and he noticed, deciding to slap your clit just as hard.

“Fuck! San!”, your breathing got caught in your throat as he continued to slap it, hitting the nerve over and over to watch your reaction. You clenched around him again as you began to feel overstimulated, the knot in your stomach releasing all over his cock.

San followed soon after, filling you up so much that you could see the bulge stay in your stomach even when he had pulled out. Your heavy breathing was all you were able to let out as San undid the belt.

You expected for it to be over but the demon simply gripped your hips and spread your legs to straddle his lap. You could feel his hard cock rubbing against your pussy lips and a rush of arousal went to your core again, his cum covering your thighs as it leaked out of you.

“It’s not over baby. I wanted to really look at you when I mark you”, your eyes went a little wide when San moved your hips to grind against his erection.

“Mark? What does that mean?”, San just shushed you and gave you his mischievous smile.

“You’ll see”, you were too needy to even care as you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, feeling for the first time how it truly stretched you out. San gripped the back of your head and pressed his forehead against your’s in an attempt to distract you from any pain.

“Ride me and you’ll be all mine”, his words made you roll your hips faster even if you already knew you were putty in his hands. You were already his and have been. He made sure of that.

Soon, you began to get tired and San smiled, gripping your hips to keep you moving. He didn’t seem angry but you could tell his impatience was coming through.

“Useless whore. You can’t even ride a dick properly”, you looked down in embarrassment from his words. It was the only time you enjoyed not having control, when San had it.

The demon took control and thrusted up into you, controlling your movements to meet his own. The new position made your mouth hang open in a silent scream, your body too overwhelmed with pleasure to even let out sounds.

Even without words, San knew you were close with how your nails dug into his shoulders and your little cunt clenched around him. As you both approached your orgasms he nuzzled his face between your neck and shoulder.

You came together and he bit you, causing a scream to erupt from your body. Your body thrashed against him but he held you still as he slowly pulled his teeth out.

The bite slowly healed to reveal a distinct ‘S’ marked into your skin. San smiled and watched as the blood from the wound went down your body and stopped at the curve of your breast.

“Good girl. Finally being put to use”, the demon leaned his face down and licked up the blood from your breast to the mark on your shoulder, sending pleasant shivers up your body.

He was still buried inside of you as he maneuvered you both to lay down, spooning you to keep you warm.

“Now you’re all mine. Remember that. Or this deal may not last”, you could tell the end was meant as a threat. You belonged to San and that was that.

“I’m all your’s”, you nodded and closed your eyes, trying to calm your body.

“That’s right. Forever”.

“Even in-“, you were cut off when he pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

“Even in hell. Then it will be...”, he hummed as he thought.

“Infernal desire”.

[beccascribbles]

hcs series detailing what it is like to be a manager for the various haikyuu teams

karasuno | seijoh |

warnings - swearing

word count - 2.1k

you weren't immune to oikawa's charms, but being friends with him since middle school meant you were the least likely in the school to fall for him (you were also the least likely person he would mess with in that way, especially as iwaizumi would happily punch him for the trouble)

this meant you were a perfect candidate for manager of the team

when you all been first years, the team had come up to you and begged

ultimately, it had been iwaizumi who had finally convinced you (the sight of him almost begging you would be forever ingrained in your mind. boy did not want to be the only one responsible for oikawa)

by the time you reached your third year, you were immensely glad that you had agreed to manage the team

at times, it had been tough. dealing with oikawa's jealous fangirls often felt like a full time job. the amount of times you had sprinted into the club room to the shock of the team was ridiculous

one day, you had dived through the door, yelling for then to shut and lock the door as you crashed to the floor

iwaizumi had been by your side in an instant, worried gaze assessing you for injuries. when you let out a wince, rubbing at you arm, he was automatically assessing it for damage

"it's not broken," he assured you, giving your head an affection pat before his gaze turned to oikawa, eyes narrowing. "call your fucking fangirls off, shittykawa"

"i've tried," he whined, giving you an apologetic look. "clearly their love for me is too strong"

"maybe if they actually spoke to you, they'd realise what a crap personality you have," sighed matsukawa, slapping oikawa on the back affectionately and then holding the hand up to receive a high five from hanamaki

slowly, hesitantly, you moved over to the door, pressing your ear to the surface. through the wood, you could the girls, their high-pitched voices grating at your nerves

“i really fucking hate them,” you grumbled, moving away to sit on the floor beside hanamaki, who wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you leaned against his shoulder. “why did i let you convince me to join this club?”

this was directed to iwaizumi, who had the good idea to look sheepish. oikawa, on the other hand, collapsed down on the floor in front of you and spread out his arms. “because you love us, y/n-chan”

“not you,” you scoffed, poking him in the chest. he pouted

“that’s no way to talk to your childhood friend”

“it is when they have a swarm of jealous fangirls after you”

oikawa looked like he was about to reply, but a clip to the ear by iwaizumi was enough to distract him. he turned to his friend with a cry of outrage, beginning to bicker with the ace

while you would usually tell them to shut up, pull them apart, you couldn’t really be bothered. breaking up fights was for when you were on duty. training hadn’t started yet so you figured you could let them bicker

the second years clashed less than the third years but sometimes you were needed to break up the fights, particularly when kyoutani made a return to the team

while he was away, you had been one of the only ones who checked up on him, always telling him that if he needed to talk, if he was struggling with anything, you would be there

therefore, he had a lot of respect for you, placing you on a similar level to iwaizumi (the only member of the team who could get away with telling him what to do or scolding him angrily)

this meant that, when you appeared in front of him, placing a placating hand on his chest, his hackles would lower and he would back away, though the glare would remain on his face

truth be told, kyoutani was a little bit scared of you suddenly exploding on him, especially after the way you had snapped at him when he had first pulled off a risky play in practice

you had seen red when he had pushed kindaichi out of the way to spike the ball, marching over and grabbing him by the top to drag him away. it was the first time they had ever seen him apologise

while kyoutani respected you, the relationship you had with him was very different with the one you had with the other second years. kyoutani would never invite you to lunch. watari and yahaba on the other hand...

your week is not complete without a lunch with them. you aren’t even sure when you managed to form such a strong friendship with them, but it was likely when you agreed to help them in maths (it’s not yahaba’s strong point and he begged watari to join him)

you are the one responsible for stopping yahaba showing off, particularly when the gym floods with fangirls, most of them there to watch oikawa

he will flip his hair and affect an air very similar to oikawa which will frustrate you to no end. you will drag him off court by the ear, telling him to stop, threatening him with extra conditioning

matsukawa and hanamaki will definitely start snickering at the way his face reddens, focused more on this than the fact that they are meant to be improving their serves

you can always trust watari to help you out, no matter how much you insist that you don’t need it. he is the first to volunteer to help you set up the court, to help you carry the equipment for away games

now, the first years. if iwaizumi is the team dad, you are the mum

you dote on kindaichi and kunimi, trying to keep them away from matsukawa’s and hanamaki’s influence. you don’t want them to be corrupted by the pair. iwaizumi will help you but even he sees little point in stopping the inevitable

kindaichi was very awkward around you at the start. his brain couldn’t comprehend that a pretty girl was talking to him, let alone asking if he was okay, if he needed a drink

eventually, kindaichi relaxes. you are the one he turns to when he has a problem, explaining it all to you. if it involves another team member, you will encourage him to tell them, not wanting there to be fractures in the team. after all, aoba johsai thrives because of their great teamwork

kunimi is, as usual, very relaxed around you

most of the time, he barely acknowledges your fussing, simply waving you away and heading back onto the court to resume practice

however, if he wants to slack off (which he does often), it will be you he makes eye contact with. you know you shouldn’t condone this behaviour but, occasionally, you allow it. he promises he will pull through for the game and you believe him, though you do explain that if he slacks off too much it could mean risking his sport in the starting rotation

your quiet understanding is often what motivates him to keep going. he doesn’t want to disappoint you. plus, he has seen you angry and would rather not be the reason for that

oikawa is intimately familiar with your anger. the boy just seems to do everything possible to piss you off. what angers you most is the apparent disregard for his own health, but you don't take this out on him physically

you and iwaizumi team up to handle him, with both of you favouring a more violent approach (sometimes that's the only way to knock some sense into oikawa's brain)

while iwaizumi will throw either oikawa or various items such as volleyballs at him, you tend to favour a good old-fashioned slap to the back of the head

he always knows you're coming, his whole body tensing at the sound of your footsteps drawing closer to him. oikawa is almost more scared of you than iwaizumi, probably because you are more cold fury than fiery anger

that first night iwaizumi had asked you to stay behind after practice with him, your heart almost broke at the sight of oikawa pushing himself

you saw the sweat, watched him stumble, clutch at his damaged knee... but despite the pain, he kept pushing

as you watched, you grasped iwaizumi's hand, who was tense beside you, needing the physical anchor as much as you

"why does he do this to himself?" you questioned, watching as oikawa pushed up from the floor, landing awkwardly on his feet. still, he kept pushing

iwaizumi didn't bother to answer. the answer was obvious, and you both knew what it was. he needed to get better, for the team, for himself, for revenge

"if he keeps going like that, his knee will be permanently damaged and he can say goodbye to a volleyball career," said iwaizumi, jaw tight. hand still in yours, he marched onto the court

he finally released your hand to grab oikawa by the shirt and yank him away. his voice was a low growl as he spoke, "don't fucking complain. we've been here long enough and you're going home before you regret it"

"you're so... urgh, do you want to make me lose my mind with worry, tooru?" you sigh, wrapping an arm around his waist, more to reassure yourself that he was fine than to other support. he slung an arm over your shoulder, leaning on you slightly with iwaizumi at his other side

"didn't think you cared, y/n-chan," he teased, giving you an affectionate squeeze. you caught eyes with iwaizumi, rolling your own at oikawa's words

"of course i care. we both do"

from that night on, you and iwaizumi took turns watching oikawa, stopping him when it became clear that he was doing too much

on the nights when you had to watch him, you would sit in the corner of the gym on a video chat with matsukawa and hanamaki as you tried to do some homework (to be honest, you spent most of your time joking around and chatting, but the thought was there)

oikawa, though he never showed it, was grateful for you and iwaizumi's worry. it put a check on him which he would never admit to wanting, but needed desperately

on weekends, you and the third years will always meet up, be it to do homework or just watch a movie at someone's house

movie nights tend to be quite messy (it's not uncommon to be picking popcorn out of your hair at the end)

one time, you had fallen asleep on iwaizumi's shoulder only to wake up to his head flopped against yours and a snickering oikawa and hanamaki. the pair had taken great joy in drawing a moustache and beard on your faces, while matsukawa took photos (he's usually the one who takes your group photos and sends them to everyone at the end)

managing the team is mainly fun, though it does have its cursed moments

you weren't ashamed to admit that you cried, along with the rest of the third years, when you left

however, the tears did not stop you from giving your kouhais some strongly-worded advice

yahaba was warned to not think with his dick and to try his very best to not intimidate oikawa in his quest for some fangirls

kyoutani was told that you were only a phone call away and would not hesitate to scold him if he let his anger take control over his playing style

honestly, the only thing you wished watari was luck. he'd need it, especially as there was no manager to support them next year

kunimi you told to slack off less, though you wouldn't hold it against him if he did sneak off for a little nap during the school day so long as he was energised for volleyball

with kindaichi, you simply gave him a hug and told him to keep trying his best, to not beat himself up over every mistake he made

it was oikawa who insisted on a big group hug, pulling you and a rather disgruntled iwaizumi into his arms, the rest of the team happily bundling in

and, as you hugged each other, you were thankful iwaizumi had convinced you to join the team because you knew you had made friends for life

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Yandere halloween ask yandere mad scientist! Bruno uses mind control chip to get darling to be the perfect spouse?

This ask right here made my mouth froth, I love Stepford wives so this ask just rolled along perfectly. Anyway enjoy!

This love

(Yandere mad scientist Bruno X female reader)

You had always thought so highly of Dr Buccirati, you were his apprentice after all but there were times that you thought he just went a little too far with his work and this was one of them.

As he explained to you about how he made a chip that could modify an animal's behaviour. How the chip was planted in the rat's brain that you were holding.

"See (Y/n), look at how tame she is now" he said as he petted the poor creature's head.

"What do you intend to do with what you have learnt?" You asked with anger in your words.

"I intend to have the chip used to help with the conservation of the many animals that are close to being extinct. The animals will have the procedure and be put into captivity, they'll have no more issues with stress or aggressive behaviours which allows for them to be safely cared for and less risk during the reproduction cycle" he explained.

"So what you are saying is that you're going to be suppressing their natural survival instincts so they become domesticated?" You asked with a bitter taste on your tongue.

"That's exactly it, they'll have a safe place to repopulate and have nothing to worry about" he answered as he expressed his delight but it only made you grit your teeth in anger.

"I'm disgusted by what you are doing! You're essentially performing a lobotomy on these poor animals! You're playing god and taking away the emotions of a living creature!" You yelled at him.

"I've helped you work on some crazy things before… but I cross the line here!" You continued as you put the rat down in her cage before folding your arms at Bruno.

"Come on (y/n), you're overreacting… what I'm, no what we are working on is going to change history. So many species will be saved from becoming extinct. we will be two of the greatest scientific minds the world has ever know" he held your shoulder and lightly massaged it as he tried to convince you that there was no wrong in it.

"I don't know why you insist that this is a joint effort but I don't want anything to do with it, if people figure out how it works then it won't be long before this is used on humans… how many corrupt governments do you think would love to have this kind of technology used on their own people?" You rebuttal.

you glared at Bruno as you could see his usually calm demeanor wearing thin. He had his hands gripping his short black locks.

"(Y/n) the truth is that I love you, more than I could love anyone else. I want you to be by my side and I want you to be my equal…" he as his grip on you grew tighter.

"You are so intelligent and so beautiful… I just want you to do your best" he continued.

You pulled away the male with a shocked expression plastered on your face.

"Bruno… I didn't know you felt that way about me but I'm afraid I don't share the same feelings, I just don't think the chemistry is there between us" you told him before you headed to your bedroom.

🧪🧪🧪

You had decided you needed to cut ties from Bruno and finally begin your own work. You don't think anything could keep you working with him now. You began to pack your clothes back into your suitcase.

"(Y/n) are you planning on leaving now?" He asked as he rested himself against the door frame, he seemed to have recollected himself but to you something was off about his almost carefree tone.

"I intend to leave tomorrow" you said as you sat on your bed and folded your clothing.

"Don't you think you're blowing this out of proportion, can't we put the breaks on just talk about this over some tea..." he said as he slowly drew closer to you.

"I understand that you're upset and I didn't make things much better" he continued calmly before violently grabbing your hand causing you to fall back onto the bed before you heard a metallic click. You screamed as you tried to pull your hand back to find it was handcuffed to the head of the bed.

"What the hell?!" You screamed at Bruno who was now on top of you.

"I'm sorry that it had to come to this but I can't let you leave" he said.

"I love you too much to let you go… you're too good for this world" he continued.

You felt your stomach twist horribly and your vocal cords seize up. Your eyes were wide with horror.

"I dealt with my unrequited love for so long, I tried to just to put my feelings aside for you but I feel like if I keep it up any longer I'll explode" he rambled you tried to push him with your free hand but he was quick to hold it down.

🧪🧪🧪

It had been a month since he'd locked you up. You were curled up with your knees to your chest, you could see every little mark he'd ever left on your body, you still felt the sting that each love bite left on your skin. Today was cold and the chain and cuff around your ankle made it worse as you shivered in a silk nightgown.

You flinched as you heard the front door open. You had hoped that maybe that was anyone but Bruno, someone that could free you from this place. You heard a pair of footsteps draw closer, your hope dying as the same pattern tore into your brain… you knew he was home.

"(Y/n) I'm home" his voice was cheerful as he opened the door.

"I'm sorry I was later than usual… I found so many things I thought you'd like" he explained as he walked in with a large bag in his hand before placing it on the bed. You were hesitant to look but his sapphire eyes stared at you in anticipation, making your skin crawl.

You grabbed the bag and the first thing you pulled out was a 50s style white and black polka dotted dress. You looked at Bruno with a forced smile on your face.

"Bruno this is really nice but I've never really been a fan of dresses" you told him. He didn't respond. You pulled out another similar dress before picking out various boxes with golden jewelry till there was one more box inside, however it was rectangular in shape unlike the others. You pulled it out only to gasp in horror as you gazed upon the packaging of a pregnancy test. You looked back at him.

At this point you knew something was wrong, your stomach was telling you.

"What's going on?" You asked him with shakey words.

"I just need you to take it" he responded.

"Why?" 

"I need to know whether or not you're pregnant, it's urgent"

"Urgent, what's urgent?!" You yelled at him.

"You're being extremely vague, it's scaring me" you replied, unsure of what was so urgant. You really hoped you weren't, having to live knowing your child was of his blood.

"Just take it please, wouldn't you like to know as well?" He begged.

You had a bad feeling about this but if you knew now then you could try to do something about it if it did come back positive. You let out a defeated sigh as you unboxed the test.

"See you didn't need to make such a big deal about it dear" he said in a light hearted tone as he walked towards the bed and unlocked the shackle on your leg and allowed you to go to the bathroom.

You felt the relief wash over you as you saw the results. It was negative, perhaps you were getting yourself all worked up.

"(Y/n) dearest, what's the results?" Bruno asked from outside the bathroom door. You opened it and showed him, his eyes lit up with joy as he hugged you which was very odd indeed, you assumed he'd had baby fever… if that was the case shouldn't he be disappointed.

You recoiled as you felt a sharp jab on the inner side of your elbow. You saw the now empty syringe in his hand.

"What are you doing?!" You screamed as you stumbled back from his grasp. He looked at the syringe and let out a content hum before his eyes returned to you.

He contemplated on whether he should tell you or not but at this point you couldn't do anything to stop him so there was no point in hiding it.

"I remember back on the night you tried to leave fondly, in hindsight you gave me the most brilliant idea" he explained.

"That whole talk on how my chip could work on humans was really inspiring, so I'm going to do just that… if you won't love me like this, then I can just make you love me" he continued as a smile grew on his lips.

The shock hit you as he explained it all, it horrified you to imagine it. It shook you to the very core. Everything else seemed like a luxury in comparison to losing everything.

"Bruno, please don't do this! I love you so much!" You screamed as you draped your body over him.

"My dear I love you so much… I'll stay with you forever… I'll give you as many children as you want, please oh please don't do this!" You were practically sobbing as you tried to pull on his strings.

"I'll do anything for you, anything at all!" You continued as you felt everything becoming numb, he had you in his hands and he could do anything he wanted to you.

"Please Bruno, we can put this all behind us and start over… you never imprisoned me, you never did those things to me… we can be the happiest couple!" You pleaded to him as your eyelids grow heavy.

"Please… please… I won't be the same person you feel in love with if you do this…" your screams turned into a mutter and as you tried to fight off the deep abyss of unconsciousness you swore you could see a glimpse of your whole life with every slow blink.

🧪🧪🧪

"What you've made is amazing Bruno, you should be proud of your work" the man in front of Bruno complimented his work.

"Thank you sir, to be honest I wouldn't be here showing you this if it wasn't for my wonderful wife" he said as he beamed with joy.

"Oh, your wife must be an amazing woman to help you" the man replied.

"Yes she is. She always gave me the right idea when I was unsure, she'd be here with us right now if it weren't for the upcoming baby. She's just been so ecstatic about it since we found out" he stated as he had his head in his hand. He was over the moon with joy, he couldn't talk to someone without bringing up the fact that he was going to be a father soon.

"Oh congratulations, how long till it's due?" The male congratulated him.

"Oh it's close, we're expecting around October… It's hard to imagine that I'll be a father in two months"

"And how's the lucky lady feeling about this? My wife was pretty worried before our first" he asked.

"Oh she's been great, she's been taking it all in stride. I haven't seen her sick or having any mood swings like what most of us tend to expect" Bruno chuckled as he slumped back into his chair.

"We should probably get back on topic… I should probably explain how these chips work in detail"

[semischarmed]

Mine

Many coaches have come and taught the many iterations of our university team. Over the years, these coaches, like players, come and go. Good ones are hard to come by. Great ones are once in a lifetime. That was our Coach James.

He had a fatherly quality to him. There was a warmth in his training, a brightness when he would teach us. When we succeeded, he helped bring us up further and when we failed he softened the blow with his wisdom. Coach was great like that. Strictly professional, of course, but with a layer of genuine friendliness and a desire to watch us all succeed. He really was the perfect coach and we were blessed to have him. Still, in my lust, in my pure selfishness, I knew I had to have him- all of him to me and me alone. One long summer day, I ask for some one-on-one training. Never one to turn down a teaching opportunity, he complies. Like I said, he was a great coach.

I decide this would be the day. I run, but not too well. I throw, but haphazardly. That’s all it took for him to lean in. That’s all it took to get him close. Of course, he came with pure intentions- I did not. 

When he is right above me, when I feel the vibration in the air from his chest, when I feel his raw power and vitality. That is when I strike. I fuck up my throwing position a little more, and he guides it proper. Fuck yeah. Jesus, I could stay like this forever. I feel the resonance of his deep voice within my very soul. Beckoning to me. “Become me. You want this. You deserve this,” it taunts. He was still coaching me, sure, but my mind is preoccupied with dark intent. 

These gentle breaths as he speaks- these steady hands guiding mine to a better position. These would be my truths now. A most intimate of trainings. Coach James would be training me-sure- he would be training me to use that bod. I stare at him with longing. He would never look at me that way. God, I wanted him so bad. We glisten with the sweat of the midday sun. I could melt just like this. And in fact, I do.

In that grasp, in that teaching moment, I decide to teach coach a couple tricks myself. I look up at his face. Earnest. Strong. Patient. I watch his lips- they’re still moving- he’s still guiding me. Good. He hasn’t noticed my body begin liquifying. He continues on, unfazed. Unconcerned. He always did have that humble strength about him. 

I am drawn to those plump lips, to his perfect smile and the void behind them, to the force of his breath over me, and to the very vibration that created them. I am drawn to that body which I would make mine. I wrap his thick arms around me. Those goddamn arms. They pulse and tense in surprise. He finally catches on. “- Hey. What are you doing? What.. What is this?” I pay no mind. A breeze picks up and his scent fills me. I wrap myself in it. Old spice deodorant layered over the pungent, musk of a man. My man. My scent, soon enough. The air was ripe in pheromones. Testosterone. James. I inhale deeply, trying to catch as much of him as I could. His skin is nice, too. It’s a bit damp, a bit hot from the heat, but nice. I feel them stretch taught, struggling to contain the mass of muscle beneath. I draw his shocked embrace even closer, uncomfortably close. I feel him between concern over my melting form and a need to push me away. Works for me. I continue to liquify further. Faster. You will be mine, Coach.

The world stops for a moment- at least for me. Maybe adrenaline, maybe my imagination. I commit this scene to memory, the scene where I become something greater. The scene where the real Coach James is born.

I shoot up his nose and flood his mouth. His body is forced to gorge itself with my mass. With every breath he attempts to draw, he pulls the liquid me instead. He retches, attempting to vomit me out, but I just draw myself further in. Flooding and flooding, I saturate coach with myself. When all but the last of me is a dribbling of slime upon his cheek, I disperse inside him. I drill into his every crevice, swim through his bloodstream, bond with his ever piece. I settle deeper and deeper inside my coach. Until his body no longer recognizes my presence as foreign. Until I am coach. I incubate into him, my pieces dormant. 

Coach James awakes in the grass to the odd sight of a star-filled sky and a cold night breeze. “What the fuck...” he ponders, rubbing his head in confusion. He aches all over, yet he isn’t hungry. He digs into his memory, attempting to piece together the past few hours. I just spent them digesting this afternoon so he would have no success. 

Unclear on the past events, yet unfazed, he walks back to his car and heads home.

———

That first night was magical-for me. As for coach, I’m not quite sure. I am ever present in his dreams. Pleasure, I think, is how I’d describe what being inside James was like. In his dreams, in his deepest thoughts, I lay there to witness them. These were thoughts, these were ideas, these were emotions that only I would be sole witness to, along coach. Ecstasy. This was a piece of him we would share alone. I was like a part of him, and only I would know him fully to this extent. 

In the next few days after the events of that afternoon, Coach appeared a little more vain, a little more irritable. To my teammates he just seemed off. They catch glimpses of him checking himself out. They hear the barely audible moans from his office as he delicately feels his every part. 

“What the fuck was up with coach” They say. Little did they know the real question to ask was ‘what was up’ IN their coach. Little did they know it was the influence of their missing teammate, ingraining himself deeper and deeper into his beloved James.

Despite the changes, my coach resists me. The further I try to bond, the more his body rejects me. It is a 3 day affair. A push and pull. With every push, I gain momentary connection to that bod, only to have that fulfillment ripped from my now non-existent hands. He was a coach, after all. I should have known it would be a battle of wills. Still, there was someone I had that coach didn’t have-yet. My mind. I had a cleverness match-made for that hot bod. A cleverness he deserved. A cleverness that I would utilize to the fullest to make that match a reality. Coach was a happy, content man. I was not. He needed my ambition, my cleverness, my lust. That body deserved better.

I let up the assault on his mind. He feels himself winning, backing my parts into a corner. It’s here where I apologize profusely inside him. He accepts because, James was the kind of guy to pick someone up when they’re down. He accepts my apology foolishly as we decide upon the best way I may leave him. A chance. We decide to do so in the privacy of his home- for my sake, of course. Little did he know, I felt his resistance weakest there. He readies himself for my exit, relaxing so I may flow out of him. I ready myself for one final push. It was in that moment that I surround coach with my psyche, encapsulate his very soul.

 Coach James wakes up making an odd face his body has never made. It was a lustful, sinful grin. It was my grin. I start chuckling. My voice is deep, booming. We moan together as my dormant parts stir. We moan as it starts convulsing. The shaking was harsh. I puppet this body still and eager to accept more of me. It takes some resistance but it finally yields. Nothing good comes easy, after all. I stick my parts take their rightful places. Those bulging, slick arms? Mine. Powerful, vascular legs? Also mine. That thick, veiny cock? Fucking. Mine. I feel them inside me- I alight as his energy becomes mine. We tickle. We feel great. At long last, this body was mine. 

No. Further. I want everything he ever is, ever was. James was gonna give me that. I wanted permanence. No one would ever tear us apart. I decide on his soul. I decide on becoming that as well. I string his soul up, prisoner in its own body, unable to do much of anything until transformed by the poison of my very being. In the meantime, I pleasure my new self to grant him a taste of what we could have, what we could be, once he yielded. I use those thick python arms as my own. I gingerly trace my a newly muscular inner thigh. I shiver in delight. Fuck. We were sensitive. Who knew?

I stare at myself in the mirror. Oh god, oh god this was real, he was truly mine. “Here’s how to use this bod correctly” I mock in that gentle, instructive tone he had. I rush up to the mirror and start making out with myself. It’s cold. It warms up as I continue to lap at it with my tongue, as I continue to smear with these new plump lips of mine. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff, coach” I moan as him. The room is humid, dripping with pheromone, hot from the heat I am emanating in wearing my beloved coach. I touch my new dick for the first time, feeling his soul rile up. I feel his teaching sensibilities corrupt with my desire. As any good coach knows, never let them have a chance to fight back. Before he has a chance to react to my newfound control or my actions, I pump quickly, determinedly. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. Coach’s body was fucking hot. This was a fucking dream- Oh My god. “Oh. Oh. oh” Our moans ring like music to my new ears. And in that final resonance, I release with only one thought: “I’m Coach James”. His hand shakes in resistance. This was it. I force the hand still. Command it. It was my hand after-all. I scoop our cum in my hand. I give my hot new reflection a playful wink. “Bottoms up” I say to us both. Sweet Nectar. My Nectar. With every taste and of his own milk, he perverts own senses, dilutes his very self. He has obviously never tasted himself to this capacity- because I finally feel his soul reflexively bond to mine. He tries to pull back. Like I’d let him. I greedily keep us tethered together. Then, he relents. There’s my James. 

When he finally yields I feel his memories, his feelings, hopes open up. I take them all. Distort them. I take all of him into me, meld them with myself until we were but one soul. They were me, now. My memories, sure. My senses. My feelings- fuck yeah, but inundated, saturated with my lust. Hopes- not a fucking chance. My hopes and dreams for this body are far greater. Coach James was greater that that. I was greater than that. I am the James the world deserves. 

I am left panting by the end of it. Ecstasy reverberates. It’s all me in here, baby. My coach- I was reborn. Tears stream down my cheeks. “Call me James” I say with newfound truth and intent. That name came naturally to me. I was fully him, after all.

———

‘New James’ is fucking kinky. Dirty. Narcissistic. As much as I love bossing around the kids, I love playing with myself even more. I got some great parts. Look at this fucking bicep. Teaching? Fuck that. Fuck the team. New James is ripe with ambition and power. “James Harrison got better fucking things to do that teach some stupid fucking kids,” I spit in the mirror as caress myself. Yeah. This bod’s a fucking power trip. So much more New James can do with his time. 

“New” might be a bit of a misnomer. I am James, in body mind and soul. I am James, in past-present and future. All he ever was? All he ever will be? Me. I am James, forever. And I aint no fucking coach.

-End-

Just a quick one.

[bitches-who-write]

As I Say (Part 2) Henry Bowers

Part 2 is finally here of @lazzs request!

Upcoming: Vic part 3, Belch part 4

Word count: 1,539

Warnings- Foul language, Very derogatory name calling, Sexual themes implied, Aggressive behavior.

Warnings: Foul language, Very offensive name calling, Sexual themes implied, Aggressive behavior… You’ve been warned!

Henry’s POV: 

I’ve been eyeing Y/N for a few weeks now. Taking in the way she clutches onto her books tightly to her chest as she rushes to class; head down avoiding eye contact, always hiding behind her hair and loose- fitting clothes. I notice the way she stutters and blushes when she's made to give a presentation in front of the  class. Biting her bottom lip and fidgeting as she’s on the spot. Even when she’s with those loser friends of hers, she’s so fucking quiet... so self conscious.

It makes her the perfect target. After watching her for a bit, it’s given me a few ideas of what I  want to do with this little slut. She seems so innocent it’d be fun to corrupt her.

-End POV- 

Y/N is pretty  self conscious  when it comes to wearing swimsuits in front of people. Even your everyday clothing is on the baggy side. It’s just not something you’re super comfortable with for no reason in particular.   You had just spent a nice afternoon at the beach. You purposely chose a less crowded beach that rarely anyone even goes to just to avoid others. You even went as far as to go alone just for the alone time so you could relax.  You left the house pretty early, around 10am and spent the entire day there but accidentally lost track of time. When you checked the time now, it was reading 4:30pm.  You make your way to the restroom/ changing area, switch out of your swimsuit and put on a loose fitting, casual black dress that ended just above your knee and slipped on your  flip flops. You quickly ball up your towel and swimsuit, throwing  it all in your bag and begin walking home. Since you had headphones in listening to music, you didn't even hear (or notice) Patrick sneaking up behind you. He grabs you from behind, covering your mouth as he pulls you back. Your legs trying to kick out but doing nothing to help you.  You still have no clue who this was and where you were being dragged off to.  It was not until you were turned harshly and tossed into a car. Your practicaly face-plant onto someone's lap.  You quickly realized it was Patrick who grabbed you),  along with Belch (the driver), and Vic in the backseat (who unfortunately you fell on)  but surprisingly no Henry.  Your face still on Vic’s lap makes the guys laugh; especially when Vic grabs you by the hair and purposely  bobs your head up and down, pretending as if you were performing a sexual act on him.  You struggle out of his grip and fall back into Patrick who catches you and stabilizes you to catch your balance. 

Y/N’s POV: 

Too nervous to ask any questions, Patrick smirks knowingly and answers the questions I have in my head. “Don’t worry too much, princess… Henry just wants to see you. It won't be all that bad… unless you don’t listen. Then that’s a different story, princess” He chuckles darkly as the fear spreads across my face even more. I cower between  Vic and Patrick who are smirking at me as they sandwich me in between them. Patrick puts his hand under my dress, rubbing my bare thigh like the perv he is. I try my best to remain calm but the fear takes over and I begin to tremble.  I keep my head down silently crying,  trying to hide my tears and blushing face; feeling embarrassed to have them see or hear me crying like this; but it’s too late.. Being stuck between them, they felt me trembling from crying.  That only made them laugh more at my expense and mock me with “awws”.  Vic chuckles and puts his arm around my shoulder.  He leans forward to look at Patrick and up in the rearview mirror to look at  Belch, too.  “No wonder why Henry likes this one, just look at her.” He pulls me to his side tighter, looking down at me as I continue to cower. Vic  smiles with satisfaction knowing he’s intimidating me.  After what feels like forever, we pull up to the Barrens.  Patrick hops out of the car, yanking me out behind him and grabbing the bag I have with me. He shoves me harshly towards a smirking Henry who is sitting on a rock and smoking a cigarette.  “Got her for ya Henry… Have fun.”  With that, he winks and walks back to the car.  The 3 took off, tired screeching,  leaving only me and Henry together alone.

Henry eyes me up and down as he walks around me. Kind of like how animals circle their prey. His lips curl up into a creepy smile as he says, “hey slut, I’ve been waiting for you.”  I finally worked up the courage to speak. “W-Wh-What do you w-want?” I crooke out, gulping in fear. He ignores my question and continues to gawk at me. Finally he speaks up. “I want to see that body of yours.”  My eyes widened as instant panic filled my body.  What does he mean “see my body”?? I’ve never done anything or dressed in a way  to give off the impression that I want sexual attention from him before so why me?  There were plenty of girls who throw themselves at the Bower’s Gang but not me! I blush and keep my head down.  “W-What do you mean, Henry?” I whisper nervously. He tilts my head up using his pointer finger and thumb to direct my chin up.  His eyes meet mine.  They look cold yet excited at the same time.  He then  grabs my bag, rummaging through it until he pulls out my swimsuit and smirks. 

Henry walks closer to me, shoving the swimsuit into my chest. “Put it on..now” he demanded with an authoritative tone. I looked up at him hesitantly  “B-but- I..I really don’t want to..” I say pleadingly as my voice trails off  but Henry has no remorse for me. He grabs me tightly by my ponytail, yanking me down and begins to drag me on the dirt ground. I’m half in the fetal position now, trying to cover my head; wincing at the pain. “I SAID FUCKING PUT IT ON, CUNT! You have two seconds before I cut that dress off you!” He warns, still holding me down by my hair; my head tilted back so I’m forced to look at him, while his knee holds down my body. He lets up as I begin to cooperate, frantically shaking my head yes as tears well up in my eyes. I pull the bottoms on. Luckily my dress covers me, giving me some form of privacy there, but the top is a different story.  I freeze knowing he’s watching my every move. I go to turn so my back is to him, hoping to  hide my chest at least but as soon as I begin to move, his harsh voice yells out. “Did I fuckin’ say you can turn away? You should be used to this slut. From what I hear, practically the whole town has seen you….now it’s my turn. I’m not asking you Y/N, I’m telling you.” He says, smirking once more. Again, I hesitantly freeze but after his prior outburst I certainly don’t want to upset him further.  My face becomes bright red as I remove my dress, only in my swimsuit bottoms. I try to block my chest by turning my elbows inwards as I tie the back of the bikini top. Once I’m dressed, I stand there with my arms folded and head down. 

Henry takes my arms and puts them to my side. He then trails his calloused hands down my arms and to the sides of my waist.. I shiver and flinch, making him laugh knowing he has full control over the situation.  He takes a step back and proceeds to take out a camera. What the hell? I think to myself. He then grabs me by my hair again and yaks me down to my knees. I close my eyes not knowing what to expect but then I hear the shudder of the camera go off. I slowly open my eyes again, looking up at Henry confused. He slowly turns the camera towards me to show me the photo. 

Due to the angle, the picture looked extremely suggestive.  It looked like something straight out of a porno because of the position Henry placed me in.   My eyes are red and tear-filled.  “You look so good on your knees for me.”  He said, using his thumb to wipe a tear away. “And now I know how these eyes will tear up when you’re gagging on my cock later.” 

After a few more sexual comments were made, Henry then warned me what I have to do for him.  If I don’t submit to his demands, he will use that provocative photo of me as blackmail and God knows what else he will do. It is Henry fucking Bowers we’re talking about here and you have to do as he says, afterall.