#and most likely more sin and testament

[societyfolklore]

A Lesson in Restraint

Title: A Lesson in Restraint

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Summary:  Loki, ever the god of control, plays a tormenting game of pleasure and denial, keeping you on the edge of madness with teasing touches and cruel restraint.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Smut, Implied Sex, ‘Just the tip’  Edging & Denial, Mild Degradation & Teasing, Dominance & Submission Themes NO BETA

A/N: ‘just the tip’ – Loki (Will be covering others over the next few days)  because the idea wont let my mind go today..

Loki thrives on control-his own, and especially yours.

It’s the game he enjoys most, the delicious contrast of power and submission. You are completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him, your body instinctively responding to every slow, measured roll of his hips as he just grinds against you. His smirk is a blade, sharp and knowing, as he whispers against your ear, his breath a sinful caress.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimper, the sound swallowed by his lips ghosting along your jaw, down the sensitive line of your throat. His hands roam, teasing, never giving enough. He brushes his fingers down your sides, lingering over the swell of your hips, as if contemplating how best to break you. When ever you try to move, to take more, his grip tightens, effortlessly pinning you in place. Never enough to give proper friction never letting you move your hips to catch the right angel. 

“Ah, ah,” Loki tsks, amusement laced in every syllable. “Patience, darling. Did you think I’d simply give you what you want?”

By now, you’re wrecked. He’s been at this for what feels like forever, coaxing you to the edge only to pull you back at the last second, leaving you raw, shivering, so painfully desperate that every inch of your body burns for him. Your skin is hypersensitive, every brush of his fingers sparking through you like a live wire. Your thighs are slick, your breathing ragged, and Loki-oh, Loki is savouring every second of your unravelling.

But this is only the culmination of a night spent under his careful hands. He’s had you pressed to every surface imaginable-against the cool wood of the table, bent over the arm of the couch, sprawled beneath him in bed-each time giving you just enough to wind you up, but never enough to break. He’s brought you to the edge with his tongue, with his fingers, with whispered promises that never quite became reality. Every time your release loomed, he pulled back, smirking at your desperation.

“Look at you,” he muses now, a dark pleasure in his voice. “So needy. So desperate. I could keep you like this forever.”

You feel sticky, coated in a thin layer of sweat, your hair damp and messy from how long he’s been tormenting you. Every inch of you is flushed, overheated, every nerve alert. The sheets beneath you cling to your skin, a testament to how thoroughly he’s worked you into this state. It only adds to your frustration, the overwhelming sensation of need pressing down on you from every direction.

His cock drags through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal, teasing you with every deliberate glide. The head of him nudges at your clit, sending a shudder ripping through you, but he never presses in, never gives you what you crave.

“Have you earned it, I wonder?” His voice is silk, threaded with wicked amusement. “Have you been good enough for me?”

The barest push of his cock inside you has you gasping, your fingers scrambling for purchase against his shoulders. Finally, it’s going to happen-he’s going to take you like you need him to. But no. It’s barely anything at all.. he pulls back again, just enough to keep you dangling on the precipice of madness.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as he watches the frustration flicker across your face. "Did you really think I'd make it that easy for you?" he purrs, dragging himself through your slick folds once more, letting you feel every teasing, torturous inch without ever granting you true satisfaction. "Tell me, darling-what makes you think you’ve earned this?"

The whine that comes from you doesn't sound like a noise a person should me.  

“Do you deserve to have me inside you, darling?” His words drip with condescension, teasing, testing. “I think you like this-being denied, being kept on edge. Look at you, so beautifully desperate for me.” You wanted to cry as he pulled back out the tip of him leaving, all so he could drag it back through your wetness again.  Teasing, torturing, smearing your arousal along his length as he watches you shudder beneath him. He loves this, making you tremble, making you beg. “You need to prove yourself worthy of it,” he purrs, pressing the head against your entrance only to pull away once more, reveling in the way your body clenches, seeking more. “Perhaps I should leave you like this, aching, untouched?” "No, no, no… please.” Your pleas are a meaningless babble, a desperate chant that falls on deaf ears. The denial, the exquisite torment, is pushing you past the point of coherence. Your body writhes beneath him, every nerve frayed, every inch of you desperate for relief.

Loki only hums, pleased by the way you tremble beneath him. His fingers trace idle patterns over your hips, his touch feather-light compared to the unbearable pressure coiling inside you. He watches, drinking in every little gasp, every pitiful sound.

“Such a pretty thing when you beg,” he muses, his tone all mocking adoration. “But have you truly learned your lesson? Do you understand now that nothing is given freely?”

His cock moves along you again, now teasing himself as much as he is teasing you. Every motion is measured, calculated to keep you right there, teetering between pleasure and torment. He presses the head against you, not quite pushing in, letting you feel the promise of him, the heat, the sheer size of what you so desperately crave.

“Tell me, darling,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, “do you deserve me?” You nodded too quickly. 

“You think you can handle all of me, darling?” He chuckles, low and dark, watching your face, drinking in the way you clench around him, desperate. “How precious.”

You writhe, your thighs trembling around his hips, but he stays right there, maddeningly still. A slow grind, a teasing pulse of movement, and then nothing. Again and again, keeping you hovering on the edge of madness. His hands explore you leisurely, fingers dragging over your skin, marking his path with the ghost of his touch. He cups your breast, pinching a hardened nipple between his fingers, making you cry out, only for him to pull away again.

“Such a greedy little thing,” he muses. “But greed will get you nowhere.”

You can feel the cruelty in his touch, in the way he gives and then takes, lets you taste heaven before snatching it away. That is his way, after all-Loki never offers pleasure without the balance of torment. And tonight, he is in a mood to make you drink from both cups in equal measure.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red crescents against his skin, your frustration mounting with every tease, every denied pleasure. The slow, torturous game continues, Loki offering fleeting touches, brief movements, but never enough to tip you over the edge. The ache in your core is unbearable, a pulse of heat winding tighter and tighter, but he keeps you right there, just shy of bliss.

The anticipation is unbearable, the pleasure bordering on pain. “Loki,” you whine, every syllable thick with frustration, with need. “Please.”

He hums, considering. He enjoys this part, making you work for it, making you say the words he wants to hear. His fingers grip your chin, tilting your head so you meet his gaze, those blue eyes alight with cruel delight.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking over the pulse pounding in your throat. “You’ll have to beg much prettier than that.”

He shifts just enough to tease you further, his cock pressing forward barely an inch before he pulls back again, his smirk widening as you whimper in frustration. His thumb drags across your lower lip, his voice a silken purr.

“Tell me how badly you want it,” he instructs. “Tell me you belong to me.”

Your breath stutters, a fresh wave of heat rolling through you at the command. For a brief moment, something inside you wars against it-pride, dignity, a sliver of defiance buried beneath the need. But it’s fleeting, crumbling under the weight of how desperately you want him. Your body betrays you, shifting instinctively toward him, aching for relief, and any thought of resistance melts away as quickly as it appeared. You hesitate, but the need outweighs pride.

“I'm aching, please..." The need, the throbbing at your center is starting to hurt. You feel like you're going to lose your mind if he keeps it up.

He tsks, shaking his head, lips brushing yours. “Not good enough, darling.”

Your entire body shudders, the overwhelming pressure winding tight in your core like a drawn bowstring, stretched to its very limit, threatening to snap at any moment. “Please, Loki,” you try again, voice raw with desperation. “Please, Loki, I'll do anything. Just give me what I need. I can't take it." Your voice cracks in a pathetic sob. 

A flicker of satisfaction gleams in his gaze before he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. His hips press forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop.. You are completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him, your body instinctively responding to every slow, measured roll of his hips. His smirk victorious and knowing, as he whispers against your ear, his breath a sinful caress.

[marstons-angel]

i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is. 

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you. 

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often. 

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting. 

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love. 

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him. 

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last. 

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him. 

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long. 

Almost being what matters most. 

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no. 

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special. 

And that makes it worse. 

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in. 

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his. 

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word. 

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him. 

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.  

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be. 

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless. 

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe. 

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully. 

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago. 

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck. 

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body. 

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you. 

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always. 

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them. 

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?” 

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression. 

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,” 

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.” 

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you. 

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?” 

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all. 

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,” 

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?” 

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea. 

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking. 

Pretending to think. 

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?” 

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.” 

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?” 

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,” 

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,” 

“Javier.” 

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.” 

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite. 

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?” 

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,” 

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more. 

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically. 

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?” 

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer. 

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy. 

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it’s like this. Did you forget?” 

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal. 

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral. 

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard. 

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,” 

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all. 

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again. 

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,” 

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,” 

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you. 

“Gonna cum soon, huh?” 

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak. 

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,” 

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.” 

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh. 

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes. 

“Are you with me still, do you think?” 

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple. 

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.” 

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.” 

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.” 

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.” 

“Please,” 

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.” 

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.” 

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.” 

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,” 

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,” 

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.” 

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe. 

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”  

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard. 

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,” 

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?” 

“Should open you up a little.” 

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch. 

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite. 

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased. 

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles. 

“One more, okay? Just the one.” 

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,” 

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,” 

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard. 

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined. 

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs. 

“Like the view?” 

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.” 

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,” 

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself. 

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,” 

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much. 

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out. 

You feel good. God, you feel good. 

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway? 

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw. 

“Feel good?” 

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,” 

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?” 

“Please,” 

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.” 

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure. 

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard. 

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.” 

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.” 

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go. 

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted. 

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?” 

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,” 

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around. 

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[zant8024]

Mainline Mark Grayson x Male!Reader headcanons and I guess a mini fic..? (First time posting, but Invincible has a chokehold on me)

You and Mark Grayson had been boyfriends for a while now, however you were an ordinary college student and he was Invincible, your lives were entirely different once he got his powers, there wasn't much time for you both to spend together. However, windows of opportunity did come every now and then, but he was often pent up and clearly frustrated… not at you of course, but the way his eyes never left yours, as something more than just longing simmered beneath the surface.

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who is desperate to lay his hands on you, mapping out every inch of your body against his and ensuring that every inch of you isn't neglected. He's so pathetic and needy, but also controlling and demanding at the same time, the duality of his desperation for you, sending tremors across your body.

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who presses soft kisses across your neck and collarbones, being gentle at first, as he takes in your scent and moans into your ears. He tells you about his day like it's the most important thing in the world, whining about how much he missed your touch, your scent, your body against his. His soft kisses turn into harsh nips and bites, leaving dark bruises to bloom across your neck, much to your pleasure but also humiliation, as you had classes to attend to the day after. You had a reputation to maintain and couldn't be seen as a walking whore across campus, yet the way Mark's lips pressed against your skin felt absolutely right…. sinfully so…

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who apologizes breathlessly against your ear, grinding his clothed erection against yours, his hard cock creating a noticeable bulge beneath his suit, the friction becoming all the more intense as his body heat seemed to only intensify with each passing second. Despite apologizing for how rough he's being, the freshly dark marks that cover your entire neck and chest tell a different story.

Pent Up Mark Grayson, so desperate to be inside you is already leaking copious amounts of precum when you both undress each other. His erection presses against yours and almost immediately his hips buck against yours, grinding and pressing both your cocks against each other. He ruts against you like an animal in heat, panting against your ear, as a strong arm is wrapped around your waist, while his other hand is wrapped around your neck.

"Need you so bad Y/N please… let me have this fuck…. need to be inside you so badly, I promise I'll be gentle, just say you need me too baby…" How could you say no Mark when his glossy eyes were locked against yours, expression torn between lust, desperation and need for you.

When you nod and silence him with a kiss, he pushed you towards your bed and continued to bombard you with heavy kisses.

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who despite his desperation and need to be inside you, to claim you as his in the most primal way possible, actually takes his time prepping you, using the lube on your nightstand to stretch you out, his fingers working their way through your tight heat.

"Does that feel good Y/N..? You're always so tight no matter how many times I fuck you…" Mark's hot breath washed over your neck, his lips trailing from the shell of your ear, down to your neck where he left more hickeys.

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who lets out the most guttural and sinful moan when finally sheathed inside you. His big cock creates a thin outline on your stomach, a testament to his girth that was spreading you apart.

"Do you see that baby?" His large hand would press against the outline on your stomach, his eyes locked against yours in sinful desire. "Always so tight for me… my fucking Good Boy~"

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who angles his cock just right to abuse your prostate with every deep thrust, sending you over the edge and eliciting loud moans to escape your lips. He never gets bored of how pathetic and needy you are beneath him, how equally hungry you were for him to take you like this. He wishes he could stay like this with you forever, if there was a way where he would become one with you, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who cums deep inside you, filling your tight heat with his molten seed and sending you on the brink of insanity, as your orgasm washes over you, ruining the bedsheets you both were rutting against.

Pent Up Mark Grayson, who despite ravaging and claiming you thoroughly, takes aftercare seriously and ensures that you are properly soothed and tucked into bed, as his large frame wraps around you, lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

[starmocha]

HELLO. MAY I INTEREST YOU IN SOME FALLEN ANGEL CALEB BRAINWORM

very much based on this previous post I had made lol

btw i'm also begging for an angel/devil au, but we're the devil he falls in love with and he gets cast out of heaven and i would totally write this if i was not juggling 82438238932 wips rn.....but we'll see i tend to do the most impulsive things ever

tagging some ppl who i feel like to enable my intrusive brainworms often <333 @solifloris @aeyumicore @deepspacenova @quiet-oracle @philosians

this is totally not based on all of the biblical references/symbolism surrounding Caleb

apple — symbolizes knowledge, but also temptation, sin, immortality. and as in the story of Adam and Eve in the Book of Genesis, it also represents the fall of man. Also known as the "forbidden fruit".

name — The name Caleb is of Hebrew origin, meaning wholehearted, faithful and dog-like. In the Old Testament, a follower of Moses named Caleb, was rewarded for his faithfulness and was one of the few to visit the Promised Land.

Caleb's love of flying and being in the sky — ...no angel reference here, no sirree.

Caleb returning to the main story after the...explosive...events of chapter four...I'm not saying it's a rebirth (which in a biblical sense could mean a number of things, including seeking forgiveness and salvation).

Caleb and MC both talking about keeping the other person to themself, in a world of their own.......could mean anything. Not like it's a direct reference to Adam and Eve only having each other in the Garden of Eden, their own paradise. Oh what's this, one of Caleb's theme songs is called "Weightless Paradise" ....what a coincidence.....

The report stating Caleb and MC are the optimal weapon for destroying one another...probably means nothing. Never mind the fact that Eve was also created for Adam from one of Adam's ribs.

And she is the one who persuades him to eat the forbidden fruit, setting in motion their exile from Eden.

Surely, the gratuitous back shots are not trying to make you think of wings, right.

It's probably just a coincidence that the back of Caleb's uniform looks like there's an emblem of wings. And oh, what's that, when he is hurt in battles, his uniform is torn the most in the back...not saying this is trying to depict his wings being mutilated and torn off. 🙂

But you should all absolutely read @eeriepromis analysis about seraphim for funsies.

Choosing to give Caleb the Evol to manipulate gravity was probably not intentional........not like he could make himself float almost like he is flying............

I'm sure this means absolutely nothing that in the third theme song Cosmic Encounter, Caleb and MC are both falling from the sky (the "heavens," if you will). 🙂 This probably has nothing to do with the image of him being cast out of Heaven and fallen from grace.

random lines that I am in no way inferring he is speaking like he is her guardian angel

"I'm Caleb. I'll always be by your side." — Main Story: Homecoming Wings, 1-4

"Lay a hand on her again, and I will kill you." — Main Story: Homecoming Wings, 1-9

"I will protect you." — Main Story: Homecoming Wings, 2-7

"No one can take me away from you." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"Then, can you carry a little of this sin, too? Don't leave me in this loneliness any longer." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"...When you held my hand that day for the first time, I knew I'd never get away from you." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"So, don't be afraid... No matter what happens, I'll be here for you." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"Maybe it's because... I love you a little more than you realize." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"But until that final moment, we'll always be together." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"Even if it's pain... As long as it's from you, I want it." — Memoria: Painful Signal

"Don't go... Don't leave me alone." — Memoria: Endless Summer

"A ruined world doesn't deserve you." — Memoria: Hidden Waves

"I want you to stay here. Stay with me." — Memoria: Hidden Waves

"Let me protect you... I can guarantee this will be the last time." — Bond: Rain's Embrace

"I won't lose! I have someone I must protect!" — Memoria: Deceptive Solitude

✨fallen angel Caleb myth pls✨

✨pretty pls fallen angel Caleb myth✨

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 7 - Magical Fleshlight

Mountain x Reader

Fuck… why does this feel so real? It’s so… wet. Holy shit.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 6k.

Reading Time: 24 min.

Warnings: elements of crack!fic, masturbation, multiple orgasms, noncon, non-discussed sexual activity, public, PIV sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Mountain slumped onto the bed, sighing heavily as he bounced softly on the plush springs. The day had dragged on endlessly, each hour dragging him further into a storm of stress and fatigue. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the tight knots in his back that throbbed with every movement, and the cramping beginning to form in his legs, a testament to the physically demanding tasks he’d faced. All he wanted was to escape into the soothing embrace of sleep.

Curling up onto his side, he nestled into the cool sheets, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the roughness of his day. As he logged onto Instagram, the flickering glow of his phone illuminated the dim room, casting playful shadows against the walls. It was a moment of solace, a brief respite from the chaos of the outside world.

Then, your most recent picture appeared on his timeline, and a jolt of electricity surged through him. You were stunning, radiating a captivating allure that pulled him in like a moth to a flame. The memory of the dress you wore last night flickered in his mind—a form-fitting creation that hugged your curves perfectly, its delicate fabric accentuating every feature that drove him wild. He could almost see it bunched up around your waist, his imagination running riot as he pictured the scene.

His heart raced at the thought, and he cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he tried to dispel the imagery. No. He couldn’t think like that. Not now, not when he was exhausted and vulnerable. But the temptation lingered, clawing at the edges of his mind like an unquenchable fire. He longed to reach out, to hold you close, to forget the weight of the world for just a moment.

He swiped through your photos, each one more intoxicating than the last—your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. Each image only deepened his frustration and desire, intertwining with the stress of the day, creating a tangled web of emotions he found hard to unravel. The solitude of his room felt stifling, an echo of his longing that was now amplified by your presence on his screen.

Mountain’s thoughts drifted, his body still heavy with weariness yet somehow ignited by an unshakeable yearning. The contrast of his physical exhaustion and the vivid allure of you made his chest tighten. He wanted to rest, to forget his troubles, but he also craved something more—something electric, passionate, and intoxicating.

With a deep breath, he set his phone down, staring at the ceiling as he tried to clear his head. The images of you still danced in his mind, teasing him mercilessly. Perhaps a little distraction would help? A warm shower, a drink, or maybe… just maybe, a little bit of magic to soothe his aching body and restless thoughts. He could picture you there beside him, laughter filling the air, and a shiver of anticipation raced down his spine.

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to scrub the image of you beneath him from his mind, but it was too late. The fantasy had taken root, blossoming into something far too vivid to ignore. His body was already responding, a heat rising in him that seemed to defy his efforts to suppress it.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, his heart pounding as he fought to regain control. The bed felt too soft, too inviting, and his thoughts were spiralling into tantalising possibilities. The way you had looked in that dress—the way it had clung to your body, accentuating your curves—sent a rush of heat coursing through him. He could almost feel your skin beneath his fingertips, the way your body would yield to his touch, inviting him in, urging him to explore.

Mountain clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms as if to ground himself. He was all too aware of the growing tension in his lower abdomen, a primal response that stirred within him, demanding attention. It was maddening. No, he thought firmly, pushing back against the wave of desire. He needed to focus on anything else—work, the tasks ahead, the mess he’d need to clean—but his mind was relentless, cycling back to you.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room as he tried to shake off the intrusive thoughts. Each step seemed to echo with the memory of your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief, and the intoxicating scent of your perfume. It wrapped around him like a fog, clouding his judgment and amplifying his longing.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, the words barely making it past clenched teeth. But as he turned, his gaze fell upon the fleshlight sitting innocently on the bedside table—a recent acquisition, born of desperation and curiosity. The relic hummed softly, as if it sensed his turmoil, and suddenly, he felt a magnetic pull toward it.

Could it really help him escape the throbbing desire that gripped him so tightly? With a tentative hand, he reached for the enchanted device, the cool surface grounding him momentarily as he contemplated his options. It had been whispered among friends that this magical relic could bring fantasies to life, enabling a connection that was both intimate and otherworldly.

Magic? As if. That sounded like the plot of a shitty smutty novel. There was no magic in the real world.

He glanced back at his phone, at your radiant smile, and felt a surge of determination wash over him. Why not give it a try? Perhaps, just this once, he could indulge in a fantasy—a fleeting moment of pleasure that could distract him from the gnawing stress of the day.

With a deep breath, Mountain took a seat on the edge of the bed, the tension still simmering within him as he examined the magical fleshlight in his hands. If there was ever a time to explore the boundary between reality and fantasy, it was now. He was ready to surrender, if only for a little while.

He ran his finger over the fleshlight’s clitoris, the smooth surface cool against his heated skin. The mere touch sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a flicker of anticipation in his belly. The magical device seemed to hum with energy, almost as if it were alive, responding to his touch and urging him to let go of his inhibitions. As his imagination began to weave vivid images of you, he closed his eyes, allowing the fantasy to envelop him.

*

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with dusty tomes and parchment scrolls. The warm, golden light from the lamps cast a comforting glow, but it did little to dispel the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin. Traveling for the Ministry had worn you out, leaving a mountain of work to tackle. You felt as if you were drowning beneath the weight of it all, buried under reports and briefings that demanded your attention.

Determined to catch up, you hunched over your desk, your quill scratching furiously against the parchment. The words began to blur together as your mind wandered, drawn back to thoughts of Mountain. You couldn’t shake the image of him, powerful and stoic, but with an undeniable softness lurking beneath the surface. That intense gaze of his always made your heart race, igniting a warmth that spread through you.

It was maddening, really, how one thought of him could send your concentration spiraling. You shifted in your chair, the tension in your back protesting the long hours spent hunched over your work. A sigh escaped your lips as you glanced at the clock, realising how late it had grown. The library felt even quieter now, the stillness pressing in around you, amplifying your restlessness.

But that was when you felt it. A sudden, electrifying swipe over your clitoris, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook, heart racing as confusion and curiosity battled within you. What on earth was happening?

You glanced around the library, half-expecting to see someone teasing you, but the room remained empty, the silence thick with the weight of ancient knowledge. The sensation pulsed again, rhythmic and insistent, as if someone—something—was touching you beneath your clothes. Your breath caught in your throat, the combination of surprise and intrigue igniting a warmth deep within. You stood up and moved seats, thinking that was the problem, but when the swipe came a second time, you almost screamed. It felt so good, somehow?

With every pulse, the sensation felt more intense and quicker, drawing you deeper into an exhilarating haze. You clenched your thighs together, instinctively searching for relief as you fought to maintain your composure. The rhythmic touches seemed to dance along your most sensitive areas, teasing and inviting with each electric caress.

Your breath hitched as you pressed your legs together, seeking some form of control, but the warmth pooled low in your belly, a heated pressure that was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the paper in front of you, but the words swam before your eyes, fading into the background as your entire being concentrated on the sensation that was almost overwhelming.

What if it was Mountain? The thought sent a shiver through you. You had shared so many lingering glances, those moments charged with unspoken desire. Your brain kept showing you images of him next to you, hands beneath your habit and flicking over your clit so expertly, you were getting closer and closer to the precipice by the second.

Another pulse shot through you, sharper and more insistent than before. You gasped, gripping the edge of the desk for support. Your mind raced, torn between the fantasy of Mountain orchestrating this and the reality of being in the library, surrounded by centuries of knowledge and solitude.

The teasing sensation flickered again, and you could feel it mirroring the rhythm of your heartbeat, tugging at your very core. You could hardly contain yourself; a soft moan escaped your lips, echoing against the high ceilings of the library. The sound startled you, and you quickly glanced around, but there was still no one in sight.

Swallowing hard, you weighed your options. You could leave the library, escape this unexpected spell, or you could embrace it, surrender to the sensations that were taking over your body. The tension in your back seemed to dissipate, replaced by a throbbing warmth that surged through you with every pulse.

You took a deep breath, heart pounding in anticipation. What would happen if you let yourself explore this strange new sensation? What if this was a glimpse into something deeper, something shared with Mountain that had yet to be spoken?

Finally, you settled back into your seat, heart racing as you surrendered to the unknown. With each wave of pleasure, you began to ride the rhythm, feeling the magic course through you. The lines of reality blurred as you imagined Mountain’s hands—strong yet gentle—working their magic on you. The fantasies you had buried deep within began to surface, filling your mind with images of him, of you, lost in a world of desire.

As you surrendered to the sensations, a part of you still wondered how long you could remain in this secret world, caught between the throes of pleasure and the reality of your surroundings. But for now, all that mattered was the intoxicating feeling of the unknown, and the powerful connection that pulsed between you and Mountain, drawing you ever closer.

The sensations grew stronger, more insistent, every pulse of pleasure pushing you closer to the edge. Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk, knuckles white as you fought to keep silent, your breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps. The magical teasing seemed to know exactly where to touch, how to drive you wild without mercy, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. You could barely focus on anything but the pressure building inside you, hot and unbearable.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to stifle the moans threatening to escape your lips. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to walk in and find you like this, overwhelmed by invisible hands, pleasure coursing through you in the middle of the quiet library. But the thought of being caught only seemed to heighten the thrill, a dangerous mix of arousal and anticipation that made the heat within you coil tighter.

The rhythm became more relentless, the electric pulses caressing your clitoris and sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You pressed your thighs together again, trying to ease the tension, but it only made the feeling more intense, more impossible to resist. Your body was trembling, your heart pounding in your chest, your breaths coming in quick, ragged bursts as the wave of ecstasy swelled higher and higher.

Your mind was a blur, filled with images of Mountain—his hands on you, his body pressed against yours. You could almost feel him there, his touch, his breath on your skin. The fantasy had completely taken over, and you no longer cared about anything but the release that was building inside you, stronger and stronger with each passing second.

And then, it hit.

A final pulse, stronger and more intense than before, surged through you, and suddenly, you were there, on the edge of oblivion. You gasped, your back arching as your entire body tensed, the pleasure overwhelming, almost too much to bear. The climax washed over you in powerful waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving you trembling, breathless, your mind utterly consumed by the moment.

Your hands clutched the desk, your thighs clamped together as the pleasure coursed through you, your heart pounding in your ears as you rode the waves of ecstasy. You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body shaking as you finally surrendered to the release you’d been fighting.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Everything was still, your mind lost in the afterglow, your body limp and sated. The heat slowly began to ebb away, leaving a warm, languid feeling in its wake. You slumped in your chair, chest heaving, your skin flushed and your limbs heavy. The library was silent once again, save for the sound of your ragged breathing as you came down from the high.

You opened your eyes, still dazed, your body tingling with the remnants of pleasure. The magic had faded, leaving you alone once more. You glanced around, half-expecting someone to have noticed, but the library remained as quiet and still as ever. No one had witnessed your moment of ecstasy, and for that, you were grateful.

*

Mountain felt the fleshlight twitch in his hands, the silicone pulsing rhythmically under his touch. It was strange, almost unnerving, how lifelike it felt—warm and supple, as though it had a mind of its own. He reasoned it must have been designed that way, engineered to feel as close to the real thing as possible. After all, the material had to have some give; otherwise, it would be difficult to fuck.

But this… this felt different. Too real.

Curiosity burned within him, and without thinking, he removed his thumb from the fleshlight’s clit and slid a finger into the vaginal hole. He half-expected to feel nothing but cold silicone or mechanical resistance, but the moment his fingertip pressed inside, he froze.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his breath catching in his throat.

The interior was silky smooth, impossibly warm, and slick with wetness, as though it had already been perfectly lubricated just for him. His finger sank deeper, and he swore he felt the walls subtly pulse around him, hugging his digit with a grip that sent a jolt of arousal straight through his core. It felt as though he had slipped his finger inside a real pussy—alive, warm, and so damn wet.

It was too much.

The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, sending a rush of blood straight to his length, which was already half-hard, now straining against his trousers. He glanced down, feeling the growing pressure, but his mind couldn’t tear away from the fleshlight and its surreal sensations. His pulse quickened as he slowly curled his finger inside the toy, feeling the textured inner walls respond to his every movement, as if the toy were reacting, pulling him in.

“Holy shit…” he whispered under his breath, barely able to believe what he was experiencing.

The slickness inside only made his cock throb with more need, the pressure building rapidly in his groin. His mind wandered back to the vivid images of you that had plagued him all night. He imagined it wasn’t just his finger inside this magical device, but his cock, sinking deep into that same warmth, feeling your body move beneath him, wrapped around him. He could almost hear the sound of your breath hitching in pleasure, see the way your body would react to every thrust.

His arousal was becoming impossible to ignore, his length now fully hard, aching to be touched. The wetness coating his finger made him desperate to feel more, to know what it would be like to sink himself completely into the impossible magic of this fleshlight.

But something nagged at him in the back of his mind. Why did this feel so different? So personal? It wasn’t just a toy; it was something more, something… connected.

Mountain exhaled sharply, pulling his finger out and wiping it on his trousers as he debated whether to continue. His cock twitched in anticipation, and the need for release was undeniable. He had to know just how far this could go.

His hand drifted to the waistband of his trousers, the decision already made.

*

You had felt the initial intrusion, the unexpected presence inside you, no thicker than a finger. It wasn’t moving with any intent to please, merely exploring your most intimate space, as if testing the waters, feeling out your warmth. A breath caught in your throat, and you slumped over the desk, your hand flying to your mouth, desperate to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. Your body shivered in response, torn between confusion and the undeniable arousal that was building deep within you.

The slow, teasing movements left you trembling, and while it wasn’t enough to satisfy the aching need between your legs, the anticipation was maddening. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to create some friction, something to ease the growing heat. But the moment you began to settle into the sensation, it stopped. The presence withdrew, and you were left empty, unsatisfied, your slick, needy cunt clenching around nothing.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, muffled by the back of your hand. A part of you was disappointed, frustrated even, that it had left. Your body was throbbing, aching for more—more of whatever that was, more of what it had been building toward. Your pulse was racing, and the quiet library around you suddenly felt too confining, too stifling. You couldn’t stay here, not like this.

Your legs felt weak as you stood, the lingering heat between your thighs making every movement feel laboured. You glanced around the empty room, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks as if someone might have seen your inner turmoil, but the library remained silent and still. The quiet was too much now, the weight of your arousal pressing down on you, urging you to seek relief. You needed more than just that teasing touch; you needed release. And you needed it now.

Quickly, you began packing up your things, your fingers fumbling as you tried to gather your quill and parchment. Your mind was already somewhere else, picturing what awaited you once you could find privacy. The thought of it—of taking care of yourself, of chasing the release that had been cruelly denied in the library—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

With your belongings hastily stuffed into your bag, you headed toward the door, your breath uneven as you made your way out of the library. The cool air of the hallway did little to calm the fire raging inside you. You had to find somewhere—anywhere—you could be alone and finish what had been started.

Your legs moved quickly beneath you, instinct driving you toward the nearest private space, your heart pounding with anticipation as the memory of that teasing touch replayed in your mind.

You left the library in a hurry, taking a sharp left down the corridor toward your room, your mind laser-focused on finding relief. Each step was torture, your knees weak and trembling, barely able to support your body as the weight of your arousal pressed down on you. The cool air of the hallway did nothing to ease the growing heat between your thighs, and you quickened your pace, desperate to reach the privacy of your room.

But just as you rounded the corner, a new sensation hit you.

Dread pooled in your stomach as you felt your folds part, something heavy and hard sliding between them. You gasped, eyes widening in shock, feeling a thick pressure press against your clit. It wasn’t the slow, teasing touch from before—it was urgent, insistent, and so overwhelmingly real that you couldn’t hold back the shaky moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was distracting, too distracting, and in your attempt to keep moving, you stumbled.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and with a gasp, you fell to the ground, your belongings scattering across the wooden floor. Pens, paper and books slipped from your grasp, your bag tumbling open as you struggled to regain control of your body. The thick presence between your legs remained, rubbing insistently against your clit with every movement, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you as you lay there, heart racing and breath ragged.

Your hands shot down instinctively, as though to push whatever it was away, but there was nothing tangible, nothing you could grasp. It was as if some invisible force was teasing you, pressing into you with an unrelenting rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.

You tried to stand, pushing yourself up with trembling arms, but the pleasure was so intense that you collapsed again, your knees refusing to support your weight. Another shudder ran through you, your body betraying you as the rubbing against your clit continued, the sensation almost unbearable. You squeezed your thighs together, but it only seemed to make it worse, the pressure building with every second.

“Fuck…” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breathless gasp. You had no control over your body anymore. The sensation between your legs had taken over, and all you could do was grip the floor beneath you, helpless against the mounting pleasure.

The hallway was empty, but you were still exposed, vulnerable. You needed to get up, needed to reach your room where you could finally give in to what your body craved. But as another pulse of pleasure shot through you, you weren’t sure you’d even make it.

A stroke of luck emerged, catching your eye in the midst of your frantic struggle—the door to a cleaning closet, left slightly ajar. Relief mixed with desperation as you quickly gathered your scattered belongings, your hands shaking as you scrambled to your feet. You couldn’t make it much further; your knees were barely holding you upright as it was, and the relentless pressure between your thighs was making it impossible to think straight.

Without a second thought, you rushed toward the open door, heart pounding in your chest. As soon as you stumbled inside, you slammed it shut behind you, pressing your back against the wood. There was no lock, but if you could just stay quiet—if you could hold out here for a few moments—you might make it through this without being caught. The small space was dimly lit, filled with shelves of cleaning supplies, and the air smelled faintly of soap and lavender.

You barely had time to catch your breath before it happened.

A sharp, overwhelming sensation took hold of you as you felt something push into you—deep, filling your already throbbing, aching hole. The intrusion was sudden, and you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry of pleasure that threatened to burst out. It was thick, stretching you in a way that was both shocking and satisfying, as though whatever it was had been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, and desperate.

It was definitely a cock - but it was fucking huge.

*

Mountain sank into the fleshlight, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as the tightness enveloped him. He was a big man in every sense of the word, and his length was no exception—thick, heavy, and aching for relief. As he pressed deeper, the silicone walls yielded, but only just enough, hugging him in a way that felt almost too real. The sensation was overwhelming, warm and snug, gripping him with the perfect balance of resistance and give, as though the toy had been made just for him.

His breath hitched as he sank further, the heat surrounding him sending shivers down his spine. Every inch of him was enveloped in that wet, warm tightness, and it felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before. His hips rolled instinctively, testing the limits of the toy’s grip, and the way it clung to him made his cock throb with need. It was almost maddening how good it felt—too good, in fact. The slickness inside, combined with the soft, textured ridges, made every movement feel as though he was buried deep inside something alive.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands tightening around the base of the fleshlight as his hips moved again, slower this time, savouring the way it squeezed him with every thrust.

The heat, the wetness, the way it pulsed around him—it was almost too much to bear. He couldn’t help but picture you, the way your body would feel wrapped around him like this, clenching down on him, pulling him in. The thought of you, mixed with the intensity of the sensation, made his control slip. His pace quickened, driven by the growing pressure building in his groin, his need for release clawing at him.

Each thrust into the toy felt more urgent, the friction deliciously overwhelming. He could feel the tension building, his length throbbing inside the slick, tight tunnel. Every stroke was bringing him closer to the edge, the pleasure so intense it made his vision blur. The way the fleshlight clung to him was impossibly real, and the thought of sinking into your warmth instead made his pulse race even faster.

He was too far gone to stop now, completely lost in the sensation, the need for release overtaking him as his hips bucked into the toy with reckless abandon.

*

Your legs gave out entirely, and you collapsed against the shelves, your body trembling as the force inside you began to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, in and out, dragging along your sensitive walls and making you shudder with each thrust. You bit down on your hand, trying to stay quiet, but the sensation was so intense, so perfectly maddening, that small, helpless whimpers slipped past your lips despite your best efforts.

The sensation wasn’t just physical; it was connected. Every movement inside you felt purposeful, like whoever—or whatever—was controlling this was in sync with your body, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart. Your pussy clenched around it, soaking wet, the slickness only making the thrusts more fluid, more relentless.

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, the rhythm of your body matching the relentless thrusts that were driving you closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke pushed deeper, dragging against your most sensitive spots, and the heat building inside you was becoming unbearable. Your mind was spinning, the world around you fading into a blur as the pressure inside you mounted, thick and heavy.

You could feel yourself trembling, your body taut with anticipation, the pleasure coiling tighter with every thrust. Your nails dug into your palms, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, to hold on just a little longer—but it was no use.

It felt so good.

Too good.

You sat up a little and spread your legs, pulling your panties off from beneath your habit and throwing them somewhere in the dark, your middle finger immediately moving to your swollen and sensitive clit. Rubbing furiously at it, you let out a loud gasp, the feeling of the cock fucking into you, now at a violent pace. You grasped onto the shelf behind you with your free hard, trying to find something to ground you as much as possible, but nothing was working. Something invisible was pounding relentlessly into your cunt, using your body for their own pleasure and you were so wound up tight - you liked it.

Your body was already betraying you, your pussy tightening around the force inside you as the tension built to a breaking point. It was hitting all the right spots, fucking into you like no one else had managed to before. You bit on your bottom lip trying to remain quiet, but at this point your moans and pants were coming out so loudly, you were sure passers by could hear you.

*

Mountain’s breath was ragged as he thrust into the fleshlight, his large hands gripping it tightly, the soft silicone giving way under his force but clinging to him in the most maddening way. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as the slickness inside seemed to pulse in time with his movements. Every stroke felt too real, too perfect—as if it were more than just a toy, something alive and responding to him.

His cock was fully buried now, his hips rolling slowly at first, but the tightness had him on edge, making it impossible to hold back. His groans grew louder, deep and rough, as he set a more urgent pace. The fleshlight gripped him harder, the wet warmth inside making every stroke smoother, more fluid, but also more intense. It felt better than it should have, the sensation almost too much for him to handle.

“Fuck…” he hissed under his breath, his length throbbing with need. Each thrust sent a pulse of pleasure through his body, his mind clouded with desire as he imagined you beneath him instead. The way you would look, your body writhing in pleasure as he buried himself inside you, the soft sounds of your moans filling the air. The thought made his cock twitch inside the toy, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the fantasy.

But then, something strange happened.

The fleshlight pulsed. It wasn’t just responding to his thrusts anymore—it was as if it had a life of its own, squeezing him, rippling around his length in a way that was too real, too connected. His eyes flew open, a gasp escaping him as he stilled for a moment, looking down at the toy in his hands.

“What the…?”

He felt it again, the sensation tightening, as if the fleshlight was reacting not to his body, but to something else entirely. The pulsing grew stronger, almost rhythmic, and it sent a jolt of pleasure through him so intense he nearly doubled over. He could feel the slick walls inside moving, as though mimicking the contractions of an actual body—your body.

Mountain’s heart raced, his mind spinning. There was no way this was just a toy anymore. He could feel it—feel you—somehow, in some way. It was impossible, but there was no denying the connection. The more he moved, the more the fleshlight reacted, tightening around him with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core.

His hips bucked involuntarily, the sensations overtaking him, his mind now filled with images of you. He imagined you trembling, the way your body would shake as he pushed into you, the look of desperation in your eyes as you tried to hold back your release. His pace became frantic, thrusting into the toy with abandon, the tight, wet warmth driving him to the edge.

He was so close. He could feel his orgasm building, his entire body tensing with the need for release. The pulsing around his cock grew more intense, as though it were pulling him deeper, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck…” he groaned your name, unable to stop himself now. He was lost in the sensation, lost in the thought of you, the connection between you both tightening with every second.

*

You could feel the climax rushing toward you, unstoppable, consuming every part of you. And as the force inside you thrust again, harder this time, it finally sent you over the edge.

A wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, the intensity of your orgasm ripping through you in shuddering waves. Your walls clenched down around the presence inside you, your body convulsing as pleasure coursed through you, lighting up every nerve. The release was overwhelming, and you bit down harder on your hand, stifling the moan that tore from your throat as your climax consumed you.

But the relentless pounding didn’t stop. Whoever was fucking you wasn’t done with you just yet.

*

Mountain felt you reach your peak, the pulsing sensation inside the fleshlight intensifying to a point that left him breathless. The way your body clenched around him, as if you were riding the wave of ecstasy, sent a jolt of raw pleasure straight to his core. He could almost hear your moans, soft and desperate, echoing in his mind as he envisioned you lost in your climax, your body trembling beneath him.

With every thrust, he was drawn closer to the edge, the need for release building within him like a tidal wave, crashing and surging. The connection felt electric, transcending the physical boundaries of your separate spaces, and it was almost overwhelming. As you shuddered in pleasure, he could feel the warmth radiating from the fleshlight, as if it were feeding off your climax, drawing him in.

“Fuck!” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. The fleshlight tightened around him, almost as if it was responding to your release, and the sensation drove him wild. He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, a primal urge that had him gasping for air.

As you soared through your orgasm, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He thrust deeper, faster, losing himself completely in the moment. The world around him faded away, the only thing that mattered was the relentless pleasure coursing through him, the sensation of the silicone hugging him so tightly that it felt almost like a second skin.

With one final, powerful thrust, he reached his own peak. A wave of ecstasy crashed over him, his body convulsing as he spilled himself into the fleshlight. A deep, guttural groan escaped his lips as he rode out the intense waves of pleasure, feeling as if he were floating in a sea of bliss.

His hips stuttered as he felt the last tremors of his release, each pulse sending shockwaves of satisfaction through him. The connection, the overwhelming sensations—it was all too much, and he reveled in it, letting it consume him entirely.

Panting, he collapsed back against the bed, still reeling from the intensity of it all. The fleshlight lay discarded beside him, the warmth and slickness inside a reminder of the wild connection they had just shared. He could still feel the lingering echoes of your climax intertwining with his own, leaving him breathless and yearning for more.

What had just happened? It felt like more than just a fantasy—it felt like something deeper, something that blurred the lines of reality and desire. He found himself staring at the ceiling, a mix of confusion and exhilaration coursing through him. The next time he saw you, everything would change.

Prev./Next

[sleepy-fiction]

Got a crush- got a crush- Crush you all beneath me. ⚗️

Jinx x F!Reader SMUT

3k WORDS

tgs: intense violence, erotic asphyxiation, water sports, bdsm, knife play, powerplay, masochist reader, oral, cunnilingus, sexual repression, religious terms/oppressive religious language, reader is shit and pathetic its lovely

syn: Jinx spares you before your death, the adrenaline, the ecstasy, its euphoric. You re-emerge bright-eyed like the first oracle of a God. Only this time, you want to eat God's cunny, and she'll let you.

an: hii err questioning myself with this one wow. mildly proofread

Smeech's gang had been your home since you were little. You were born into it, your parents' loyal followers, devout, and strict as they came. The rules were engraved into your brain, defined like the Old Testament. You were linear, closed-minded, and point. Your parents died in the battled post silco. Your neighbors, the other kids. The gang's numbers were dwindling, if not by death, then by them abandoning the cree for others. And the years went by. Your silent, dormant hatred for Jinx muddled up.

It continued until her little revolution, where she gained her little blue headed cult following. You'd be lying if you say a part of you wasn't swooned. But your revenge called for more.

What they called "Safety". No, it was nothing but plain blameless sin.

And you were put on this earth to eradicate it.

So it only came natural after Smeech's disassembly, for the gang to disemble themselves as well. Like a ghost town, you found yourself being the only righteous one holding up the banner. And if A^2 + B^2 = C^2, you were going after the women responsible for it.

No.

THE woman responsible for it all.

Jinx.

Blue eyed, blue braided, soon to be blue bellied, Jinx.

Jinx was a flithy mongrel, poisoning Zaun from the inside out. Her almost physiological poison bubbled out of its bloodied cauldron and frothed onto the deep floors of Zaun. Like a thick and heavy smoke blinding the ground, sucking the souls out of sinners, and blinding even the most powerful. Tempting, and as small as an ewe lamb, yet brewing and seizing like an unruly urchin. Baring pretty pale hips, milky white skin smothered in tattoos. And those eyes. Those round doe eyes.

They kept you awake at night.

Tempting.

They made you shudder.

With the bloodlust you had been building for weeks, weeks until the day your holy vengeance struck from the skies. With the last remaining loyal souls with nothing to live for, other than the fragments of Smeech's impressive legacy.

Yet why.

How.

How did things end this way.

Your body seized the moment your very own blades, the one you fantasized about taking the life of Jinx, was twisted deep into your belly. Your eyes flashed white, your gasp deep and profound, your balance suddenly no longer mattering to you anymore. The surprise attack was going well, well, until Jinx drew her devilish strength from hell and slaughtered your gang like animals. And you, being brave enough to stop her, freed her of all her guns. You fought like chickens, scratching and scraping at each other, throwing rocks, tossing dust, kicking crotches, pulling hair (you mainly), all until you had her.

She was pined beneath, whimpering and blabbering useless mantra. You revved your blade. But you stopped. You had to tell her why she deserved this. Your speech you had prepared before vanquishing this world of evil. Your glorious speech of Smeech and your gang. And unbeknownst to you, that was more than enough time for her to flash bright magenta eyes. And whimper a sound so attainable, your breath locked, and suddenly, for no reason at all, you had an urge to piss.

That one second of weakness.

No.

She turned your speech against you, she built up her bewitching tactics, disarming you and filling you with mercy, all for her to drive your beloved knife, your knife that your parents made you, deep, deep into your belly.

Then those doe eyes sharpened and she laughed.

She pushes you off her like you were nothing, your body hitting the wet dirty floor. It was raining, and glory's pellets dribbled woefully onto your cheek. Your breath was broken up into sharp, unattainable gasps as you meekly tried to crawl away. Your vision shook white in a painful mix of adrenaline, pain, and panick. Panick thick enough to make you spit and froth out the corners of your mouth.

Your body was ringing, brazen silver alarm bells loud and sparky in your ears. The flashing of tree roots and veins in your vision, and how sharp your sense of smell suddenly became. You could smell the muddy streets clearer than day, and even the smell of cotton candy and battery acid death pouring out from her body. A smell that, even now, still made your lower parts clench.

"Ha-! Ahaha-ha," she laughs. Her voice echoes. In your shaken vision, you see her rise before you, blurry bright cyan blue blinding. Pitifully, you crawl backward, desperate to flee death. Once Jinx has you, she never spares any mercy. You knew that going in, but never, never did you believe it'd become a reality.

You were going to become another number on an ever growing list of people who thought they could kill Jinx and failed.

Once that settled in your brain, pitifully thick tears sprang out from your eyes. You cried loudly, a wail strong enough to shake the most powerful souls. A wail so primal, so childish, a wail that stemmed from early development yet also the evolution of humans itself- the last cry of a dying homosapien at the hands of a bloodlust driven Neanderthal.

A cry that was stopped by the quaking footsteps of Jinx. The booming, sloppy, wet footsteps filled with the vibrations of her getting closer. She fell on top you with a cadence, a gust of quick wind as she straddled you. You gasped and reached forward blindly, raindrops falling in your eyes and mixing with the tears as you clawed at her jaw and neck.

She didn't care. She grabbed your left wrist in a vice, hard enough for you to cry out like an injured lamb. And with her other hand, she gripped your face and trusted hers into your view.

She spoke, "You feel that?"

You gasped, your breathing erratic.

"You're going to die," she laughed at you. "You're going to die, and you almost had me! Not even my sister got that close!" Her voice is like a wicked hyena. Gravely and strained from the battle, creaking to show her physical pain.

But it was enough. It enough for your body to grow limp in her hands like a frightened goat.

Your eyes bare into her face, your head uplifted by her tight hands. As you stare at her skin, as pale as powder, eyes as tired and jaded as a wilted flower, and smile as deranged as a wheel on its last hinge.

She smiles, growing ever close, closed enough for your noses to touch, and for her breath, the mingle with yours, "You know. At this stage. You're suddenly aware of everything around you. Your vision goes to shit. But you can still hear the little birds go 'cheep-cheep-cheep', and the rain-- 'pitter-patter-pitter-patter'. And you can't quite feel the pain, but it's the fear of knowing it's coming that gets you." She grabs the knife, twisting it slightly.

You jolt, crying out in agony. "Your heart rate spikes, you begin to hyperventilate. And there's this ringing in your ears... And... My favorite part, the buzzing behind the eyes," she says as she reaches and stretches your eyelids back. Your pupils shrink, and just as she says, your body systematically begins to follow. Snot pools down your nose, a tell tale sign of your inability to get oxygen. "It's totally useless how we have a nose and mouth. But yet they get so scared and they start working against eachother! Just like families... Just like gangs... like rats," she hisses, and you can feel the etchings of her lips near your cheek as she loopily giggles towards your ear.

"You know, if you breathe through your nose, your hyperventilating will stop," she smiles. Eagerly and foolishly, you obey, shutting your mouth instantly and sucking in gifts of air. But just as instant as you gain it, you lose it within seconds. Jinx pinches your nose shut, her thumb and index vicious like the jerking bite of a shark.

You panick, you eyeballs ringing. And as you try to open your mouth again, she drops your head, ot crashes to the ground, and she slams her free hand to clamp your mouth shut.

"Nhahaha," She laughs. Oh, she laughs. It's manical in nature, enough for you to wet yourself in pure fear. Your hands shoot up to claw at her hands, albeit weakly, and it feels nothing more than a massage to her. By now, you're aware of the warm wet clinging your shirt has to your belly, your pants to your crotch, and the flavorful blend of urine and iron in the wet muddy air.

Your vision spots.

She releases you, but it was already much too late.

"You know what," she says. Her voice trails in and out in your ears. Her blurry figure rises, "I think I'll spare you... That is, if you don't bleed to death out here."

Your head sags, catching the final glimpses of her limping away before it all fades to--

You jolt awake with a hard start. You shoot up, blinded by white lights that eventually shimmer down to a familsr room, your hideout. Your heart bursting a hundred miles an hour out of your chest. It was the feeling of shimmer running down your veins like a cold shower.

Instantly, you recognize your old partner, Kilo, rushing up to you from their seat in the back. Their hands grab yours, but you're even quicker to smack them away. "What t'hell! I was supposed ta-ugh die," you blabber out, spit flying in your jittery rage. Your hands grip your head of hair, your heart racing painfully.

"I heard about your dumb plan, and I came to save you, (y/n)! You had been laying there for God knows how long--" They say but you cut them off with a deadly glare, "Why are you mad? I saved you! Listen, God, you just need to calm down," they pleaded, burning their doe shaped brown eyes into your skull. Eyes you used to find allu ng, before they abandoned Smeech.

Smeech.

Dammit.

Did it really even matter anymore.

Dammit you can't fucking think straight.

How much shimmer did they use on you?

They reached again for you, and you smacked them harder, as hard as your jittery body could manage. They were as thick as a barn, burly and bearded, so your shove did nothing to them. But still, you powered up, barely making out of your bed before you knocked into your bedside table and cracking into your lamp.

As soon as you stood, your heart rate spiked, causing a brilliant gasp to leave your body. The kind of gasp they've only ever heard you release in bed. The kind of gasp that was filled in nostalgic ecstasy, the pain was so reminiscent of when Jinx--

Fuck.

No. Please God no.

"Are you okay," they asked. And with one look from them, you knew that they knew.

They knew.

And they were judging you with those pitiful eyes.

"Jinx did a number on you," they tried to whisper, but you seethed like a jackal.

"Jinx did nothing to me! I am normal! I am fine! I haven't changed," you screeched. Your face was warming, your heartbeat was painful, but memories of your last encounter flooded your brain.

You were going to die in the marvelously sinful hands of Jinx. But she spared you. It made every part of you tingle. You didn't notice when your partner sprang up to catch you, and you as hell didn't notice you falling forward. No, but what you did notice was the worry in their eyes. The worry in their deep masculine voice. And the devil horns springing out of their head.

They knew.

They knew and they were going to tell everyone.

"Get the fuck out of here, bastard!"

You yelled it with all your heart and soul.

And within seconds, you notice their heart crumble. Bleary brown eyes only complimented the flicker of guilt that panged you.

You just.

Needed them gone for good.

You collapsed moments after they left you, moments after the door quietly shut.

You were never going to see them again. They weren't just a partner they were your best friend.

And Jinx.

Jinx was brewing in your heart.

And you knew it then.

You were becoming something you never knew before.

⚗️

You'd imagine Jinx's surpise when the little runt she spared weeks ago came crawling deep onto Silco's old zone (now turned her streets), fully armed. What she thought was a foolish revenge battle turned into something else.

Sevika dropped you dead onto your knees before the desk in Silco's office. Your hands were bound behind your back, and Sevika had already stripped you of all the weapons you had. She walked up to the desk, where the back of Silco's chair faced you, and dropped all the weapons onto it. The daggers and guns flattered and shined in the light.

A dry, crackling laughter sparked into the air. A laughter you knew was hers. It made you tingle again. It made the bruises Sevika left you in all the more worth it.

You were shivering from withdrawals. Jinx withdrawals, adrenaline withdrawals, shimmer withdrawals. You needed her to make you experience that death spark again.

Please Jinx.

"Are you dumb or something," she asks. The chair finally spins to face you, her feet clashing against the table. Her face ridden with withheld rage. She blinks in disbelief with an agape mouth. She jolts forward, grabbing ome of your daggers and launches it towards your face. It narrowly dodges your eye and slices a thin scratch into your cheek.

You hiss and laugh.

It irrates her instantly. Her eye twitched. For the first time in forever, Jinx experienced the stress felt Silco once before. The stress of dealing with idiotic subordinates.

And for once. She didn't find it fucking funny.

"I spared you! But you come back with an even dumber plan. What? Did you think you could just waltz in here and slice me up," she asks. You laugh. She clenches her jaw. With an aggravated start, she jumps out of the chair, stomping on the desk as she slides off it in one quick athletic gesture. In seconds, she's on her feet crouching before you, squeezing chunks of your cheeks between her fingers. "What are you thinking," she spits.

Her grip is vice. It makes your eyes water. But you tingle and shiver all over.

"Mmh. Look at those pupils. You're on shimmer. Or- well, off it. What? Did the jitters make you think you could take me? Reclaim your honor," she says.

"M'hehe..mh," you giggle.

She bares her teeth. She drops your face and stands at break neck speed. Your head crashes to the floor, and you hear the familiar sound of a click.

"Everything about this is stupid and makes no sense. Your plan before was beautifully executed and thought out. So why... Why are you," she winces before she can finish her sentence and pinces her temples. You can hear Sevika cackle in the background. You peek up, staring up the barrel of a pistol. "Geez toots... I might get withdrawls next if you don't- I'dunno, say something," she says.

"Mmh... Jinx... Jus' just kill me... Jinx," you gasp out. Your nose aches, a perfect compliment to the ringing from your ribs from taking a robotic punch earlier. "Kill me... And it'll all be... like it was supposed to... Another number on the "anti" tally," you murmur. Not even you know what you're getting at. Why you're here.

Her heel touches your head. She's purposefully digging it into you. "Aah- haa," you shake.

Sevika gasps sharply, "Oh?" Her eyebrows quirk knowingly. Jinx turns to her, but Sevika merely smirks. "I'll leave you to it," Sevika hums, her shoulders slumping as she steps out. Jinxs eyes flicker with wilderment. Sevika lowered her guard. Totally.

They both knew you weren't a threat. But here, that small gesture confirmed a lot to Jinx. You were harmless, you didn't want to die, but you wanted to be around her. No. You wanted her to hurt you. She tests the waters. Jinx's muddy shoe pets down your head, its light not to hurt you. You buck and shiver again, blabbering out heedless.

No.

You didn't want her to hurt you.

When the realization dawned on her, a breathy cackle split the air. "Ooh! Oh god this is too good! What's that little runt," she squats right down next to you, flipping you onto your belly, "you want me to play with ya? Oh, daddy'll play with you toots."

"Wait- that's not what I what I w-want you to kill me! My honor! I lost it in battle, and i-it can only be claimed in--"

"Nn'haha! You really believe that? Oh god you're a riot! Say it. You want Jinxsy to touch you... And err... Ya'know! Take you to p-town. Play with your cunny?"

You felt an electric jolt sink to your clit. One strong enough to shut you up. Your eyes flicker to her crotch, where her legs were spread as she crouched.

"Ooh," she caught it immediately, "you want my cookie instead, eh?"

You gasped in horror.

"Or box? Is that what the kids call it nowadays? Box... Box... I always wonders why, but," she says as she pushes Silco's desk out the way and sits down in the chair, spreading her legs wide, "apparently! It's called a box cause you can stuff it! Myahaha! Ain't that something?"

You stare blissfully at her spread legs, painfully aware of your slick oozing.

She pats her thigh. "Well? What's the verdict? I'm not pulling my pants down till ya tell me ya' want it. Say it cute-like! Oh Jinx-jinx-jinx-jinx! I want your cookie wookie! Pleaase'z," she drags it out, saying it sing-songly to fuel your embarrassment.

You blabber in disbelief, "Buh," and gulp, "B-But why. Why are you letting me?" You sound like a shy child.

"Why dya' think I spared you? You're pretty hot. And... I liked being handsy with you. It felt good... Gooder than usual... Hah! Prolly cause your whorish, sensual aura stunk up the place. All that temp'TIT'ous-humbo-jumbo! N'ahaha... God you-"

"Please, Jinx," you whimper.

She returns, "Hey. I already told you. We're not unt--"

You squeak, "Let me... Eat it..."

"Huh? Is that how you ask -"

"Let me eat your cookie," you say. She gives you a bland look. "Uh," you gulp, "Please Jinxsy... Let me eat your- c-cookie. Wuh... Wookie."

She laughs, "Tehe, you got it dollface!"

this wasn't ever about smeech, was it?

⚗️

"Ooh... ff-fuck dollface," she mewls breathlessly. Your hands are still tied tight behind your back, balancing wobbly on your knees as you bury your face deep beneath Jinx's bare, pale, milky legs. Your nose is buried deep into her cunt, your tongue and lips viciously lapping at her clit. Twitching between sucking and tapping it. She was swollen already, a clear sign of her sexual negligence.

No, part of you is convinced she is a virgin. Jinx bucks into your mouth, gripping chunks of your hair. Her leg twitching, barely missing kicking your shoulder as it flies off the seat it was propped up on. She let's it slump over your shoulder. And you almost cried at how far her hole was now from your greedy lips.

You growl, "Jinx put your other leg on me... C-cant suck all of you like this."

"Uhh... Hmm," You're sure she was only half listening, but still, she lazily hunches down and stops her other leg on your shoulder. She adjusts herself and leans slouches downward more, sitting on her upper ass and pushing her cunt straight onto your face in the process.

You snuck in deep sniffs, the smell balanced, tart, and salty. You slurp up her folds into your lips, pulling and letting them slip out between your lips. She hisses and mewls delightfully, an airy cackle leaving her lips. She taps your head with two fingers and bobs her head rhythmically, a delighted hum squeaking from her lips. You giggle humored, licking a stripe up her, slowing down to enjoy the moment.

She's staring deep into your eyes, grinding against your flat tongue, slowly matching your rhythm. Your rhythm was closely following the one she hummed and drummed on you.

It was odd, how calm it all suddenly became. How you couldn't seem to look away. You wanted to please her so bad.

A ferocious shiver sparked down you again. You locked in, cupping her clit in your lips, suckling and tapping against it. You buried yourself into her, erratic and fanatic, slurping all of her like it was your last dinner. She squeaks and bucks into your mouth at the sharp change, bowling out her moans. "Aah- ff... Oohh, dollface-ugh," she whines. Her arms fall out, one landing on her forehead, her index and thumb propped up on it, rolling her head back into the chairs cushions.

Her bucking became erratic, her moans spiking, her grip on herself becoming undone. As she reaches with her free hand again to grab chunks of your hair at the root. Her cunt is pink and pale, littered with pretty hair. But your bullying turned it a vulgar shade of red. A red you'd wear on your lips any day.

"Aah! Ah! Aaa-mmgh," she barks out. Her thighs clench vice around your neck, her leg spasming before finally, "Oouh," she janks your head away from her pussy, gasping and waning in the chair.

Her eyes rolled back, while senseless blabbering drooled out her lips. "Mmht... D-Dollface," she sighs blissfully.

"It's (y/n)," you murmur and lean back in to peck at her swollen, ruined pussy.

"(Y-Y/n)?" She gulps, her eyes never returning from their blissful heaven beneath her eyelids. "Mmh yeah... (y/n)," she mumbles, half listening. She sighs after a few seconds, finally looking down at you and- smiling? It was a soft one, geninue and pure.

She asks, "What else can you do?"

"Mmh... I want... to feel good too," you murmur still pecking her pussy and inner thighs.

"Hmmmrr.... Alright. Let's get you fingered up."

"N-No... At the same time as you... Let's grind on our thighs... er like how they do in those... Brothels."

"Ooh what? You mean scissoring? Ha, is this your first time with a woman," she barks a laugh.

"Is this your first time ever, Jinx?"

"Hey," she commands, her face twitches. She shoved your face back into her lips. "Don't get smart with me. You're still my doll," she hums.

"M'forgive me," you mumble out, with pussy between your lips. That was all the answer you need. You slowly begin to suckle her again, hearing her breathy moans pour in.

"Mmh yeah... Let's go to my room..."

⚗️

😁

[barblaz-arts]

Hi! :) Back when viv was still developing hazbin and making speed draws, she would often draw art of vaggie with these unique eyes surrounding and staring at her, and the art would display vaggie feeling annoyed or uneasy. I find it still very interesting and was wondering if these were eyes that represented all the demons she killed and her guilt? or had to do with something else entirely. We’re still not completely sure if these are still present in current hazbin rn but I was curious on what your take, theories and over all thoughts are on it! Love your comics and AUs on Chaggie sm and can’t wait to see more!

Oh yeah that! I always did find that pretty neat when it came to her earlier arts. Even more interesting, is that this concept was carried over even in one of her trading cards.

I think the eyes are meant to represent a lot of things tbh, especially since eyes in the show had been associated with both Heaven and Hell.

Let's look at Hell's side first.

Your interpretation about the eyes being the demons she killed I think is one of the things it's supposed to mean. I don't know the source, so I dont consider this info canon, but I found out somewhere that the eyes that can be seen all over Hell is supposed to be what remains of the demons the Exorcists have killed. Like being cleansed by angelic steel can't completely erase them but simply make them part of Hell, if no longer sentient.

I have my doubts though, because in the intro backstory, the eyes seem to have already been in Hell before the Exterminations began.

And in the intro, the eyes showed up specifically after Charlie talked about Sin worming its way to humanity because of what Lilith and Lucifer convinced Eve to do. If this timing is in any way relevant, the eyes could be related to Roo aka The Root of Evil instead.

I'm not sure if other characters were drawn with these disembodied eyes as much as Vaggie has been. But at the very least, I think Vaggie's the one drawn the most often with them.

Anyways, considering all this, the more obvious and plausible answer could be that the eyes was just Vivzie's way of foreshadowing her guilt over Exterminating demons. But if Vaggie can be allowed to be more involved with the biggest bad of the show in a more direct way than just her close proximity with the main protag, then maybe it's even meant to foreshadow even more than we already know. I don't have a lot of hope for this tbh. It's not like Vaggie was a very important angel. Exorcists gave me the impression that they could be pretty low in Heaven's hierarchy. So like, idk why this could foreshadow a connection with Roo, but it is a super interesting thought to entertain lol

Now on Heaven's side though, the eyes could also just be for a touch of tragic irony I guess. Angels in the old testament looked a lot closer to this...

... Lotsa eyes and shit. And that's why the seraphs like Lucifer, Sera, and Emily could manifest multiple extra eyes in their "true forms".

But Vaggie was stripped away of everything that physically made her an angel. Lute took away her wings, halo, and even one of her goddamned eyes. Ain't it ironic that she has only one eye when the most powerful angels have been shown with a whole dang lot? Seems to me like it was another cruel way of Lute's to show that Vaggie "has no place in Heaven". And the eyes haunting Vaggie could be a manifestation of her thoughts of it being true.

So to tie this all together(except for the Roo thing), you're right. It could be the guilt over what she did to Hell's denizens. But it could also be an ironic, symbolic reminder that she was an exile of Heaven.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | DIVINE WHISPERS: Celestial Discord DIVINE WHISPERS: Celestial Discord | divine whispers: celestial discord⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽 ❘ 🇩‌🇮‌🇻‌🇮‌🇳‌🇪‌ 🇼‌🇭‌🇮‌🇸‌🇵‌🇪‌🇷‌🇸‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌

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Olympus was in an uproar.

Clouds churned angrily overhead, their silvery edges tinged with the golden glow of the sun as it struggled to pierce through. The usually serene, cloud-strewn halls that echoed with godly laughter and the soft whispers of nymphs now thrummed with irritation and frustration. The air crackled with tension, thick enough to still even the most curious of immortals.

At the center of it all stood two deities.

Apollo, radiant god of the sun, music, and prophecy, was the picture of uncharacteristic fury. His golden eyes blazed, and his hair, usually impeccable, was disheveled, as though raked through in frustration. The laurel crown adorning his head had slipped slightly, its delicate leaves tilted askew. Even his embroidered chiton, a testament to his domains, hung unevenly, brushing awkwardly against his sandals. His aura flickered erratically, like a flame caught in a storm.

Across from him lounged Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, her demeanor calm amidst the brewing tempest. She reclined lazily on her golden chaise, she plucking idly at a cluster of freshly picked grapes, her flowing robes of rose and ivory cascading like morning mist.

Yet her serenity was deceptive, for her expression carried an edge—her pale blue eyes regarded him with thinly veiled disdain, as though his anger seem like little more than a passing breeze.

"You had no right!" Apollo's voice thundered, raw with emotion. His fists clenched as his aura pulsed unevenly. "Everything she has suffered—it's your doing!"

Aphrodite leaned back further, her bare foot dangling lazily over the edge as she popped a grape into her mouth. "Oh, please, Apollo," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. With a wave of her fingers, as though swatting away a pesky fly, she added, "Must we go through this charade again?"

"It's not a charade. You've meddled—"

"Meddled?" Aphrodite interrupted sharply, sitting up slightly as her tone hardened. "If by 'meddled,' you mean holding your precious little muse accountable for the sins of her lineage, then yes, Apollo. I have meddled." She flicked her golden hair over her shoulder with an elegant motion, its strands catching the light like molten silk. "But you make it sound so villainous."

"It is villainous!" Apollo snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her. His golden eyes flared, the usual warm glow hardening into something sharp and unrelenting. "The so-called 'sins of her lineage' were committed eons ago! Aren't you just being unreasonable?"

The lazy amusement in Aphrodite's gaze evaporated in an instant at the mention of your ancestor, her serene facade shattering. A wave of anger surged through her as the delicate grape she'd been holding burst between her fingers, crimson juice dripping onto her robes like spilled blood.

With a sharp motion, she tossed the entire cluster aside, the fruit scattering across the floor with dull thuds. She rose to her full height, her movements fluid yet brimming with purpose, like a storm gathering strength.

"Unreasonable?" she hissed, her voice rising to match Apollo's. The sound echoed through the marble halls, silencing the murmurs of lesser gods and nymphs who dared to linger nearby. "Unreasonable? Do you have any idea what her ancestors did?"

Apollo held her glare, his jaw tightening. He had seen her temper before—her fury infamous amongst the gods—but this was personal. Her nostrils flared, and her flushed cheeks only highlighted the fury twisting her otherwise flawless features.

"They dared," she spat, her words venomous, "to mock me—the goddess of love, beauty, and passion. They believed their so-called 'true love' was enough to defy the very domains I govern! They didn't even acknowledge me, Apollo. Not a single offering, not a single hymn of gratitude. Nothing."

"They thought their love was pure, untainted, eternal, above me," she continued, her lip curling with disdain. "As if love exists without beauty. Without desire. Without me. They wouldn't have known love at all if not for the gifts I bestow, yet they refused to pay homage."

Apollo frowned. "And so you cursed them? All of their descendants? For one slight?"

"Yes!" Aphrodite's voice flared, sharp and unwavering. "And I'll do it a thousand times more because they needed to understand! Love is mine, Apollo. Every stolen glance, every whispered confession, every aching heartbreak—it is all within my domain. Without me, there is nothing but loneliness and longing. How dare they assume they could take that for themselves without paying the price?"

She inhaled sharply, her anger rolling off her in waves. "So, I did what was fair. I cursed them and their bloodline. For every family that dared to find happiness, heartbreak would follow. Whether through betrayal, unrequited love, death, or tragedy—it was a lesson they couldn't ignore. No one defies the goddess of love without consequence."

Apollo's expression twisted, flickering across his face. "And you call that justice? Punishing innocents for generations because one mortal failed to worship you?"

Aphrodite scoffed, a sound as sharp as a thorn. "Shove off, Apollo. Spare me your self-righteousness. We both know the only reason you care is because your 'little muse' is involved."

Her words struck their target, and Apollo's golden eyes narrowed dangerously. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. It was true. It was because of you.

Aphrodite didn't wait for a response. Folding her arms across her chest, she began tapping her gleaming nails rhythmically against her skin. "Generational grudges are simply... part of divine life, Apollo. Surely you, of all gods, understand that."

Apollo sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as though the action could stem his rising frustration. Her indifference, her casual dismissal of his words, grated against his pride. His golden aura dimmed momentarily before flaring again. "For the goddess of love, you certainly hold onto grudges longer than anyone else here," he muttered.

Aphrodite's head snapped toward him, pale blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "What was that?"

Apollo shrugged, his tone laced with mock innocence. "Nothing. Just an observation," he said, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his intent.

Her gaze darkened, and a dangerous smirk curled at her lips. Slowly, deliberately, she plucked another grape from the cluster beside her and popped it into her mouth, chewing with maddening grace. Every movement was calculated, a silent reminder that no matter how incensed he became, she would remain unbothered.

"Besides," she said sweetly, though venom lingered just beneath the surface, "my little grudge isn't nearly as cruel as yours."

Apollo's expression shifted instantly, his frustration twisting into something sharper. "What are you talking about?"

Aphrodite's smirk widened as she leaned back, thoughtfully. "Oh, don't act surprised," she said, her tone deceptively casual, savoring the tension that filled the room. "Don't you think your interference hasn't made her suffer in its own way?"

His aura flickered dangerously, and his posture stiffened. "What are you implying?" The tension in his tone carried a challenge, daring her to continue.

Aphrodite's gaze gleamed with predatory intent. "One of your little gifts," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, "isn't really a gift if it takes away autonomy... is it?"

Apollo felt his chest tighten, his pride bristling at the insinuation. "How... do you know about that?" His composure frayed as he squared his shoulders, divine fury radiating from him.

"Oh, Apollo," the goddess sang whimsically, her head tilting as she studied him with an air of triumph. "Secrets never stay secrets for long on Olympus."

She rose gracefully, her golden robes cascading around her like liquid light as she stepped toward him. Her presence was overwhelming, her beauty sharp and unyielding, like a blade sheathed in silk. Stopping just short of him, she fixed him with a penetrating gaze, amusement and malice dancing in her eyes.

"Tell me," she murmured, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "How does it feel knowing that every time your little muse plays music—especially your precious, favorite little instrument—her most troubling memories, her deepest fears, are buried without her knowledge?"

The hall grew suffocatingly still, the air heavy with the static hum of Apollo's barely contained fury. His golden eyes flared, the warmth that usually radiated from him replaced by a blinding light that pulsed with his anger.

"You don't understand anything, Aphrodite," he said sharply, his words cutting through the silence like thunder. The marble halls seemed to vibrate faintly with the force of his voice, the static in the air growing louder. "My favor has brought her strength. Hope."

The golden glow around him intensified, sharper and more piercing, as if the sun itself had descended into the hall. His hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles faintly aglow with divine energy.

"She's a small, innocent soul," he continued, his voice laced with defiance. "She's not equipped to handle the kind of torment you so casually throw her way. My gift—my favor—is a shield, a safety net for when the weight of it all becomes too much."

The buzzing static thickened, almost oppressive, as his anger intertwined with his pride. But the words weren't entirely for Aphrodite—they were for himself, a defense against the unsettling truth she had unearthed. The possibility that she was right tightened his chest.

Was his gift truly a blessing? Or had it stripped away more than it gave? He shoved the thought aside with practiced resolve. No. It was a blessing. A gift. It had to be.

"She doesn't need to remember every hurt, every fear, every doubt," he said, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "She's mortal, Aphrodite. Do you even comprehend what that means? To feel everything so acutely, to bear so much with such a fragile heart?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," Aphrodite replied, her voice saccharine with mock sweetness. "What I don't understand is why you care so much. It's almost endearing, Apollo, how you've convinced yourself this is all for her."

Her words stung, though Apollo refused to let it show. His aura pulsed brighter, as if to shield himself from the truth she was so eager to expose. "It is for her," he insisted, his tone hardening.

Aphrodite stepped closer, her golden robes trailing behind her like liquid light, her presence overwhelming and unyielding. "Oh, darling, we both know that isn't entirely true," she cooed, her voice laced with condescension. "Your little muse... she's not just a mortal you've chosen to protect, is she? She's yours, Apollo. Your light, your inspiration, your creation."

Leaning in slightly, her voice dropped to a near whisper. "And that's the real reason you gave her that 'safety net,' isn't it? Not for her sake, but for yours. Because you can't bear the thought of her breaking under the weight of it all. Because if she does, what happens to your precious muse? What happens to you?"

Apollo's glow faltered briefly, the doubt creeping in like an unwelcome shadow. But his pride surged, burning away the flicker of uncertainty. His light blazed brighter, his voice cutting through her insinuations. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Aphrodite stepped back gracefully, her movements fluid and deliberate. With a swanlike elegance, she lowered herself onto her chaise, raising a perfectly arched brow as her lips curved into a sly smile. "Don't I?"

Reclining slightly, she tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes glinting with mischief. "A little birdy told me something fascinating," she continued coyly. "Your muse doesn't even remember your favor, Apollo. Isn't that a shame? Tsk, tsk." Her feigned sympathy dripped with condescension, and she chuckled softly as though savoring the moment.

Apollo opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat. He closed his mouth abruptly, his jaw tightening as he looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

Because she was right.

His gift—the essence of his favor—didn't work if the pain it erased wasn't truly yours, but his. It wasn't just the mortal worries, the small fears, or the mundane struggles it buried. It was the moments that touched on him if tied to them—his interference, his presence, his domain.

And that realization stung.

Aphrodite's laughter bubbled up again, light and mocking, as she tilted her head, studying him with a predatory gleam. "Every time your muse loses herself in the music you so generously gifted her, her pain disappears. And with it, the very knowledge of it—of you," she said with a quiet giggle. "How convenient."

Apollo's aura pulsed violently as he stepped closer, his golden eyes narrowing into molten fire. "Watch your tongue, Aphrodite," he warned, his voice low and threatening.

But Aphrodite only tilted her head further, her confidence unwavering. "Oh, sweet, dear, loving Apollo," she cooed mockingly, her tone syrupy with condescension. "Are you upset because I've pointed out the cracks in your perfect little gift? Or is it because you know, deep down, that what I'm saying is true?"

The hall crackled with tension, the air between them heavy with divine energy. It felt as though Olympus itself held its breath, waiting for one of them to break. Apollo's fists clenched once more, his knuckles white, as his light flared brighter with every passing second.

And yet, Aphrodite remained unbothered. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she leaned back further into her chaise, plucking at an imaginary speck of dust on her robes as though the confrontation was a mere trifle.

"Face it, Apollo," she said coolly. "We're not so different, you and I. You meddle just as much as I do—you're simply better at pretending your interference is a blessing. And whether that genius or idiotic... I suppose I'll leave that up for you to decide."

With a languid snap of her fingers, a nymph appeared, bowing low as she knelt before the goddess with a polished silver bowl of peeled grapes. Aphrodite reached down, plucking one delicately between her gleaming nails, biting into it with exaggerated leisure. She turned her attention back to Apollo, her gaze sharp with intent.

"If you care so much about your little muse, perhaps you should consider whether all your 'gifts' are truly gifts at all."

Apollo said nothing, his chest rising and falling with the effort it took to reign in his anger. His frustration was visible in the dimming of his light, as though his emotions had been swallowed by the weight of his ego, his pride refusing to allow any outward acknowledgment of her words.

And yet they echoed in his mind, slipping into cracks he didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't ignore.

Releasing a sharp sigh, Apollo finally looked up, his golden eyes snapping to hers. "Look, Aphrodite," he began, his tone tight but controlled. "It's not my fault you were insulted by something so small. But punishing an entire line of descendants for centuries? Cursing them for something they had no part in? Do you even realize what it's like to watch someone so... innocent suffer for a grudge that isn't theirs to bear?"

Aphrodite's expression shifted, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. Her lips tightened, her fingers flexing against the arm of her chaise. Crossing her arms, she let her gaze drift, as though suddenly uninterested in his words. "I'm not the only god who's acted on a whim, Apollo," she said quietly, her voice carrying a defensive edge. "And what would you have me do now? Lift the curse just because you feel pity for a mortal?"

Apollo's gaze remained steady, his golden aura flickering faintly. "Maybe it's time you did," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "Hasn't she paid enough for whatever perceived slight you imagined all those years ago?"

Aphrodite's lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers twitching at her sides as though she were tempted to retort. But no words came. Instead, her shoulders sagged slightly, and her gaze softened, drifting to the distant horizon where the golden sun kissed the edge of Olympus.

"It wasn't imagined," she murmured, more to herself than to Apollo. "They did insult me. But..."

She sighed, a sound heavy with years of resentment. When she looked back at Apollo, the fire in her pale blue eyes were now tempered by something else. "Perhaps, you're right. It's time I let it go," she admitted reluctantly, her voice quieter now. "Perhaps..."

Apollo's posture shifted, his golden aura brightening slightly with cautious hope. He stepped closer, his earlier anger giving way to something steadier, gentler. "Please, Aphrodite. I care for her. Let her be free of this. Let her have a chance."

Aphrodite studied him in silence, her gaze tracing his features—the earnestness in his golden eyes, the way his lips pressed tightly together, as though holding back something deeper. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken meaning.

Finally, she sighed, long and theatrical. "Fine, fine," she said, her voice dripping with exaggerated annoyance. But even as she spoke, a faint trace of something genuine softened her tone, fleeting but present.

Relief flickered in Apollo's eyes, and his golden aura steadied, its warmth filling the room once more. His shoulders began to relax, but the moment was short-lived.

Aphrodite's expression shifted suddenly, the faint gentleness evaporating, replaced by something sharper, colder. Her lips curled back into a wicked smile, and her gaze gleamed with calculated malice.

"Under one condition."

Apollo's relief vanished instantly, his posture stiffening. "What condition?"

Aphrodite's smile widened, her head tilting slightly as she raised a hand, her fingers toying with the edge of her robes, her movements languid and deliberate. Then, with a casual shrug that bordered on flippant, "Get rid of your little memory gift."

Apollo froze. His golden eyes widened briefly before narrowing into slits. "What?" He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

Aphrodite's shoulders lifted in another delicate shrug, her tone light, almost mocking. "It's simple, brother. You get rid of your little safety net for your muse—no more memory erasing, no more burying her pain—and I'll lift my curse."

The weight of her words filled the space between them, heavy and suffocating. Apollo's golden light pulsing erratically as he processed her demand. "You can't be serious," he said finally, his voice laced with venom. "That's not a fair trade."

Aphrodite giggled, the sound light and musical, but with a sharp edge that set his jaw tighter. "Oh, I think it's perfectly fair. You want her free of my curse? Fine. But let's see how she fares without your little crutch to hold her up."

Apollo's light flared violently, jagged shadows cast across the marble walls as his anger surged. "You're asking me to strip her of the one thing that helps her cope with everything you've put her through. That's cruel, even for you."

Aphrodite tilted her head, her smirk unwavering. "Oh, Apollo, you and I both know your little gift isn't as selfless as you pretend. You didn't create it for her—you created it for yourself. To keep her tethered to you, to your domain, so she'll never forget the comfort only you can provide."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her gaze predatory and piercing. "Dress it up however you like, but at the end of the day, your gift takes her autonomy. It buries her pain—her pain, Apollo, not yours—and you've convinced yourself it's for her benefit."

Leaning back, she plucked another grape delicately from the bowl at her side, her nails glinting like polished pearls. "So, what will it be?" she asked, her voice honeyed but mocking. "Your precious little muse, free of my curse? Or will you cling to your perfect little gift and let her bear the weight of both our meddling?"

Apollo's lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he stared at her. He let out a slow, measured breath, his gaze falling momentarily to the floor. In his mind, the scales tipped back and forth, weighing the cost of her offer.

When he looked back up, Aphrodite's eyes gleamed with a knowing light, her confidence palpable. He realized this was a one-time offer. She wouldn't make it again.

Releasing another sharp sigh, Apollo straightened his shoulders, his golden eyes meeting hers with quiet intensity. "Deal."

Aphrodite's smirk melted into a sweet, saccharine smile, her demeanor softening as she pushed herself upright. "Good choice, brother." Her hand rose gracefully, a soft glow emanating from her form. Her robes shimmered faintly, her divine light filling the space between them. With a deliberate motion, she lowered her hand, the glow dissipating like a receding wave.

"There. All done," she said simply.

Apollo blinked, his golden aura steadying as warmth spread across his face. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his expression softened into a tired but genuine smile. A glimmer of hope danced in his eyes as he inclined his head toward her. "Thank you. Thank you... sister."

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a half-smile laced with exasperation. "No need to thank me, Apollo. Just make sure your little muse knows how much I've sacrificed here... if she knows what's good for her."

"She will," he said firmly. "Trust me."

Aphrodite sniffed, reaching for her discarded grapes. She plucked one and tossed it into her mouth, her demeanor already shifting back to its usual nonchalance. "Now, leave me be," she said with a languid wave of her hand. "Go... dote on your mortal or whatever it is you do. And remember, Apollo, no more of your sappy requests."

Apollo chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned toward the archway. "I wouldn't dream of it." His golden form glistened in the light as he strode away, his footsteps steady.

Behind him, Aphrodite watched him go, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she popped another grape into her mouth. "I swear," she muttered, her voice almost lost in the gentle breeze sweeping through the hall, "gods and their muses."

A/N: here's a bit of extra scenes/plot to 20 ┃ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 ❤️; surprise! more insight into apollo/other things;  ive been getting questioned asking/wondering why you and telemachus just cant seem to get it right, we'll here it is and now since all the players are introduced and the curse is lifted, may the best love win, lololol... i also maybe just wanted to write a lil aphrodite (y'all cant tell im in love with her can y'all?) also i dont think ive ever stated (might do it in a later chapter) but yes, all of the gods so far---aside Aphrodite and Athena---have the gold eyes (my thought process is that they wouldnt since they were born weird, athena=zeus head/aphrodite=chronus shlong, so i  gave them/let them keep the grey eyes/blue eyes lolol)

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight

[mrs-pondwater19]

~Slow Recovery~

-Sam Winchester x Fem Reader

-Synopsis: Sam slips up in his recovery after a particularly bad hunt. Returning home having to face you with his shame. But even in your disappointment, you're still more than understanding and supportive. Knowing that recovery is a long, slow process.

W/C: 1,914

C/W: Heavy mentions of addiction, depictions of blood, angst, positive affirmations, comfort and support, no mentions of established relationship but the love and care is very prominent.

A/N: This is just a little blurb I wrote up in between projects. As silly as it sounds I really love hurt to comfort stories every now and again. And I just wanna take Sam and wrap him up in a blanket and take all his pain away because he's just so babygirl pookie bear. I hope you enjoy💕

“Well, you lied

You said you were fine

But now you're terrified

'Cause you don't wanna die

Then you start to cry

You wish that you could take it all back.”

You looked at the clock that hung on the wall of the dark, silent bunker when you heard the heavy iron door creak open after a few hours of pacing back and forth.

1:47am.

They were out later than they said they'd be. But that wasn't uncommon for them either. You knew it really all depended on how the hunt played out. But judging by how late they had gotten back, and how quiet the two of them were, it seems it didn't go well at all.

Dean came in first, carrying a tension with him as his gaze met yours. But when you thought you'd be met with one of his cocky smirks and a flirty ‘You miss us Sweetheart?’.

You were met with something else entirely.

His green eyes hardened, a set scowl on his face as he pulled his jacket off, throwing it harshly on one of the chairs. A disgruntled huff broke past his lips, his hands running through his sweat coated hair.

It must've been really, really bad.

You watched Dean walk over to the fridge, grabbing a beer before slamming it shut and walking past you. Your expression was one of concern as you spoke.

“What the hell happened?”

He shot you a bitter side glance as he walked past you.

Then past Sam.

“Ask him.”

He muttered coldly before walking back upstairs. Leaving you and Sam alone in the bunker.

You hadn't even looked at Sam when he came in, but now that you were. Your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight of him.

His clothes were soaked in blood. His olive green coat and washed out blue button up ruined in the crimson red. His neck speckled in red streaks that dried up a while ago.

His hands coated like he dipped them in paint.

But what hurt to see the most was his face. How it was all smeared across his lips, chin and jaw. A testament to how he tried to wipe it away like a dirty sin.

His eyes refused to meet yours, swimming with guilt and despair. Tears threatened to spill past his long lashes as he shifted uncomfortably in front of you.

Like he was ashamed to be in your presence.

You knew it wasn't his.

Your heart cracked in your chest.

Your face fell into a solemn, disappointed expression as you closed the space between you two. Your hand finding its way to his cheek. Coaxing him to look at you.

“Sam, what happened?”

You asked in a gentle exhale.

He still couldn't bring himself to look at you. Instead he closed his eyes as he stuttered out.

“I-I don't know. I didn't mean for it to happen. It's just- I just wasn't strong enough. I couldn't control myself.”

He choked out that last part, his tears brimming his hazel eyes like glass as he finally looked at you.

You knew he was expecting you to berate him. To tell him he was weak, that he'd have to start all over again and go through the agonizing withdrawals.

To remind him of his faults.

But you never did. No matter how many times he messed up, no matter how many times he fell. You were always there to help pick him back up, to tell him it was ok. That you didn't think any less of him because he made mistakes.

That you were there for him.

This time would be no different as you gave him a reassuring smile through your disappointed expression, taking his hand and leading him to the bunker bathroom.

You guided him to sink, gesturing for him to perch himself on the beige white porcelain edge.

The stale, low lighting in the bunker bathroom made the situation feel more heavy than it already was. The sounds of you two shuffling in the small space seemed to echo in your ears. But there was no point in acknowledging the tension now.

Knowing Sam could feel it too.

You crouched down to the little cabinet underneath the sink, pulling out a crisp, clean cloth. Setting it aside as you turned on the faucet and brought his hands to the warm running water. Washing away the blood that coated his long fingers and calloused palms. Watching how the red streamed against the white of the sink, making your stomach twist ever so slightly as it flowed down the drain.

You ran your thumbs over his knuckles with care as the blood was washed away. Looking at the size difference between you two. Finding it a bit ironic at how a man with such strong hands was letting such soft, gentle fingers take control.

But you could tell in moments like these, Sam wouldn't want it any other way. Because he knew no one else would treat him with the same tenderness.

Once the blood from his hands were gone, you ran the cloth under steady steam, making sure it was warm enough to bring him some sort of comfort in the cold silence between you.

As you raised the cloth to his face, he flinched.

Your heart lurched in your chest as you whispered,

“Hey, it's ok.. It's ok.”

You said as you placed your free hand over his. Holding eye contact with him as you placed the warm, damp cloth on his cheek. Gently wiping away the blood off his face.

“Did they hurt you at all?”

You asked as you scanned over his face, looking to see if had any nicks or cuts.

He shook his head, looking at you with his big, dewy eyes as you wiped away the blood from his lips.

“I'm fine.”

His voice was barely audible.

But his eyes told a different story.

Those big puppy dog eyes.

He was lying.

“I'm not mad at you Sam. You know that right?”

His jaw tensed.

“You should be furious.”

He said as he gently grasped your wrist, stopping you from continuing to wipe away the blood.

Like he didn't deserve it.

You softened your expression, letting the hand that rested on top of his slip between his fingers.

“It's not your fault Sam.”

His brows furrowed in frustration as he gripped your wrist a little more tightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you notice.

“Don't give me that. It is my fault, because I made a choice to either leave it alone or give in. And I wasn't strong enough to resist. Now I'm back where I started. Because I was weak.”

You let out a slightly defeated sigh as you tugged away from his grasp. You could see the guilt and shame in his eyes as you pulled away. But there was something else hiding underneath.

He was terrified.

Terrified of the hold the blood had on him.

Terrified of the idea of losing everything he loved.

Terrified of dying.

You gave him an adamant look as to tell him to let you continue what you started.

And he knew better than to push you when you gave him that look.

As you finished cleaning his face, you carefully moved down to his neck.

“You're being too hard on yourself. You say it's your fault, but you didn't know how addictive the blood would be. You didn't know about the consequences that would come with it. You thought you were doing the right thing.”

He looked away as you spoke so kindly and yet so firmly at the same time. Like the way a mother would. It was enough to make his heart tear in two, because he loved and hated when you were like this.

He loved it because you were coming from a place of genuine concern and love. And he hated it because he felt like he didn't deserve your love and care. He thought you should've been harder on him like everyone else was.

You should've treated him like the black sheep he was.

But you were never going to.

Because he knew you saw the good in everyone, including him.

You squeezed the cloth of the blood that stained it. Running it under the water once again to heat it back up before running the damp material over his adams apple and down to his collarbone.

“You should be holding me accountable like Dean and Bobby do.”

Your expression hardened, a beat of silence passed before you spoke bitterly.

“Stop. They aren't holding you accountable, they're being insensitive. They don't know how to approach situations like yours. Addiction is a battle, Sam. No one has ever gone through it unscathed, and it will be something you will have to fight through until the day you die.”

You said as you finished cleaning up. Looking at the bloodied cloth with a softer expression.

“There are times when you need to be held accountable with some tough love, but that doesn't go without being shown empathy either. There are going to be days when you stumble and fall, and that's ok. No one said it was ever going to be easy to try and quit fully all at once. But as long as you're making steps in the right direction to get better. To live without it. I think that's worth showing a little bit of empathy towards.”

You said as you set the cloth down in the bowl of the sink before you settled yourself between his legs as he stayed in his spot on the sink.

Your hands pushing some of the umber brown locks out of his tearful eyes.

“You're making that effort Sam. I see it. And I know it's hard to keep making that effort when you're constantly reminded of how addicted you were. Of how lost you were. It'll take time to get better, doesn't happen overnight. All I ask is that you keep fighting this. Keep trying. And know that I'll be by your side as long as you keep fighting.”

Sam's tears fell freely when he saw the conviction in your eyes, how you really meant every word you said. That you were here for him.

For the long term.

He leaned forward, pulling you into a tight, affectionate embrace. His arms caging you against his chest as he buried his face into your shoulder. Sniffling as he let out a shaky whisper.

“Thank you.”

He knew it wasn't much. But he wasn't sure he could explain the amount of gratitude he held for you in that moment into words.

And he wasn't going to.

He knew the only way he could express it was through his actions. To continue to make the effort to get better.

To be better.

As much as he wished he could take it all back, he knew he couldn't. No matter how much he wished he could go back and stop himself, it would never be possible.

But what was possible was recovery.

To fight with everything he had to get past his addiction for the blood. No matter how much he may crave the power it gives him or the rush he feels. He knew as long as you were there to help him along the way, he'd have the strength to push through it all.

Because he thought you were worth getting better for.

[boobabietch]

Like a prayer | Paige Bueckers x reader

Warnings: porn without plot, oral sex (P receiving), religious themes (not trying to offend anyone)

A/N: just a quick little blurb I thought while listening Like a Prayer from Deadpool and Wolverine lol. English is not my first language so if you see something wrong tell me so I can change it ASAP. Likes, reblogs and comments(!!!) are appreciated, and my ask box is always open, with any other thing to say, enjoy. Love Sof :))

The room was dimly lit, a sanctuary filled with the intoxicating scent of our desire. As I knelt between Paige’s legs, my heart raced with a reverent thrill. While others might kneel in prayer, I found my worship here, in this sacred act of devotion.

With each deliberate lick, I traced the contours of her body, treating her as a divine offering. My tongue explored her most sensitive spots, savoring the taste of her essence as if it were the finest sacramental wine. Every moan that escaped her lips felt like a prayer, a hymn of pleasure that echoed in the sacred space we created together. The sheets beneath us transformed into an altar of devotion, soaking in the evidence of our worship, a growing stain that mirrored the intensity of the moment.

“Please,” she gasped, her voice a desperate plea that ignited a fire within me. “I can’t… I’m-”

But I tightened my grip on her hips, holding her firmly in place with a strength that was both possessive and protective. “You’re not going anywhere,” I whispered against her skin, my breath warm and reverent.

I could feel the weight of the world outside dissipate as I focused entirely on her, my goddess, my lover, my Paige.

I held her hips tightly, anchoring her in place, a divine grip meant to both possess and protect. I couldn’t let her go, not until I’ve tasted every part of her, until her body sings my name like a psalm.

I immersed myself in the rhythm of my devotion, losing myself in the sanctity of the moment. The world outside faded into oblivion as I drank in her essence, the rich sweetness filling my senses and leaving me craving more.

This was my communion, my holy rite, a connection so profound that it transcended the physical, binding us together in a way that felt almost celestial.

The sensation of her legs trembling against my shoulders only deepened my resolve. I quickened my pace, drawing gasps from her that rose to the heavens like a chorus of angels. With each flick of my tongue, each gentle suck, I became a fervent disciple, devoted to bringing her to the brink of ecstasy. I wanted her to see stars, to feel the divine rush of pleasure that came from being utterly consumed by love.

“Please, just a little more,” she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper, heavy with longing and need.

In that moment, I felt like a sinner reveling in forbidden fruit,

Yet it was the purest form of worship I could offer.

I dove deeper, my devotion unwavering, my heart and soul entwined with every movement. This was our sin, our ecstasy, and it felt profoundly holy, as if we were rewriting the very tenets of love itself.

With each wave of pleasure that washed over her, I felt the sacred bond between us grow stronger. I held her in place, guiding her to the edge, my touch both gentle and firm, as if I were a guardian of her pleasure. We were lost in our world, a sanctuary where nothing else mattered but the intoxicating union of our bodies and souls.

In this moment, surrounded by the echoes of her cries and the warmth of our connection, we were not just lovers; we were worshipers, each caress a testament to our faith in each other. This was our holy ground, a place where love and desire converged, making every moment feel like a divine blessing.

Requests are Open!

Masterlist

[k-nayee]

Between Faith and Flesh Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass

wc: 2.8k a/n: incase it was unclear, this is a little cross-over between Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass while also being an Actor!AU. Might be a lil confusing but wanted to make something new lol

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything....James 1:2-4." 

The familiar warmth of the chapel enveloped you as you delivered the final lines of your morning homily, your voice calm yet resonant in the quiet space.

Sunlight filtered through the modest stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of gold and amber across the worn pews where Crockett Island's tight-knit congregation sat.

The scent of salt and damp wood lingered faintly in the air—a reminder of the sea just beyond the church walls.

Your gaze swept across the group, catching the faces you had come to know so well over the past year.

The mayor's daughter Leeza Scarborough sat in the front row, wide eyes attentive on you as she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

Even Sheriff Hassan stood near the back as his son Ali sat near him listening intently, despite knowing how outdated many were to his Islamic faith.

These people, they had become your family in a way—this island, with all its quiet mysteries, had grown on you.

You closed your sermon with a passage on resilience, something that had always resonated with you—like how faith, similar to the sea surrounding them, could be both steady and tumultuous.

"We find strength not in the absence of struggle, but in how we rise after the waves pull us under." Your words hung in the air for a moment, met with soft nods and murmurs of agreement from the congregation.

"Let us pray," you began, your hands resting gently on the altar.

As you spoke your thoughts wandered briefly, like they often did, to Riley Flynn—a name you had known only through the accident that had first led you here.

His absence was a constant echo in the small populace community, felt even when it wasn't spoken aloud.

As the congregation stood to leave, you lingered near the altar to exchange kind words with those who came up to you.

A soft word here, a warm touch on the shoulder there—each gesture felt like a testament to how far you'd come.

This role, unexpected as it was, had become more than just a position. It was your calling.

"You've really made a place for yourself here," Anne said quietly, her expression sincere as she approached.

"Thank you Mrs. Flynn," you replied, offering her a gentle smile. "Means a lot coming from you."

And it did. Especially knowing how much of the weight of her son's sins pressed on her mind. 

It still surprised you sometimes how much the town had accepted you. Even when being the first ordained woman pastor—something that should have sparked outrage, especially in a small traditional community—the people had welcomed you with open arms.

Or at least most of them had.

The familiar sound of heels clicking sharply against the stone floor caught your attention.

Bev Keane.

She always had an aura of cold disapproval, her gaze flickering over you with barely concealed distaste.

"Another lovely service I'm sure," she said, compliment laced with her usual acidity. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued, "But I wonder if perhaps next time you might include more...traditional teachings? Some of the congregation finds your progressive messages a bit, well, out of step."

Her words stung, but you kept your expression calm refusing to rise to her bait.

Bev had never approved of your leadership from the start—the idea of a woman in your position, however temporary, was something she barely tolerates.

With every sermon you gave, every interaction with the townsfolk that went well, her bitterness seemed to deepen.

"I'll take your suggestion under consideration," you kept your tone firm. There was no point in arguing with Bev directly—it would only lead to more confrontation.

One thing you had long since learned about Bev's resistance was that it was more about control than doctrine.

She craved the power that came with influence over the church, and your very presence threatened that.

Bev's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Well I'll leave you to clean up. God knows there's always work to be done."

With a stiff nod she turned on her heel and marched away, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the doors.

As the last of the congregation departed, the chapel fell into a serene silence once again.

You exhaled softly, feeling the weight of the morning settle on your shoulders.

Despite the support of the community, moments like these reminded you of how precarious your position was.

You knew she was waiting for any excuse to discredit you—an outsider who had stepped into a role she believed was hers by right.

Busying yourself by tidying up, your hands smooth the fabric of the altar cloth as you cleared the space for the next service.

The chapel, now empty, felt both peaceful and solemn.

It was in these quiet moments that you often found yourself reflecting on the journey that had brought you here—from your small-town upbringing, to your studies, to this remote island where you now stood as the first ordained woman pastor.

The soft chime of your phone broke the stillness. Pulling the device from your pocket, you faintly smile at the name on the screen. Nick.

The message was short but familiar—a photo of him post-workout, his face flushed with exertion with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

Nick: Finishing up my workout. Just wanted to give you an update :)

Your could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

You weren't sure why you were smiling so much—after all, it was just Nick being...Nick. Friendly, teasing, always with that infectious charm.

But somehow, the way your eyes lingered on the photo for a beat too long made you acutely aware of something deeper. Something you weren't sure you should be feeling.

Shaking your head slightly, you reply back.

____: Glad to see you're keeping busy!

You hit send, already imagining the smirk he'd have seeing your response.

As soon you tuck away your phone, intent on finishing the cleanup, another buzz came almost immediately.

Nick: Hope you weren't doing anything unholy with that picture of me ;)

The heat had spread to your face and a startled laugh slipped past your lips.

You quickly type back.

____:  Behave Nicholas. I'm a pastor remember? 

You knew he was just being playful, but it didn't stop the way your heart skipped slightly at the implications.

Unholy. The word reverberated in your mind longer than it should have.

Before you could dwell too much on it, another text came through.

Nick: Sure sure I believe you ;) Anyways got a surprise for you

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, curiosity piqued.

____: A surprise? What kind?

Nick: You'll see. Just finished that project I told you about. Check your email when you get home. And no peeking. You promised

The reminder made you chuckle. ____: Fine fine I'll wait. It better be good especially with all this mystery!

You added a playful emoji at the end, the excitement clear in your message.

His response was immediate, and you could practically hear his voice.

Nick: Oh it's good. Don't worry I know you're going to love it.

You smiled at the screen, shaking your head at his confidence. Of course he'd know.

The faint echo of your steps on the wooden floor snapped you back to the present, making your thoughts drift back to his arrival, how it had all begun.

It was almost a year at the time when Father Pruitt had left on his pilgrimage, leaving you in charge of the church—a transition you hadn't anticipated but had eventually embraced.

And just as you were starting to find your footing, Nicholas Chaves had appeared, adding a new dynamic you hadn't expected.

Before he arrived to Crockett Island, you recall the unexpected email you received: a simple inquiry from the actor who was looking to deepen his understanding of priesthood for an upcoming role.

He wanted to shadow someone in the clergy, someone who could give him an authentic insight into the life of a pastor.

And he'd heard about your rather unique position on the island...

You of course were slightly taken aback by his openness and easy way he'd talked about his work.

It wasn't every day someone like Nick came knocking, but you had agreed mainly from intrigue of the whole situation.

Even when Bev became immediately suspicious of him—practically interrogating him when he first arrived—the rest of the town welcomed him warmly, charmed by his easygoing nature.

"Another distraction," she'd muttered once when Nick had offered to help you carry boxes of hymnals inside one time. "This is a church not a social club." 

Her words always came with that same bitter edge, though by now you'd learned to brush them off. 

He stayed in Father Pruitt's old house with you during that time in one of the spare rooms.

As you finished locking up and made your way toward the small home, your thoughts drifted back to him.

You never planned on feeling so affected by him. Yes he was charming, but it was more than that—there was something about him that drew you in even when you tried to resist it.

And it wasn't just his looks—though you couldn't deny the way your breath occasionally caught when he smiled at you in that boyish way of his.

No. It was his presence. The way he carried himself—confident yet curious, never shying away from asking questions about your work and sermons, about faith itself.

He was genuinely interested, even if he wasn't fully immersed in it like you were.

In all, conversations with Nick were easy; late-night talks often ended up stretching longer than intended as you discussed everything from theology to the little absurdities of life.

And yet despite the growing comfort, there had always been a tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first time you felt the it was when he'd sat in on one of your late-night study sessions, helping you prep for Sunday Mass.

His quiet attentiveness as he listened to you practice, his casual lean against the doorway as he watched with a smile tugging at his lips.

Now, as you made your way up the steps, you wondered what this surprise of Nick's could be.

You pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of wood and old books greeting you.

It was home now—at least for the time being. Letting out a sigh, you set your bag down and make your way to the bedroom.

Changing your robes and veil into a more comfortable sleepwear, you grab your laptop and settle into bed.

There in your inbox, you find a sent email from him.

Three video files, each with a timestamp of about an 50 minutes. The subject line read simply: For You.

You frowned in confusion but quickly clicked on the first one. The video loaded, and as it played, the familiar face of Niecy Nash popped up on the screen.

A soft laugh escaped you—a TV show? It wasn't what you were expecting, but you were intrigued.

As the episode unfolded, you were drawn into the storyline.

It was refreshing actually, seeing a concept that brushed against the edges of a religion that's intertwined with your own daily life.

By the second episode you were completely hooked. You'd grown attached to the characters, loving the way they navigated this warped world of morality and sin.

The storyline itself was intense and unpredictable in how it blended the very faith you preached into something so viscerally raw.

But then your heart leapt a little as Nick—or rather, Father Charlie finally appeared on screen.

You smiled, unable to resist snapping a picture of the scene and sending it to him with a simple teasing text.

____: Look who just showed up on my screen.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly, but you ignored it.

You were too caught up in watching him; your eyes tracing the way he moved, the way his expression shifted with every word.

It was surreal watching him play a priest when just a few weeks ago, he had been standing beside you in the church helping with the altar cloths.

Every close-up of his face had your heart doing an odd little flip. You'd shared conversations with that face, shared jokes and moments of comfort. 

The goofy smile on your lips was hard to suppress as you watched him banter with Sister Megan, the two having a light giggle over stolen fries.

You couldn't help but draw parallels between the man on the screen and the man you had grown close to—the actor who had been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and, admittedly, a little flirtatious.

And then the scene change.

The camera panned across a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. Your eyes narrowed, focusing in on the figure sitting at the edge of a bed.

It was Father Charlie—his broad, bare back flexing as he sat, hunched slightly. The room was silent except for his soft labored breathing.

You watch with growing confusion as his breathing deepens.

A soft sound escapes him—a low moan—and suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifts entirely.

Your eyes widened upon realizing what you were seeing. Father Charlie is pleasuring himself.

The sounds of his quiet sighs fill the room, and you freeze as you try to process what you're watching. 

The camera caught it all: the soft sighs, the slow measured pace of his hand, the quiet moans that grew more strained with every movement.

You felt your breath hitch, heat creeping up your neck as you watched too stunned to look away.

You know it's just a show—it's just acting—but seeing Nick, someone you know, in such an intimate and vulnerable moment...it shakes you.

Your body feels hot, heart pounding as Father Charlie quickens his pace, his breath becoming more erratic, moans growing louder.

A strange warmth unfurled in your chest that you immediately tried to suppress.

It felt wrong to watch this—wrong to feel anything about it.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for your laptop, the desire to pause or stop the episode battling with the inexplicable pull to keep watching.

And then it changed again.

The camera cuts to him standing at a basin, his back to the facing you once again, the muscles in his back flexing under the low light.

You blink rapidly as he begins to wash his hands, the sound of the water almost deafening in the silence.

That's when you notice it—the chaps. He's wearing bottomless chaps, the skin of his thighs and backside completely bare.

"Sweet baby Jesus," you whisper, hands shaking as you press a hand to your mouth in attempt to contain the heat that spreads across your face.

It wasn't over.

Father Charlie moved toward a small wooden box, opening it with a reverence that made your stomach twist.

He reached inside and pulled out a flogging whip—a thick, multi-tailed instrument of punishment.

His expression is solemn, his lips moving in silent prayer as he prepares the whip, his fingers brushing reverently over the strips before raising the instrument of self-punishment.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away as Father Charlie strikes himself.

The sharp crack of the whip fills the room and you flinch at the sound.

Each lash is deliberate. His body jerks with every strike, a soft grunt escaping him with every hit.

His whispered prayers mix with the sounds of his punishment, the intensity of the scene almost unbearable as it goes on, each crack of the whip sending a shiver down your spine.

It's too much. You couldn't take it anymore.

Your hand shot out, scrambling to close the laptop with a thud. For a moment you couldn't move.

Your body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time, suspended in the strange space between what you knew and what you had just witnessed.

The room around you suddenly felt too small, too close.

Shakily, you brush a few stray strands of hair from your damp forehead, trying to steady yourself.

You were a pastor—dedicated to God, to the people you served. You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Closing your eyes tightly, you try to will the feeling to go away and dissipate like the smoke from the candles you had blown out earlier in the church.

But the heat in your face, the trembling in your hands, didn't fade.

You felt as though you had been thrust into a battle between your devotion to God and the temptation of something far more dangerous—something you could no longer ignore.

The dim screen of your phone in your peripheral catches your attention.

Hesitant, you picked it up, and your stomach drops at the sight of Nicholas's message.

Nick: What do you think?

[livelaughlovesubs]

Nini!! Guess who’s back from hibernation!! :D

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve interacted on your page, I got busy with stuff :(

Anyways, incubus Fyodor and priest reader! (Yes, ik old request, wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember.) punishing Fyodor for becoming cocky bc you were not paying attention to him, he even went as far as threatening to go get fucked by someone else! (He was bluffing. He’s too addicted to your cock at that point) now he has to learn the consequences of his actions when he’s forced to cockwarm you with his mouth while you read the bible, not even sparing him a glance! You even made sure to chastise him so he wouldn’t try anything. Every time he tries even moving at bit, you grab his hair tightly and push in more of your dick, making his eye tear up as he grips onto your thighs desperately. By the time you finish Luke’s gospel, Fyodor is looking up at you pleadingly with drool dripping down his chin for you to finally use him. <3

- 🍮 ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Incubus Fyodor 3

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor

Warning: I’ll use dick - interpret it however you want, blow job, cockwarming, hierophilia - (incorrect) religious aspects, hair pulling, choking/ gagging, dacryphilia

🍮 anon!!! I missed you and your fyodor requests! I love that little bastard hehe. Also nope, I did not forget, cuz I freaking loved those ideas.

Normally you were nice enough to satisfy his needs, he needed it to survive after all. But he was an incubus, his sex drive was way higher than what a normal human can handle. One of the reasons why incubi’s never settle down for only one partner. In your case, you forced him to stay here with you, as if he was your personal pet. To be honest, he was just your plaything after all. The pretext of cleansing him of his sins? A dirty thing like him can’t be redeemed, you didn’t believe in such things anyway. Rather, accepting and repenting for one’s sins, and that is something he has to want for himself. The most you could do was prevent him from being even more sinful. That alone would be of great help, since otherwise he would seduce other people and make them succumb to Asmodeus too.

Today you were busy reading when he came up to you. You knew what he wanted, but this time you ignored it, there were other things to take care of. At first he just stood there, staring at you, wondering why you were so carried away. He took a few glances at your book, it was the bible in the Old Testament. No wonder you seemed busy, that one’s difficult to understand. This wont stop him from desiring you though, so he kneeled down and crawled under your table, slowly settling down between your legs.

“Y/nnn~ I’m so hungry, can we please do it?” Fyodor asked, looking up at you with those pretty scarlet eyes. “Not now, maybe later.” That’s weird, normally you always agreed. “Can’t you read that damn book later?” “This is not a ‘damn’ book, I have to concentrate so be quiet please.” You answered him, eyes never leaving the paper in front of you, scanning one line after another. He pouted, furrowing his brows as he thought about what to do. “But I’m really hungry.” The incubi complained again, though to no avail. How stubborn you were. Fine, if that’s what you want. “Never mind, I’ll find someone else then.”

Fyodor turned his head around, about to get up to leave when he felt your hand on his head. Before he got the chance to question you about it, you yanked on his hair and made him arch his back. Now you were towering over him, pulling his head back by his raven black locks. “MhmMM-ahHHNHgG..?!” He moaned out, unable to bite back a smirk. “I wont allow you to defile other innocent souls.” You told him harshly, without an ounce of concern. The gaze you bore was cold, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn’t due to fear though. His face was red, eyes foggy and expression melting, no matter what you’d do to him he’d take it with no hesitation.

“Haaah…” you sighed, feeling a little annoyed with him, then you commanded, “Go to the drawer there on the left and bring me the box in there.” He looked at you with confusion, but did it anyway. Getting up to get the box you wanted, then returning to his previous position. The demon watched with curiosity as you opened it. There were many sex toys in it, most of them have been used on him already. You reached for the things you needed, afterwards you put the rest away. Fyodor was still kneeling between your legs while you prepared everything, his body filled up with anticipation. He knows exactly what those toys do, god he wanted you to abuse him with them.

First thing you did was take the cockring and bring it to the base of his cock, it was to keep him obedient. You can’t have him squirting around his filthy essence. He squirmed when you grabbed him by the shaft as you used it on him, it looked so romantic~ That was all it took to get him hard. Then you pulled on his hair again, making him face your abdomen and dick. “Keep it in your mouth, you can’t move until I’m done, understood?” Instead of making him cockwarm you with his hole, you wanted him to use his mouth. It’s because he talks too much, you couldn’t think when he keeps babbling nonsense.

Just as you guessed, he happily took all of you inside his throat, gagging a little at the length. Forget about talking, he can barely breath with how deep it was in his throat. A bulge could be seen on his neck, right there where his Adam’s apple is. “Good boy.” You said, now stroking his head gently, as if he was really your pet. How he loved it, chocking on your dick like this, tears were on the verge of spilling. The reason why your fingers were still tangled with his locks was to prevent him from moving, since this was a punishment. That’s why every time he bobbed his head, intentionally or not, you’d force his face down further, until his nose hit your pelvis. Poor boy gagged and choked so prettily whenever you’d die that, letting out sweet moans akin to an angels singing,“guUHH..! Uh-hm,,.mHMmnGH..”

At first he was pretty enthusiastic about it, after ten minutes he got bored and needy. This only continued to the point he started crying. He was so desperate for any friction he could get, since he couldn’t even touch himself. Well, he could, but it’s not like he can cum anyways. Drool was running down his chin while tears rolled down his cheeks, leaving behind a shiny trail. His hands were bawled into fists while his tail wagged around like crazy. The look he had in his eyes were so hot, looking up at you all submissive while his pupils turned into hearts. Internally, fyodor was begging for you to finally pay attention to him, or finish reading that book soon. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

This was pure torture, was what he thought after not 30 minutes, but an entire hour passed. His head felt light, and his body twitched everywhere. Just a single touch from you would cause him to yelp that’s how sensitive he became. Quiet sobs could be heard from him while melting expression plagued his features. You weren’t exactly done yet with your reading, but seeing how pitiful he looked, you just had to help him. Putting the bible aside and caressing his ruined face, “you’ve been pretty good for the past hour, want to have your meal now?” As soon as he heard that he started choking on it again, the surprise and excitement caused him to inhale too fast. Only difference was, this time you let him pull his head back. “AhHh..! Cough- uh-urGHh..ahh, ye-yes!! I want it, p- guUHH.. pleaseee..” Suddenly he started sobbing intensely again, he also stuck his tongue out after pleading with you so obediently. Right, such a good boy, it is time for him to get his blessing.

[sultrybaby]

Nothing Compares To Being In Love With You (S.G)

(pics are not mine. credit to rightful owners. divider also from pinterest)

summary🦢 In which a cluster of old letters stand as the only testament of gojo's love for you, from birth to (quite literally) death.

genre 🦢 romance, angst, some fluff

pairing (s) 🦢 gojo x reader | reader x naoya zenin

warnings 🦢 reader/main character death, MAJOR ANGST obviously, not exactly forbidden love but more unfortunate circumstances, domestic abuse, mentions of bleeding and punching (no actual description of the abuse this is unrelated bleeding and punching), excessive use of the word sin in one of the monologues, mentions of glass, naoya zenin sucks, letters are from gojo's pov which might be hard to follow I am not sure. Gojo is down bad.

DO NOT ROMANTICIZE ABUSE. THIS FIC (AND ME) DOES NOT CONDONE ROMANTICIZATION OF ABUSE AND IF U ARE LOOKING FOR FICS THAT DO (WHICH IS SICK) THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR U AND ALSO PLS BLOCK ME CUZ EW.

a/n: this was supposed to be an enhypen fanfic but then I changed my mind. I'm honestly just shocked I actually finished this. Hopefully this idea has manifested to be as good as it seemed in my head and isn't confusing to follow. ENJOY BESTIESSSSS.

🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢

"So apparently, this house belonged to a young bachelor once," explained Mary to her all-too-curious daughter eveline, who sat wide-eyed like a little lamb on the floor of the new house the family had just moved into.

'Really?"

"Yes, baby," Mary chuckled, running her fingers through eveline's (or evie, as they lovingly call her) hair to brush the strands away from her face.

"Where is he now?"

"Oh I don't know sweetheart," Mary sighed, lightly amused at the disappointment on evie's face.

"But maybe there are some clues around the house! If you ever get the time,  you should explore. Who knows, you might find something…"

Evie's eyes twinkled in excitement at the prospect of having an adventure in this foreign pile of bricks that she now had to learn to call home. Perhaps this will create a sense of oneship with the house.

Determined to uncover the secrets of the mysterious young bachelor, little evie started on her mission to unearth every corner of the building. After toppling boxes, crawling through crevices, and occasionally bumping her head on random walls, evie finally uncovered a rather absurd looking block.

And that is the story of how Mary was gifted this curious looking box by her exhausted daughter, waddling excitedly to show her the discovery.

The box had an old-fashioned grace to it. It was clearly disintegrating; cheap, fading, yellowed white  paint hung off the corners, all dried up, waiting to be chipped off. It seemed as if there was some kind of locking mechanism in the front of the box which has long been broken. All it took was a simple motion for the mouth of the box to open wide, revealing a neatly stacked set of what one could assume were letters.

The first letter was different to the others. While the rest were prettily folded, this one had a texture much more rough- as if it had been crushed and then straightened again. And on it, in extremely feathery ink, was written,

Dear ____,

You are the sun and the stars and the rose and the beautiful sky. You are made of the serenity of heaven and the tempting evil of hell. You are everything created to be beautiful, and you also make anything beautiful by association. Every day and every night, in light, in darkness, in life, and even now in death, you make me realize why Orpheus would go to the deadly underworld just to get Eurydice back. I understand his pain and longing.

I know we parted ways hurtfully and there is no action I regret more. And in my attempt to tell myself I hated you, I failed in my life's purpose- to truly let you know how much I loved you.

This is a memoir of the love I lost, a love that was but a bubble in air- shining briefly with all the most beautiful colours, then popping abruptly. And this is just an attempt at preserving some of that wonder and beauty so that when my heart aches a bit too much, I can cry to the essence of your soul (which is funny, because you are too much, too great, to be put into words).

Lovingly,

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru Gojo.

A love story- a tragic one, was etched in the letters following. In that little white box was the history of Gojo Satoru's love for this mysterious woman to whom he had devoted his heart entirely.

And so Mary started reading…

Dear ____

Today I decided that I would start attempting to put into words my love for you. In these scraps of paper lie not the true extent of my love- that would be impossible to boil down to mere letters- but just enough for my heart to no longer feel as if it is at the brink of explosion from the pain of carrying the weight of my love for you.

The first time I saw you was when I was rushing to work. What started off as a normal day turned into an irreplaceable, unforgettable memory when I heard an angelic voice bantering with a baker.

"Jesus Antonio a damned second grader could bake better bread in their sleep- it’s not worth more than a dollar a loaf. So I ain't paying any more than that"

I felt compelled by fate to turn around and figure out who was truly the source of this wildly amusing diatribe.

Saying that my eyes were unprepared to capture the beauty I was about to witness would be an understatement. I found myself unable to move, nailed to the ground as I took in the sheer magnificence of your existence. And then I blinked. And you were gone.

I remember shaking my head wildly to see where the angel had disappeared off to, and my heart sighed in relief as I saw your unmistakable figure walk with a triumphant smirk and a loaf of bread that you surely had not paid more than a dollar for.

Today marks the second year since we've known each other. Every day since I have carried the burden of my love with utmost pleasure, because loving you is the greatest experience of my life. Nothing compares to being in love with you. But every so often when I stare at you, hoping the longing in my heart doesn't show in my eyes, I wish you were mine.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

The first time we ever talked was in the same bakery I first saw you in, although I will admit it is not as much of a coincidence as it may seem. For every day since I saw you, I wandered around the bakery, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hair again.

First I would wander around the area, walking up and down the road multiple times.

Then I started to stick to the stores right next to the bakery. I bought so many snow globes that I really didn't need, not to mention all those picture frames…

Finally, picking up the courage to meet you, I walked into the bakery. I waited around a bit, but eventually it became clear that you were not making an appearance. Dejected, I decided to get something anyway. I had come to the bakery after all.

"Excuse me, how much for kikufuku" I'd asked

"That's be $3 good sir"

It was as I pulled the notes from my wallet that I heard a familiar voice shrieking,

"ANTONIO HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF THIS GOOD MAN?"

To this day it might be my favourite statement of all time.

I turned around to meet your eyes. All was a blur and before I knew it I had a loaf of bread in my hand along with two of the three dollars I was about to hand in.

"..hello?"

I blinked myself back to reality as I saw you waving your palm good naturedly in front of my face.

"Oh h-hi…"

I saw you giggle, probably at the sight of my extremely flustered face. I could feel the heat absorbing all common sense from my brain.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Sato- Gojo…Gojo Satoru…" I breathed out, "and you?"

"____"

I don't think you will ever realize how much that day changed me. And that's okay. I don't want you to feel the anguish I do. I just want you to keep smiling and giggling as you love to. Oh, and chewing off Antonio's ears, of course.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

I know we're just friends, but sometimes when you show up at my door with a bag of sweets that you just happened to remember were my favourite, I wonder if there is something deeper; if there is any possibility that you could feel what I feel. And when you hand me the bag, I wonder if I was just imagining the way your touch lingered as our fingers grazed, if I was just imagining your gaze momentarily resting on mine with the same intensity with which I look and think of you.

I know we're just friends, but then why is it that every moment we spend apart from each other feels like my heart is getting ripped out piece by piece? And I know that you would never experience the anguish I do, but then as we spend hours and hours on the telephone talking and laughing about anything and everything, I can't help but wonder if you would do this just for a friend. I again let myself hope that maybe, maybe you felt at least a fraction of the deep devotion I felt for you. But I would never, ever mention it. For the thought of losing what we have now, of losing the ability to experience heaven even in such simple ways, brings me fear that gnaws at my heart and soul. So I hide my worries and my wishes as I keep listening to the sound of your voice through the telephone.

I know we're just friends but do friends have such deep understanding of each other to the point where your wish is nothing but my instinct?

I know we're just friends but are the lives of friends so deeply intertwined in each other that when you lie next to them you can't sense where you end and they begin? When you can't remember if you're in your house or theirs for that is how much time you spend in each other's lives. At what point of spending every day together does my life turn into yours. ____  I don't know how I can go on living without telling you how much you mean to me.

I know we're just friends, but sometimes I feel the line blurring away when we're drunk and unstable and tangled in each other, both of us holding the other for support. And as we messily fall onto the floor, giggling at our pathetic state, I take the moment to cradle you in my arms. In your drunken frenzy you place the softest of kisses on my cheek, only to fall asleep on my shoulder immediately after. When I'm staring at you longingly I can't help but wonder, what are we? What is this love, this gentleness, this warmth? Is this friendship? Is friendship supposed to be so overwhelming? The weight of these questions momentarily crush me, but it all fades away as I stare at your beautiful being, peacefully snoring on my shoulder. And in that moment, all my worries take the backseat, and all I care about is protecting this peace of yours. Whether I do that as a lover or a friend is not a matter to me.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

This might be the last time I speak of my love for you, for today you told me that you love me too. So I no longer have to express it in secret, but I can let you know wholeheartedly.

I will never forget the way your head rested against my shoulder, nose-deep in your book. And as I failed to look away from you, I didn’t realize that you had turned to look at me too. I will never forget the way your hand rested on my shoulder as you pulled yourself up to look me in the eye, while I sat there stupidly, mesmerized by the way you moved, so gentle, so light, so ethereal.

Most importantly, I will never forget the way you cupped my face, the subtlest of tears shining in your eyes, and told me, breath hitching at every note,

"Satoru I don't know what I'm feeling. I know I shouldn't be feeling this but I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if you do either. It would kill me to ruin our friendship but this anguish is killing me too and so I'm going to kiss you now and if you don’t like it feel free to punch me"

You leaned forward, and just before you kissed me you stole a glance at my face. And that was when I let go of all the restraints I had placed on my heart.

It was something in the way that our eyes locked;  the brilliant world built on the lies of our hearts crumbling as I cried on your lips in prayer. Maybe this was sin, but the tears I drank were proof that underneath all the chaos hid something real, and it was hidden for no reason but the fact that the world my god created was also made of the same kind of sin as her touch, unprepared to accept the beauty of it all. Damn the preachers, look at her face. Will not the angels sing in her name? If God hated sin so, why did he give her the same beauty as that of his mountains and oceans and the moon? We all are born of sin and sinners at the hour of our death, but I alone had the privilege of being absolved by sin.

I love you, ___. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

I know I said I wouldn’t write more of these since I don’t need to hide my love for you any longer but it turns out I'm incapable of stopping my expression of devotion towards you. I love you in ways that I want to etch down. I want to world to know how much I love you. Even after we're dead and gone, I want these words to stay there forever, because that is the nature of my love for you. Permanent. Everlasting.

I love the way your pretty little hands smooth over my tensed shoulders when I've had a long day. Your chest against my back, your hands enveloping me from behind, the way you whisper into my ear has me wishing for nothing more than the moment to last forever. I love you.

I love the way you kiss me. I love the way you cup my cheeks like a child before kissing them. I love the way you kiss my forehead, the way you kiss my nose, the way you kiss my upper lip, my chin, my shoulder, my eyes. Every bit of proof that an angel like you could ever love me has me in awe, in reverence of how simple it is for you to have me wrapped around your little finger. I love you.

I love the soft little touches that are so characteristic of the way you love. I love the way you fix my messy hair. I love the way you pull me closer during cold breezes, claiming it is to keep me warm. And I stand there in adoration of how cute you look as you hide yourself in the crook of my jacket. And I embrace you in my warmth as if I could never let you go. I love the way you absent mindedly play with my fingers. I love the way you link your arms with mine. I love the way you lean in close to wipe something from the corners of my mouth. I love all of it I love you.

I love it when you're so happy that you do a little dance. I love it when you're so nervous about sneaking away from an important meeting with your family members and running to me that you keep spacing out a little, making that really cute zoned out face of yours. I even love your beautiful diamond tears, even if I hate what it is that made you cry, when you're frustrated with all that your mother and father want from you. I love you I love you I love you.

I love you so much, ___. I can only hope that I remind you of it enough.

Love,

Satoru

"Mama that paper is pretty crumplyy- Mama are you ok?"

Dear ___

No.

It can't be.

I keep telling myself it can't be but your words cling to my skin, the cacophony of which psychedelically revolve around my soul.

It can't be It can't be It can't be

“'toru… we can’t do this anymore. It’s over. I'm getting married.”

 “Married? You’re joking, right? Did your parents finally find some guy who fits their impossibly high standards?”

 “This isn’t a joke, toru, They have found someone. He’s a good match. Someone stable, responsible. I’ve… agreed to it.”

“Wait… you agreed to it? So you’re just… going along with it? After everything we’ve been through? After us?”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is. My family expects me to marry someone who can provide stability, someone they can rely on. You and I… we were just… a dream.”

“A dream? That’s what this was to you? A dream? And you’re just going to… throw it away?”

“Yes I mean… toru, look at you. You live life as if you’re still a kid, as if nothing really matters. You laugh everything off, even the serious things, and that’s— That’s not what I need! I need someone who can give me certainty. Someone who can give me a future.”

“Certainty? Is that all I am to you, just some silly guy who can’t give you a future? Because I would have. I would have done anything to make it work, and you know it.”

“No, Satoru, you wouldn’t have, You’d have tried for a while, but eventually, you’d get restless. That’s who you are—you go wherever you feel like going, with no thought for consequences, no… no sense of commitment. And I can’t live like that.”

“You don’t know that! You’re deciding all this for both of us. You’re… you’re running away, choosing some path that someone else picked out for you. How is that the stability you want? It’s just… it’s just giving up.”

“No, it’s not giving up! You don’t understand. This isn’t just about you or me. It’s about family, tradition… things that are bigger than both of us. You’re acting like a child who thinks love is all that matters. Well, it’s not. Not in my world.”

 “I see. So you’d rather marry a stranger than even give us a chance? Than let me try to be what you need?”

“Gojo… I love you. But love isn’t enough to change everything. I wish it were. But it’s not.”

“Maybe you don’t love me as much as you think, then.”

“Don’t… don’t say that, I’ll never stop loving you, but I need to let you go. And you…You need to let me go, too. It’ll be easier that way.”

“Easier? You’re not making anything easier, trust me. I’ll never forget you. I’ll always wonder what we could’ve been… but you’re right, aren’t you? I’m just too silly, too carefree to matter.”

Naoya Zenin. The heir of one of the biggest families in the nation. Rich, powerful, handsome. Perfect. He was perfect it seemed. And so were you.

But the anger in my heart doesn’t still. Maybe because I don’t want to accept the truth- that I truly was never enough for you.

Because I know that you are not that perfect. Because it was your imperfection that I fell in love with. And the imperfect you casted the imperfect me away because you were imperfect in a way that everyone loved and I was imperfect in a way no one could bear to see. You were imperfect in a way that could be fixed by getting you married (as your wretched family never failed to mention) while I was…unfixable.

Broken.

We were both broken shards, and in our interweaved misery I deluded myself into believing we came from the same piece of glass. When you bled on me I drank your suffering, living through my burning throat just to hold you up. But you were always meant to be great, and I was not. And I told myself that I made you, breathed you into creation. That you were nothing without me. That the time I spent crafting your wings made me something, as if you had not discarded them as soon as you could. Your apathy was cruelty, your fame a testimony to the different seas of being that we are. And as I hung from the broken bridge I built, you flourished.

But in those fluttering moments when our eyes meet, those intense seconds where two frail souls reach out their hands in memory of what once used to be, of what once was the truth, I see that broken woman again. It makes me realize that you were a gorgeous vase dropped on accident, while I was a pair of rose tinted glasses broken in frustration. You were crafted to be beautiful, temporarily set back by fate, while I would forever just be a memory of the lies we tell ourselves.

But a broken vase can never be put back together, and someday, the world would know that your greatness was just a house of cards; fated to be toppled over by the dying breath of the frail strands that tied our hearts together.

Yours,

Satoru.

Dear ___,

I was so sure I understood, so sure that I was the one who’d been wronged. All I saw was you walking away, slipping through my fingers, and it burned—I let it fill me with anger, as if I was the only one hurt by it all. I couldn’t see past my own pain to realize you were scared. You weren’t breaking up with me because you didn’t care, but because you were… trapped.

The Saddest of stories are always of the happiest of people; the ones whose heart lit up at the sight of the world. But the world was too cruel to some of them, and love is never enough to carry one through the ugliness of this world we live in. And soon enough comes a time when looking at a glass of water causes heartache, and every light is so blinding that it physically pains you to get out of bed, and when all that lingers is the feeling of cold numbness inside. By then love is all forgotten, holding no meaning. No amount of care or happiness can fix the damage caused by the seemingly harmless boredom. Boredom then turns to dissatisfaction, and dissatisfaction turns to hopelessness, and through all of this there are those who can put up the façade of a healthy life.

We never see them- or at least see them as they truly are. Sad, Bored, a little dead on the inside. It's not like they seem to be happy or cheerful either- just nothing out of the ordinary. But the ordinary deceives the mind, and we leave out those little moments when their face breaks and the tears slip and the bandaid falls of- not because the wound has healed, but because it has bled too much. And also because it is not the kind of wound that a bandaid can fix. But they ignore this, and keep sticking bandaids (sometimes loosely attaching the same one over) in hopes that it will one day work the way they expect. But this only causes the wound to turn toxic, until it turns numb. And you think this means it has healed, but it is only when it is slightly brushed against, and the unbearable pain jolts throughout, that you realize that its just gotten worse in silence.

I didn’t even think to ask if you were okay. I thought you were just cold, maybe even heartless, telling me you needed someone more stable, someone responsible. But now, I see that you were pleading for something I didn’t understand. You needed help, someone to see through what you couldn’t say. You needed someone who’d ask why you said those things, why you looked so… afraid. And I missed it. I didn’t stop to question why you had this sadness behind your words, this weight pressing on you. I was too focused on being right, on feeling betrayed, to see what was right in front of me.

I convinced myself that you just wanted a different life, something that didn’t involve me, when really, you were… struggling. I should have seen that the way you talked about him, about your 'future,' was hollow. I should have noticed how you’d say the word 'marriage' like it was a sentence, not a choice. And instead of asking you, instead of listening—I let myself believe you were leaving me for someone else, that you’d never loved me the way I loved you. I made it about me, when all you needed was someone who could see what you couldn’t say out loud.

And now, here I am, replaying every word, every conversation, and wondering why I didn’t ask the right questions, why I didn’t push just a little harder to know what was really going on. I was supposed to be the one who loved you. But instead of standing by you, instead of seeing your fear, I just… got angry. I made you feel like you were wrong for leaving me, when in reality, you were just trying to survive. You were terrified, and I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to realize you needed me.

So now I’m left here with nothing but regrets, wishing I had seen the truth, wishing I’d known enough to tell you I’d help, that you weren’t alone. And now… now it’s too late. And I’ll never forgive myself for that

If only you knew that I would have been there for you. When he hurt your body and your heart and mind, I would have been there. If I had known, an angel like you would not have suffered more than a mere second in the house of a tyrant. If I had known, you would be laughing in my arms instead of crying on his floor. If I had known, maybe you would still be here with me.

Naoya Zenin.

That monster. I always hated him, but I thought… I thought it was jealousy. Just me being petty. But now I see him, in my mind—the way he looked at her, the way he… possessed you, like you were some damn object. He never saw you, not the way you really were. No. To him, you were just something he could cage, something to crush under his control.

How could he do it? How could he look you in the eyes and destroy you? How could he even live with himself? You loved life; you loved people, loved him, once—God, that makes it worse. He didn’t deserve a second of your love. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as you, and yet he was the one… he was the one who had you, day after day. His hands, that sick, twisted mind—you suffered because of him. And he’ll never pay enough for what he’s done. No punishment, no hell is deep enough for him.

I should have seen it. All those times I got frustrated with you, thinking you were pulling away, that you were lying to me. But you weren't lying, were you? You were hiding it, hiding the pain… because you knew I wouldn’t understand. I’d always get so mad, so impatient, thinking you were just… playing games, trying to hurt me. But you weren't. You were crying for help, and I just walked away, time after time. I thought I was so… righteous, so hurt. I thought I deserved the truth, that I had the right to be angry.

But I didn’t see your pain, did I? I never stopped to look closer, to ask you if you were really okay. I didn’t see how you’d flinch when he’d call, how you’d go silent, like you were somewhere far away. You were in hell, and all I cared about was my own heart. I was supposed to protect you, and instead, I pushed you back into his arms. I let you go back to him, and now… now you're gone."

And there’s nothing I can do to bring you back. Nothing I can do to make up for the times I failed you, for not listening, for not… seeing. It’s too late. I lost you forever. And it’s my fault.

I'm sorry, love.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

Today I watched you buried. I couldn’t see your face, as I maintained my distance, not trusting myself to be able to bear to be next to the ones who allowed you to be hurt. Moreover, I refuse to believe that you are gone. You're in my heart, and you always will be.

But as the day descended into night, and the yard was empty for miles, I dared to come close.

And I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I don't know when the hot tears started falling, mind blank as my knees thumped against the cold hard ground. And suddenly, all the agony clutched at my throat till I couldn't breathe, and I sobbed. I sobbed and bawled till I couldn’t feel my breath anymore. I needed the pain out of me but I didn't know how and in a vain attempt to ease the pain I punched and punched the ground as if it would cause you to come back to life again. As if it was the fault of the earth for taking you away from me. I cried hideously and clawed monstrously at the ground, but nothing changed. I rested my head on the grass in exhaustion, and thumped my head against the ground in anger as the tears kept falling. But even as I choked on the soil, nothing changed. I was still alone except for the company of the solitude taking pity on my pathetic state. I could feel the nothingness embrace me, comforting me, for I was truly alone in the world now, and I could feel it to my core.

And although my heart is numb and even as the bruises on my fingers from punching the floor bleed onto the page, I cannot stop myself from writing. I write and write and write because these letters are the only thing keeping you alive and I'm afraid if I stop then you will truly be gone and that can't be it can't be it can't.

 Because no matter where you are, my heart still beats for you. And despite the pain that follows the realization that yours no longer beats at all, I want to live forever. I want this simple heart of mine to thrum in your honor until the end of time. So that I can keep the feeling of being in love with you. So that I can, just for a moment, remember that I had the honour of being in love with you. Because nothing compares to being in love with you.

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru.

a/n: hope you enjoyed. ive never written for jjk before and although ive watched the show and am familiar w the manga idk if this is ooc im sry. i have wanted to write for jjk for a while now tho so i am glad i did. i love angst if you couldnt tell btw.

[auren-zagarra]

would you be willing to do one of riding cater in a bathroom stall after getting riled up,,, 😇

prope captus

Content Warning: Cater x GN!Reader, sex, public sex, weed (?). MDNI.

Characters Count: 9309

The final stall of the college lavatory - unremarkable in appearance, yet curiously popular - had long been a haven for those who preferred smoke over scholarship, for whom the drudgery of lectures paled beside the quiet rebellion of solitude. It was there, beneath the dim flicker of a weary lightbulb and behind a door that oftenly was latched, that students gathered not in camaraderie, but in shared evasion - of time, of expectation, of the world’s ever-pressing weight. Now and then, a more daring soul would introduce to that space a sprig of the plant whose name danced between fear and fondness: Maria Juana. It was whispered about with both caution and craving, its presence as illicit as it was beloved. Its kiss - smoky, slow, deceptively sweet - offered escape, a fleeting moment of forgetfulness. But for Cater, such indulgences were hollow echoes beside the substance of you. Why choose the caress of smoke when your praise could intoxicate far more deeply? Why chase the numbness of herbaceous haze, when your touch stirred something far more perilous: a desire laced with desperation. In the end, it was not vice that claimed him, but something human: the longing to be seen, to be wanted, to be consumed not by flame, but by you.

He detested sweetness - the cloying taste of sugar on the tongue, the hollow luxury of indulgence for its own sake. And yet, the moment your fingers traced lines across his chest, he discovered a sweetness not of taste, but of touch - slow and sacred. When your lips found his, it was not mere desire - it was a benediction, as if you believed salvation lay in the tremble between mouths. You moved with the grace of a forbidden hymn, climbing into his lap as though you belonged there, as though sin itself had folded the world into silence just for you. The lid of a porcelain seat became your altar, and in the hush of that shadowed stall, rule after rule unraveled like silk falling from careless hands. His grip found your ass possessive and urgent, fingers tightening at the curve of your form as something fierce stirred between his thighs, sharp and growing like a storm contained in too small a sky. What mattered now the place, the risk, the eyes that might wander past thin walls and hushed stalls? The world beyond had dimmed, unworthy of notice. He needed you - not as one needs air or bread, but as one aches for meaning in a meaningless world. In your touch, he found a kind of drowning, a baptism of fire and want, where even the price of being seen felt too small.

And you? Ah, to behold Cater reduced to such a state beneath your attention was a vision most exquisite - a portrait of ruin painted with your very hands. His usual insolence often drove you to the edges of civility… and yet, how masterfully he wielded it, fanning the embers of your longing at the most inopportune hours, until desire coiled like smoke in your chest. But now, beneath your kiss, there was no jest, no charm - only craving. Each press of your lips carried the weight of unshed frustrations; each rake of your fingers along the expanse of his back was a testament to the fire that smoldered within you - a fierce, unrelenting desire not to love him gently, but to undo him entirely. You felt it, that unmistakable ache growing where his body met yours. It pulsed like a secret, seeking release, desperate for the sanctity of your warmth, of your sin. And so, in a gesture both merciful and damning, you offered deliverance. With a languid touch, you aided him in shedding the fabric that confined him until the garment fell to rest at his knees. There, unveiled and trembling in the dim light, was the evidence of his need - flesh bared, breath caught, longing laid bare like an offering at the altar of your cruelty and grace. He was yours to ruin, and you - so achingly divine in your mercy - were more than willing to oblige.

Your hands, delicate yet deliberate, began their descent - fingertips gliding with sinful precision over the tender place that made him tremble. How exquisite it was, to witness Cater brought so low beneath your touch, stripped of pretense and pride, writhing with need. His desperation was art - frantic, beautiful and all yours. You watched him - this once-defiant creature now reduced to breathless longing - and in that moment, a singular desire bloomed within you: to unravel him without a single drop of mercy. You wished to shatter the last coherent thought clinging to his mind, to drown it in pleasure until nothing remained but the echo of your name in his throat. And so, you followed the steps of your earlier ritual - hands moving as you undressed, baring your skin to the cold air, where gooseflesh rose like an offering to the gods of wickedness and want. You lowered yourself upon him almost solemn, and as the union of flesh met flesh, your breath caught, your head fell back, and the world - such as it was - disappeared into the blaze of fulfillment. Cater gasped, biting his lip, his hips beginning to move in rhythm with the primal force of instinct. But before he could lose himself to the tide, your hand shot up, grasping his chin with authority. He stilled, he understood. No words were needed, because in your gaze, he read the command: Do not move, do not lead… You are not the master here. You would take him apart in your own time, in your own way. He was yours to possess, to love with a cruelty that felt like worship. And he surrendered, body and soul, to the grace of your dominion.

Your hips moved in a slow rhythm, a dance older than language itself. Up and down, you rode him with the poise of a goddess cloaked in mortal skin, each motion a hymn of pleasure offered without shame. And Cater - poor, adoring Cater - could do nothing but cling to you with desperation, his fingers digging into your hips as though fearing you might vanish and take the heavens with you. His lips sought yours between gasped moans and trembling sighs, but it was not just your kiss he craved - it was you, in all your unrelenting glory. He submitted not out of weakness, but out of wonder, as though your dominion was divine and your cruelty a form of grace. To be possessed by you was not shameful, it was sacramental. And yet, the sanctity of your act was shadowed by circumstance, for the world beyond your private storm had not stilled. A subtle sound cut through the haze - the creak of a door, a footstep. Another student had entered.

Cater’s emerald eyes widened with alarm, breath hitching in his throat - but oh, how traitorous the body can be. For even then, you felt him swell further inside you, hardening with the thrill of danger - the threat of being discovered only fed the fire. You merely smiled and did not pause your motion for even a heartbeat. Each thrust was now a statement whispered in gasps and bitten-back moans: Let them come. Let them hear. Let them wonder. Cater bit his lip so hard it nearly drew blood, inhaling deeply through his nose, doing all he could to still the sounds of pleasure threatening to spill forth. And all the while, you rode him with the same unyielding grace, merciless and beautiful. You were cruel, yes. And he adored you for it.

The student - an oblivious passerby in this clandestine spectacle - went about his business with mundane precision. He relieved himself, washed his hands, adjusted his hair with casual vanity before the speckled mirror. The room echoed only with the sounds of running water, the rustle of clothing, and the soft creak of the door. He never once glanced toward the final stall - never questioned the silence so saturated with withheld breath. Perhaps he suspected. Perhaps he knew. Or perhaps, like many do when faced with the scent of sin, he chose willful ignorance, stepping over the line without ever daring to look down. It mattered little. For the moment that door closed behind him and solitude returned, Cater broke. A guttural gasp escaped from your lips, one he tore from you with the force of his release. His body trembled, shuddered beneath yours as he surrendered to the wave of rapture, spilling his warmth deep within you. It was not just pleasure - it was the culmination of tension, of fear, of need bound tightly and now unraveling all at once, like thread snapping from the edge of reason. He melted into you - boneless, breathless - his head resting upon your shoulder as though he could no longer bear the weight of his own being. His arms, once clutching you with desperate fervor, now lay slack with spent desire. And you, still seated upon him like a monarch upon their throne, simply wrapped your arms around his trembling form, fingers combing tenderly through locks of ginger hair gone damp with sweat. For a breathless moment, the world ceased to matter. Not the ticking of the clock, nor the consequence of time. Not the mess, nor the lies you would soon spin like silk around your waist. Not the impossibility of composure when your bodies still clung together, joined and humming with the aftershocks of desire. You did not care. Not about the stains, nor the scent, nor how you would return to the waking world with a face composed and a heart still echoing with the memory of him inside you.

All that mattered was this: he was yours, and in the hush after ruin, you held him like the end of a poem.

[rats-hyperfixation-corner]

gg ship tier list bc fuck it (explanations under cut)

F

Asuka x HC: i don't like mentor and mentee dynamics, also i headcannon HC as aro/ace and really not wanting a relationship unless it's for the memes

A.B.A x Ramleathal: i don't want ram to get hurt

all the bedman ones: isn't he like at most in his teens?

I-no x HC: i don't think i-no likes HC at all

Millia x zato: i think their dynamic is more father/daughter. i just think that makes Zato's redemption far more interesting

D

Sol x Ky: let them be rivals

May x Chipp: why? i think they'd kill eachother

Chipp x Nago: why? (pt.2)

Bridget x Sin: would be great friends, but i can't see them as a couple

Gio x Goldlewis: see above

C

crushing apathy for all of them

B

Pot x Gabriel: i like it

Johnny x leo: a fun himbo x himbo bRomance

I-no x Jack-o: the silly

Goldlewis x Vernon: i get he hates his job, but old man yaoi

Bridget x jam: i wish i could tell you. i just think it's fun

April x May: they give comedy duo vibes, and comedy are always homoerotic

Anji x Chipp:

Anji x Asuka: Anji flirting with the dude who blew up his home will always be funny

Asuka x I-no x Raven x Jack-o: i would not want to be next to their booth at dennys. so i like it

Asuka x Raven: (see april x may)

A

Asuka x Sol: weird enemies to lovers that i like

Sol x Axl: i like the idea of the comic relief x the MC

Ky x Dizzy: not the best but im a sucker for cannon, and their marryed

Chipp x Answer: nerd x dumbass. i like it

Leo x Ram: i think it's super cute

I-no x Axl: LORE

Millia x Elphelt: wasn't expecting to like it as much i as do, but i find it sweet

S

Robo-ky x Venom: my sillies

Slayer x Sharon: dandy

Johnny x Testament: my other sillies. also fanartists do better with this one

A.B.A x Paracelsus: i love these two

Baiken x Anji:

Aria x Sol: most of the plot comes from this so yeah it's a given

Sol x Jack-o: super wholesome ,and also I tend to like cannon ships a lot

[eesirachs]

What does God thinks/ says about being infected/ contaminated with things like Herpes /HIV, those things that marked us for our impurity

in the old testament, it is not a matter of ‘infected’ or ‘impure.’ it is נִידָה/nidah. this is not an ontology and not a nonnormal thing. most health things—viruses and infections—are nidah, yes. yet precum renders someone nidah. menstruation is nidah. mourning is nidah. heaving someone out of their own nidah is, for the heaver, nidah. these resist any relation to sin or fault—these are not sins or faults. the narrative never sees them as things that need remedy, necessarily. healing, here, has variation and values. it is less a matter of heaven reminding you that you are fallen and more a matter of him figuring out the things you need to not feel any fallenness