#and the trail was mostly nice and shady

[freepassbound]

Trying to keep up a run of pleasant days and looking after my mental (and physical, I guess) health by getting out.

And maybe it's that, creating some sort of elevated mindset - or that I was deliriously tired from the hardest hike I've done in a year (it wasn't that long really - but it had hills) - but, when the loop I was doing took me through part of the campground, and I saw all the people there camping and enjoying the outdoors, I felt... strangely proud? And optimistic about humanity? All the families with young kids and the old retirees and the young adults; cooking hotdogs over a campfire (yes, in the middle of the day), sitting around in their lawnchairs in the shade having a chat, playing some sort of plastic-can frisbee game... like, sure, some of those people are probably idiots, who might be staying up until after midnight tonight drinking and playing music - but this afternoon they were all just people, soaking in the nature and having a good time camping.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

I saw you rebogged the valentine's day soulmate!

Might I humbly request a 'tell no lies' mixed with 'no harm done' with Solomon with a female mc. I mostly enjoy the hijinks of that concept, everyone terrified of Solomon's cooking while mc is seemingly unaffected or a stray spell that hits mc that should hurt them but all is fine. And while everyone knows Solomon is shady, even he notices that he's a bit more honest towards mc, no matter how much he tries to keep his mirth about him!

AHHHH I'm sorry I got carried away. I just love your writing so much I absolutely can't wait to see what you do. Even if it isn't my request! Hope all is well!

Solomon - Tell No Lie/No Harm Done

Solomon x GN! reader

Prompts: It’s impossible to lie to your soulmate + soulmates are not able to hurt each other physically.

AN: Hello, dear sweet anon! This was an interesting request because I'd never thought of combining the prompts, so this was super fun to work with! I would like to make quick mention that I had every intention to write it for the requested female reader, but the way it flowed, I never used any defining pronouns other than you/yours, so I really hope that's okay! :) Once again, thank you for being patient, I know it was a long wait. And thank you for your kind words as well! Take care of yourself, anon! 💕

Warnings: Implied established soulmate connection/relationship, cameo of a Barbatos, hehe

Cocytus Hall was filled with a mouth-watering smell as you slaved away at the oven. It was nearing lunchtime, and you had decided to prepare a nice meal for both yourself and Solomon. He’d been cooped up in his room researching, so you were on your own in the kitchen today.

On most occasions, Solomon would join you to keep you company as you cooked. He knew to keep to himself as many of his cooking creations quickly turned disastrous, often ruining the kitchen – which you both would be stuck cleaning afterwards. Still, you yearned for his arms to wrap around you from behind like they so often did.

Today’s lunch was simple and something near and dear to your heart: grilled cheese sandwiches paired with tomato soup. A comforting meal from your home realm. You knew Solomon would be ecstatic to have some human realm food too since it’s been awhile.

The sandwiches sizzle in the skillet, and you’re about to flip them, when a knock raps from the front door. You quickly turn the burners off so nothing burns while you’re gone before making your way through the Hall. Once in front of the door, you turn the handle and open it to see Barbatos standing there with a cordial smile.

You return the smile as you greet him. “Afternoon, Barbatos. What are you doing here?”

“Good afternoon to you as well. I came by to conduct my routine inspections, as per usual. I hope I arrived at an opportune time.”

Oh, that’s right. It’s a new month, so of course he’d be stopping by soon. You give a shake your head to reassure him of his worries. “You’re fine, you’re not disrupting us or anything. I was in the middle of making lunch, but you searching through the other rooms won’t bother that.”

You step aside to allow him entry, to which he bows slightly before walking in. “And Solomon? He’s not...assisting you, is he?” he scowls as the sorcerer’s name passes his lips. It’s enough to miss, but you think you saw him shudder at the thought of Solomon in the kitchen. You quickly wave him off with a slight chuckle.

“No, no. He’s been in his room all day. So, no need to w-”

Before you can finish your sentence, a loud bang that seems to shake the whole building erupts from the kitchen. Both you and Barbatos startle, glancing to each other with similar thoughts…

Solomon.

You instantly being running through the Hall to the kitchen. Barbatos’ steps are quickly trailing yours, expecting to see disaster, but upon arrival – there’s no sign that anything had happened. Solomon’s stood in front of the stove looking into the pot that had the tomato soup in it with his hands placed on his hips, as if he were confused. He must’ve smelled the food and snuck in while you were away.

“Solomon, what was that noise?” you ask in a frantic tone, rushing over to check the soup. The once thick and smooth, red liquid now looked purple and chunky. Solomon sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“That would be me. I thought adding chili flakes would give the soup the kick it needs, but I seem to have misread the label and added popping fire salamander flakes instead.”

Barbatos watches from the doorway, narrowing his eyes incredulously. “How on earth did you misread that? Did you bother to read at all?”

Solomon looks over his shoulder to dispute Barbatos, but stops once he realizes he’s right. He sighs once again. “I guess it was more of a mix-up than a misread…” To his credit, they do look similar. So, it was an honest mistake.

You grab the wooden spoon that had been in the pot and lift it out to find the end burnt off from the substance that used to be soup. Another cooking utensil ruined due to Solomon’s influence. You shake your head as you place it down on the counter for now while trying to figure out how to salvage this mess. You’re about to reach for another spoon, but Solomon stops you, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.

“I’ve got this. I’ll just use my magic to stir it, and once it’s good and stirred, the soup will be perfect!” He’s a little too optimistic for an outcome both you and Barbatos know will be disastrous.

“Wait, Solomon-” but it’s too late. Solomon casts a quick spell into the pot, though the contents don’t begin to stir around like you thought it would. Instead, it begins to bubble ominously.

You glance to Solomon, who watches it a little more intently than you do, wanting to see the result of his magic. “Uh, Solomon? What’s it doing?”

“I’m not...sure...”

Before either of you can react, the spell is rejected from the bubbling substance, and it bounces out and hits you at full force, knocking you backwards onto the floor. Both Solomon and Barbatos rush to check on you.

“By the gods,” Solomon says panicked as he kneels beside you, helping you sit up slowly, “are you alright? I had no idea that would happen.”

Barbatos kneels on the other side of you, eyes wide as they flicker around your face in concern. You take a moment to regroup, not feeling any different than before. You feel fine, actually. “I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“I’m sure you are,” Barbatos says, though he seems skeptical that you’re truly alright. “It appears some of the “matter” has splattered onto your face as well.”

“It’s just soup, Barbatos.” Solomon corrects as he wipes a little off with his thumb before licking it. His eyes light up and he smiles with an “mmh” coming from his throat. “That’s tasty. I think I really added to it.”

You wipe some off your cheek as well, tasting it, raising your eyebrows in mild surprise. “That is good, Solomon.”

Barbatos lifts an inquisitive brow, not believing a word of this for a second. But if someone other than Solomon thinks it’s good, maybe the sorcerer really did pull off the impossible. Barbatos raises back up to his height, walking towards the pot as he slides his glove off and dips his finger in the pot to get a taste as well. The moment the soup touches his tongue, he grimaces. The substance is too thick, sticking to his throat like glue. How did you manage to swallow it?

“Do you often eat Solomon’s cooking?” the butler asks, turning back to catch Solomon producing a handkerchief from his pocket and delicately wiping the mess off of your face.

You give a small nod as you respond, “yeah, I’ve always enjoyed his food.” That response alone makes Solomon smile proudly.

Barbatos blinks a few times in confusion, but relents as he realizes it’ll never make sense to him. You are an anomaly. No doubt about it. “Well, I suppose you and Solomon are more aligned than I thought previously,” he studies the way Solomon gazes at you, taking care of you as if you were the most fragile thing in the three realms. He sees the bond between the two of you. A bond no one else is allowed in on, let alone know intimate details about. “Much more.”

Solomon picks up on Barbatos’ words and clears his throat as he folds up the dirty handkerchief. “Of course, we’re aligned.” He directs his next words to you exclusively, speaking from nothing but his heart, “we’re aligned in mind, body, and most importantly...our souls.”

[peach-and-bugs]

💚Bean Sprout - Lottie Matthews x fem!Reader💚

Chapter 1 - Ch 2

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Summary: You've been happily married to Charlotte Matthews for some odd years now, but it feels like it's time to take a step in a new direction together... aka mama!Lottie

Warnings: Mild nudity, but not really. otherwise nothing

Word Count: 2,839

A/N: Oh my god, it's here and it has a title! Hello Loves! It's finally time for the start of my Mama!Lottie fic that I haven't been able to stop talking and thinking about! This is a pretty light introductory chapter, just setting some of the groundwork for the fic as a whole, but I think it's a really sweet chapter and I really hope you enjoy! As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading!

Lottie Matthews Tag List: (open) @elliesjoints

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy

"Bean Sprout" Tag List:

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-💚-

Summer had hit and become the time of the year when school was letting out and the next generation of kids was graduating from school and heading out into the world. One of these kids happened to be Callie, the daughter of one of your wife’s closest friends. You’d been invited to her graduation party and after making the drive back to Wiskayok, New Jersey you found yourself celebrating in a nice backyard, sitting at a round table under a shady tree with a drink in hand chatting with your wife and some of her other friends. 

You mostly stayed quiet, listening to the conversation rather than chiming in. While you knew Lottie’s friends from high school, you'd been a freshman during their senior year, so there hadn’t been much overlap. You’d only gotten close to Lottie because of you’re excelled French placement and even then you hadn’t connected till you were both much older. They’d always been a kind group of women though, always willing to engage with you. 

“I still can’t believe she’s graduating,” Taissa marveled, her eyes trained on Callie from across the yard as she laughed with her group of friends. 

“Trust me, I know,” Shauna said with a sigh as she took in a swig of her drink only to grimace down into it. “Starting to wish one of them would spike the punch,” she murmured. She was nudged by Natalie, who pulled a flask out of her jacket followed by her eyes darting down at the flask and then back up at Shauna. The mom sighed and offered out her cup, as did Taissa. Your wife shook her head but said nothing while you smiled, biting your bottom lip as you suppressed your giggles. 

“You always were old reliable when it came to boos,” Van said as she approached the group with Misty trailing behind. The two had made a run back to the snack bar earlier. Natalie shrugged nonchalantly, taking a chip from Misty’s plate as the blonde saddled up beside her, taking her seat again around the table

“Someone had to provide,” she hummed, tucking the flask back in her pocket. The conversation drew on to general catching up and Natalie had started telling a story when Taissa’s son Sammy ran up to her and tugged at her sleeve. 

“Mama, they aren’t playing fair,” the boy complained, pointing to the small collection of children who were gathered together in a corner of the yard. One little girl seemed to be telling off another child who had their face red and squished in irritation with crossed arms. The other kids around stood awkwardly listening to the argument, unsure of what to do. A soccer ball lye abandoned between the two children in the grass. Taissa bit her lip before running her hand over her son’s hair. 

“Well, kiddo, sometimes people don’t play fair. But we don't get to tell them what to do,” she started to explain. “Why don’t you suggest another game,” she offered up. Sammy scrunched his face, lips pressed together tightly as he shook his head. 

“They said we can only play soccer because that's the only ball we have,” he pointed to the two arguing children again. Taissa looked on, wracking her brain over what she could suggest instead when Lottie tapped your shoulder and handed you her drink. 

“I can teach you a game, Sammy,” she suggested, smiling kindly as she got out of her seat and began walking toward the group of kids. Sammy seemed unsure for a moment till Taissa patted him on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea! Let your Aunt Lottie teach you something new,” Sammy caved and then smiled with a nod. He trotted after Lottie, who had stopped and was waiting for him only to take her hand when he reached her, guiding her over to the group of kids to interrupt their growing argument. You smiled fondly, watching as she crouched down to talk to the kids, supposedly explaining the game as she took the ball into her hands. 

“Hey Shauna!” a voice yelled from the back porch of the house. You all looked up to see a woman standing at the door, baby on her hip. Shauna’s eyes lit up and she smiled, waving. 

“I’ll be back, it’s my sister and my niece,” she explained, leaving the group to go into the house. She called for Callie as she left, gesturing for the graduate to go and say hello. 

“Jease, everyone’s having kids now,” Natalie mumbled under her breath, pulling her flask back out to pour more of its contents into her nearly drained cup. Tai shrugged with a sigh. 

“Yeah, that’s the next step in growing up these days,” Natalie smirked ans shook her head. 

“Not for me,” she raised her brows, taking a long swig of her drink. 

“I’ve always thought about having kids. Maybe not now, but I thought it over when I was younger and liked the idea,” Misty jumped into the conversation, giving her two cents on the topic. The group nodded, acknowledging what she had to say before a squealing laugh distracted them. Eyes followed back over to Lottie who was now jumping hand in hand with one of the previously arguing little girls, supposedly having won some part of the game she’d taught them maybe. You felt a smile pull at your lips again at the sight of her side profile, eyes shut with an opened-mouth smile as she laughed, her shoulders hunching in with the sound. 

“What about you, y/n?” Van asked suddenly. You shook from your thoughts and turned to her, mildly confused having forgotten the conversation at hand. The redhead tilted her head, gesturing back to Lottie and the kids. “Well, you and Lot are the last of us to have tied the knot without having a kid…” your brows raised, lips pressed as you understood the implication of her question. You felt yourself grow shy under questioning. 

“Oh, I dunno,” you paused, eyes trailing back to your wife, who now stood with her hands on her hips, proudly watching the kids running around their patch of grass, chasing the soccer ball that bounced at their feet. “I mean, the topics come up once or twice but that was back when we were dating. We’ve got Buckweed though,” You brought up your dog instead, who’d been left back at the air b&b you were staying at for the night before driving back home Monday. 

“I always thought Lottie would have kids for sure,” you heard Misty comment again. “She always liked babysitting,” You bit your bottom lip. Did Lottie still want kids? You hadn’t thought of it recently, now that you thought about it. Maybe you’d been waiting for her to breach the subject before you did. Would she regret it if you didn’t have kids? Did you still want them? You felt your brain begin scrambling at all the sudden questions. 

“Hey, you alright?” Tai asked, shaking you from your silent spiral, her hand on your shoulder. You forced a smile and chuckled nervously. 

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Just overthinking,” you mumbled, forcing a laugh. Taissa shared an awkward look with the rest of the group. 

“Lottie would talk about it if she wanted to,” Natalie jumped in, seeming completely unphased. She got disgruntled looks from both Taissa and Van. “What? Am I wrong? Lottie’s always been upfront about things like that,” she turned her attention to you. After a flicker of consideration, you nodded in agreement with her. Lottie had always been very honest with what she wanted, especially with you. If kids had been something she thought about, she’d have brought it up. Foturnintly, the conversation shifted away from you as Shauna rejoined the group, only now she had a baby in her arm, balanced so naturally on her hip. You assumed this was her niece, who smiled brightly and waved as she was brought over to the group. 

“Sorry about that,” Shauna smiled, readjusting the baby as she spoke. “My sisters getting something to eat, so I get to hang on to Pheobe,” she added a higher pitch to her voice, scrunching her nose as she tickled the little girl's stomach.

“Pheobe. That’s a pretty name,” Misty joined in, leaning towards Shauna who she was sitting next to to give the baby her attention. Shauna chuckled as Misty began poking at the baby, making her continue with her babbling giggles. 

“Mckenna was always a big fan of ‘Friends’,” She said with a shrug. “But, she’s eleven months and just started working on walking,” Shauna mused about her niece, who had turned to look over Shauna’s shoulder onto the party. 

“Mom!” you all heard Callie yell from across the yard. Shauna closed her eyes, cursing under her breath at yet another interruption. “Dad can’t find the cake!” Shauna sighed opening her eyes again and grimaced as she stood up. 

“Well, the world must be ending if Jeff can’t find a cake,” she grumbled, causing a few chuckles to sound around the table. But she turned her attention to you momentarily. “Can you take her from me? Just for a few minutes,” she gestured to Pheobe but was already offering her to you. You nodded, managing to ignore any initial hesitation, and took the baby onto your lap, sitting her so she was propped at the table like she was in her chair. Shauna gave you her thanks as she left and Pheobe made an excited squeal as she leaned forward, using her chubby little hands to smack at the table she could now reach. 

Your hands naturally found their place at her sides, giving her just enough wiggle room to move around but not get away from you. You began bouncing your knee just slightly, which she seemed to enjoy as she began gurgling and babbling the few words that she knew as she clapped her hands. You began to smile, looking down at her with her big brown eyes, just like her aunts. 

“Well, aren't you just a sweetheart,” you murmured with a light chuckle as the baby began kicking her feet in excitement from all the colors and sounds of the party around her. Unbeknownst to you, Taissa shared a knowing look between herself, Van, and Natalie as she leaned back in her chair. This was also when the cake was brought out, along with what looked like a truckload of cupcakes and all the kids went running, tearing towards the new treats to load up on even more sugar, subsequently relinquishing Lottie from her duties as entertainment. 

She made her way back to your table, laughing as the kids fought for the first slice of cake or cupcake. She was quite surprised to find you with a baby in your lap. Phoebe has started playing with your fingers, grabbing at your hands and smacking her tiny palms against yours, enjoying the sound that contact made. She took her seat beside you and leaned in to watch the interaction, wrapping her arm around the back of your chair as she scooted closer. 

“And who’s this?” she murmured, smiling at the baby as attention turned from your hands to her, though there was still a tight grasp on your pointer finger. 

“Shauna’s niece, Phoebe,” Lottie hummed, offering out her hand for the baby’s entertainment, which was greatly appreciated by Phoebe, who smacked at her palm in a child's attempt at a high five. 

“Well hello, Phoebe,” she laughed. 

-💚-

You didn’t talk much on the drive back to the house you were staying at. Not for any particular reason. You’d ended up staying at the party far longer than intended and were tired, so some comfortable silence was welcomed. You watched Lottie as she focused on the road ahead of her as she drive. The sun had started to set and streetlights turned on, offering a soft light that danced over your wife’s features. She glanced at you momentarily when she noticed you staring. She smiled without a word, reaching with her free hand for yours. She gave your hand a comfortable squeeze and kissed your knuckles, her eyes returning to the road. You hummed your thanks and leaned against the headrest, shutting your eyes. 

You didn’t talk to one another till you made it back into the air b&b. Buckwheat was very excited to have his people back with him and he barked eagerly wagging his tail as he hopped off of the coach upon hearing the door unlock. Lottie took him into the kitchen for a late dinner while you made your way into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. You listened through the tiny house as you rummaged through your luggage. The kitchen light turned on with a soft click followed by kibble hitting the ceramic of Buckweed's bowl. You settled on changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, not bothering to shut the bedroom door before stripping. 

Lottie walked in when you were halfway finished, wearing only your tank top and underwear with a pair of socks on before putting your pants on. She hummed her acknowledgment but moved to the bed to sit down and take her shoes off. You stalled, pausing before abandoning the pants altogether to approach her. You sat next to her on the bed but looked down at your knees. She finished with her shoes and scooted on the bed, patting the space beside her, awaiting you to join her. You did just that, crawling up to the pillow just as her arm draped around you like it had a hundred times before, comfortably settling on the curve of your hip.  

“You've been quiet,” she commented, running her fingers over your forehead, brushing loose hair from your eyes so she could get a good look at you. “Tired?” she questioned. You shook your head, nuzzling into her hand. 

“Thinking,” she hummed, eyes trailing over your face. 

“Care to share,” 

“You looked like you had a lot of fun with those kids today,” she smiled fondly and hummed again. 

“I did. They had a lot of spirit,” she adjusted her position in the bed, scooting closer to you. “But that’s not what you’re thinking about,” she knew you too well. It could get irritating sometimes. But in the long run, you appreciated it. Your eyes drifted and you bit the fat of your inner cheek, you're brow growing to crease with consideration. 

“Do you wish we had a kid?” Lottie seemed taken aback by the question, but she didn’t answer right away. 

“Where did that come from?” you bit your lip now.

“Well you looked so happy running around with those kids, and the other girls started asking if we planned on having any and saying they always thought you would and I just,” your words began to quicken as you said more. That is till Lottie brought her hand up to your cheek, running her thumb over the corner of your mouth to get your attention. 

“Darling, you’re overthinking again,” You sighed with a tiny laugh and nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to her thumb.

“I worried,” 

“Don’t”

“That’s far easier said than done,” you scoffed. She smiled softly and sighed. 

“Do you want a baby?” 

“I dunno. Yes? Maybe?”

“That doesn’t sound very confident of you,” she was messing with you now. You sat up, which you knew she wouldn’t enjoy only to maneuver so that you could pin her down on her back and straddle her waist with your hips. You pressed her shoulders down into the bed with either hand and you felt a tight squeeze of her hands on your hips. You knew she enjoyed this, as did you, but right now it was simply a means to keep her quiet and on topic. 

“Charlotte,” you started. You knew how she felt about you using her full first name. She kept her lips tightly shut as she stared up at you. “I need you to be completely honest with me and tell me exactly what you feel on impulse. Can you do that,” she nodded but didn’t let out a sound. 

“Should we have a baby?” 

“Yes,” she answered with zero hesitation, completely on impulse like you'd told her. Her features smiled and she began to laugh. “Yes! We should have a baby,” 

“Are you sure?” you grew excited at her enthusiasm. She continued to laugh and reached up, pulling you down on top of her fully. You practically crashed into her with a loud yelp, her arms wrapping around you tight as she continued with her giggles. 

“Oh, mon ange, I’m as sure as when I asked you to marry me,” she cooed, kissing your forehead and cheeks. If you looked close enough you could swear she was tearing up and you couldn’t blame her. You felt like you could burst into tears at any second too. “Let’s have a baby,”

[angelsanarchy]

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 12 -> CH 13

"I'm kind of terrified of her getting to know the real me." "Hey, the real you might be a pretentious dick but you're not a bad person."

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @thatsthewrongwallcraig @icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl @s-0lar @kristennero-wallacewellsver @ophelialaufey @mayathepsychic1999

Jack kept busy moving his laptop and writing journals into his dad's old art studio. He's decided that he needs a separation of where he works and where he sleeps, a recommendation made by Dr. Carty.

He was actually surprised how much more he got written now that he was in a different space of the house. He felt almost like he was channeling some of his father's creativity as he wrote. He had the curtains pulled open and the window crack slightly allowing the breeze into the room. It gave him a since of freedom he hadn't truly felt since being back in the house.

"Bitchface!? Are you up there?" Jack startled hearing Shanda's voice coming up the steps.

"In here ya stupid slut." Jack called out to her, making sure to save and shut his laptop. She came up the stairs an spotted him immediately as he threw his arms open.

"What do you think? Not too bad right?" Jack looked around the room and Shanda nodded.

"It looks great. You look like shit but the house is really coming along." Shanda hugged Jack and could feel how much thinner he was since they last saw one another.

"What are you living on? Slim jims and coffee?" Shanda ran her fingertips under the dark circles of his eyes.

"I'm working on it. I have an appointment with my doc coming up to talk about a medication change. Too many side effects are making it a pain in the ass just getting up in the morning." Jack explained.

"Can you even do that? I mean will that set you back?" Shanda asked curiously.

"Yeah Y/n explained that sometimes you need to find the right cocktail of medication so you don't live a miserable life with a bunch of fucked up side effects." Jack explained

"Well did you want me to stay and keep an eye out while you go through the change?" Shanda asked making Jack laugh.

"I'm mentally ill Shan, not a werewolf. I'll be fine. Y/n checks in almost daily so if I have any issues, she's right down the street." Shanda's eyebrow went up.

"You made a friend?" Shanda smirked.

"Yes I made a friend. Technically she's a neighbor and owns the dog that looks like Rusty but yes we're pretty friendly." Jack couldn't hide his smile and Shanda laughed out loud.

"You're friendly. Friendly like you have a book club or friendly like you 69 in the kitchen?" Shanda was happy to see Jack making progress but she will always worry about him.

"Jesus Christ. Is that the friendship spectrum with lesbians?" Jack teased.

"Hey I just want to make sure I don't eat off the counter where your ass has been." She held her hands up in defense.

"No we aren't fucking. We just...hang out. She mostly brings me food and let's the dog stay when I'm having a bad night. It's been nice.." Jack trailed off and Shanda could tell something was up.

"But?"

"I'm kind of terrified of her getting to know the real me." Jack tucked his hair behind his ears and Shanda shook her head.

"Hey, the real you might be a pretentious dick but you're not a bad person." Shanda defended.

"Jack be serious. Do you really think you're supposed to be stuck in this house all by yourself, writing some manifesto forever alone?" Shanda asked.

"I'm not writing a manifesto." Jack laughed.

"Jack." Shanda's tone was serious.

"I don't know Shan! I just don't want to hurt anyone like I did Cleo. I mean I was going through something but even you've admitted that it was a bastard move. Y/n has a lot going on in her life and I don't want to make it worse." Jack had to admit that the more time he spent talking with Y/n, the more he wondered what she was doing during the day. They texted often and he enjoyed her insight and sense of humor. There was a piece of him that felt like he didn't deserve this feeling. He didn't deserve a second chance to find someone to spend his days with that he truly cared about.

"You did everything you could to try and apologize to Cleo. She may not have reached out or accepted it but she's moved on with her life, Jack. She moved out of your old place, she's got a new boyfriend..." Jack's eyes lit up.

"Really?" Shanda wonders if she said too much.

"Yes and she's happy. You can't keep punishing yourself for what happened in the past. Things could have been so much worse. Your relationship was collateral damage but you shouldn't live the rest of your life miserably because of it. You deserve happiness just like she does." Shanda threw her arm around Jack's neck and he nodded.

"I love you you fluffy haired bitch. Love yourself a little...and let your neighbor suck your dick for a bit." Shanda teased.

"And they say I'm the fucked up one." Jack put his arm around Shanda and she laughed.

"Hey we're all fucked up. I just know how to have fun." Shanda pulled Jack with her out of the room.

"I'm happy you're here. Thanks for always showing up for me." Jack knew this visit was going to be interesting now that she knew he had an infatuation with the neighbor. All he could hope was that it didn't end in disaster.

[chaletnz]

Cajas National Park Tour

Around 6am the driver was yelling out Cuenca and I wondered if we were here already or if he was shouting out to get people at this station to get onboard for the ride to Cuenca. I wasn’t expecting to arrive until 7 or 8am and my phone didn’t load a map at all which is usually when it’s a random place I’ve never loaded on it before. The driver came down and told me that this was Cuenca, the final stop so I asked for directions to a taxi and headed off. I jumped in one waiting cab and gave him the names of the two streets that my hotel was on the corner of and he found it no problem. The ride on the meter came out to be $1.49 so I gave him $2 and then checked in. I’d booked for the night before so my room was ready waiting and Andrés the receptionist led me upstairs. He was kind and only charged me for one night since I hadn’t been there last night due to the flood that was no fault of my own, and I had contacted him in advance. I would’ve paid the 2 nights if he’d asked but I kept my mouth shut and paid him in cash as he requested. I messaged Edison my tour guide and let him know that I had arrived in Cuenca and was ready for the tour as soon as he was ready. He replied back quickly and said he would pick me up at 8:45am so I took a shower and then went for a quick coffee at Cafe Ñucallacta. Edison picked me up on time and we drove out to Cajas National Park through various different neighbourhoods to get a feel for Cuenca city on our way out. He told me the history of Cuenca, founded in 1557 and it’s the 3rd largest city in Ecuador after Quito and Guayaquil. The historic city centre is a unesco protected world heritage site. This city trades in agricultural products, cattle, hides, and marble. He gave me a few tips on places to visit with my afternoon, evening, and morning before I fly out tomorrow afternoon. It took about 45 minutes to reach the trailhead of the trek in the park we would be doing today. It was about 3400m above sea level and I felt the air was thinner and I was a bit light-headed up here. We began our walk on some rocks and boardwalk, and then for most of the rest of the trek it was a spongy kind of moss that was comfortable to walk on. We walked slowly due to the altitude, and stopped often to look at some trees, birds, plants, and flowers that were unique to the area. Edison kept saying how lucky I was to have this beautiful sunny day to explore Cajas as it’s mostly foggy and cloudy and had snowed there yesterday. I figured by this point I was due some luck! He helped me cross a stream that was terrifying for me with the slippery rocks combined with my bad ankle but I made it and then we stopped for a lunch break at the best viewpoint on the trail. I enjoyed my banana chocolate chip muffin that I’d carried with me from Baños. The loop back to the start was on an incline so it was a bit tougher, and there were some shady spots that were muddy and slippery. We passed a lot of tussock grass, the King Kong rock formation, some spiky pineapple plants, and a tree with layers of papery bark. There were some people beginning their walk in the opposite direction sloshing past us in the muddy spots so I was glad to be wrapping up after having almost the entire walk to myself. He offered to drive me up to the highest elevation point in the park, a lookout at Tres Cruces at an elevation of 4167m above sea level. It was a nice view but very windy up there, and a bunch of children screaming too. Edison drove us back to Cuenca at breakneck speed and dropped me off back at the hotel asking me only for a 5 star review to help the company get more tour business after the difficulties of covid and the negative press on Ecuador and its drug cartels and public safety recently.

[heavencasteel420]

WIP Wednesday

Featuring: Jonathan and the mortifying ordeal of enjoying your Baby Boomer parents’ music!

From Tonight, Tonight, The Highway’s Bright:

“What’s on this?” the front-desk lady asked, frowning at the cassette tape. “You know we listen to these backwards, too.”

She squinted up at Jonathan, who was suddenly very aware of the hollows under his eyes and the cooking-oil smell that he felt sure still clung to his hair. He’d made an effort, washing his face and hands in the bathroom at Drummond’s and swapping his T-shirt for a navy sweater with yellow stripes, but there’d been no time to go back to the apartment and shower, let alone take a nap. Another old-house nightmare had broken up his sleep last night.

“It’s folk, mostly,” he said, attempting to sound meek instead of annoyed. He had long shifts and bad dreams; that didn’t mean that he was trying to send Satanic messages to his sick mother. “It’s nice. Soothing.”

He’d listened to the tape himself on the drive down to Pennhurst. It was full of stuff from the sixties: Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, Joan Baez, Tom Paxton, Peter Sarstedt, the Everly Brothers after they’d started making weird concept albums instead of chipper malt-shop pop. It wasn’t his usual style at all. He preferred more concise lyrics, and all the acoustic strumming just made him sleepy. Yet listening to “Farewell, Angelina” and “Shady Grove” while surrounded by the ghosts of Mom’s Camels had an almost hypnotizing effect, making the worries of the day seem less sharp and pressing. Maybe the tape would do the same for her.

The front-desk lady—Dolores, according to her badge—didn’t respond, just turned the tape over in her thin, knobby hands. It occurred to him that Joan Baez might be as offensive to her as Iron Maiden or the Sex Pistols. She was the right age to have been scandalized by Elvis (or, he thought uncharitably, Scott Joplin). He wondered if she (or the mysterious “we” she’d mentioned) would deem the lyrics too disturbing for a schizophrenic person. He thought of the pirates in “Farewell, Angelina,” shooting tin cans with a sawed-off shotgun while the neighbors cheered and clapped. He loved those lyrics; they reminded him of the people of Hawkins, cheerfully turning out for the spectacle of his family’s destruction. Joan Baez—or, rather, Bob Dylan, who’d written the song—had probably had something completely different in mind, but he didn’t care. He’d take vindication where he could find it.

From Tomorrow’s a Long Way Off (warning for allusions to domestic violence, plus Lonnie saying a bunch of gross inappropriate sexist shit, including about Joyce, below the cut):

“You gotta let these girls know where things stand, right at the start,” Lonnie said, turning the key in the ignition. The stereo started playing The Rolling Stones. “You can’t let them walk all over you. Give an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”

Yeah, thought Jonathan, they might start thinking that you shouldn’t call them crazy bitches and throw things at them.

“Mind if I turn this up?” he asked, gesturing at the stereo. “I like this song.”

“Sure,” Lonnie said. He pulled out of the parking space and started down Main Street. “What was that one you liked when you were little? You used to kind of bob up and down to it. God, you were funny.”

“Street Fighting Man,” said Jonathan.

Despite himself, he smiled. He could remember crouching in front of the record player on the shag carpet, trying to get closer to the music and its strange, rollicking beat. Lonnie saying hey, Joyce, the kid’s got taste. His mom beaming, hugely pregnant with Will and wearing some long hippie dress with orange flowers.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Lonnie was also smiling. It made him look older, nicer. Then he sighed. “It was easier when I was a kid, you know. Even girls thought women’s lib was a joke. Course, they still wanted their own way, but…”

He trailed off and drummed on the steering wheel. But you’ll never break, never break, never break, went the stereo. Jonathan stayed quiet.

“Well, I don’t know,” Lonnie continued. “I guess we got nothing to complain about. Back then, good girls didn’t give it up. Hell, most bad girls didn’t go all the way. Hey, you wanna know which one your mom was?”

Jonathan’s mouth went dry.

“No,” he snapped. “Why would I want to know that?”

Lonnie just laughed.

“Lighten up, kid. It was just a joke.”

Jonathan didn’t reply. Joke or not, it had been a gross thing to say. He looked out the window, watching the buildings get sparser. They were almost at the edge of town.

“You don’t know how good you have it,” Lonnie continued, apparently unbothered. “None of it means anything now.”

[dairy-farmer]

Red Robin had never paid much attention to Deathstroke. Out of all Bats, the alpha fighted mostly with Dick, almost never crossing paths with other vigilantes. They were archnemesis. They hated each other guts.

Or so did Tim thought. Until now.

He was standing in a dark corner, making no sound to avoid being spotted by the two alphas. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Nightwing was kneeling on a dirty concrete and sucking Deathstroke's cock with gusto & at the same time jerking off his own dick.

Tim was aware that such thing exists. There are alphas attracted to other alphas. He saw it on some pornsites, too.

But... is Dick one of them? Surely not.

Dick never miss a chance to squeeze on Tim's petite boobs or give his ass a light slap. He enjoys omegas.

And yet here he was, giving blowjob to other alpha and looking happy about it. There is no sign he's being forced.

After a moment of internal panic, Tim calms himself and start to look at the scene before him with more focus.

Deathstroke had taken off his mask and Tim sees the smug look on his handsome face. The alpha was good looking in a rugged, silver-fox kind of way. And he was h u g e. Taller and even bigger than Bruce - he could easily pick Tim up with only one hand.

Tim looks down and notice alpha's white treasure trail, and then thick bush surrounding his huge, drippin' wet from Dick's saliva cock and proportionally big balls.

Well, Tim had to admit it was quite a nice cock. Thick and uncut, slightly curved upwards as if it were as confident and arrogant as its owner. Massive, muscular thighs accentuated by skin-tight ikon suit are also a nice bonus.

Dick tugs on his own knot a few more times and cums with a loud moan. Slade follows him a minute after, letting out but a small sigh.

Tim can't avert his gaze. His pussy is tingling, soaking wet and dripping slick like a faucet. His new pretty panties are totally ruined.

Crap.

----------------

Few days have passed and Tim still can't forget what he saw. He didn't tell Dick, of course. Tim doesn't want anyone to think of him as some sort of dirty voyeur.

But he can't forget about Slade too (why did he missed the moment when Deathstroke became Slade in his mind???)

Tim loves Bruce. He really does. But he needs some change once in a while. Omegas aren't monogamous, contrary to popular belief.

And Slade is a powerful alpha in his prime.

He may have killed a few people here and there, but Tim prefers to do what his pussy's telling him is a right thing rather than listen to his rational side of brain.

And thus Tim started to be more clingy with Dick, always going on patrols with him, always rushing to help him fight some bad guys. Hoping that Slade will eventually come to them.

"I really appreciate your help, pretty bird, but I can manage." Dick told him with his usual charming smile.

"It’s no problem for me, really” said Tim. Dick doesn’t need to know truth. Besides, he’s one hell of a liar himself, diddling with other alphas behind everyones back.

Two weeks later they find out that Deathstroke has a new contract on some shady gothamite politician's head. Dick rushes out to stop him. Tim follows, giddy with excitement. He even 'forgot' to put on his panties for this occassion.

Tim doesn't actually have a plan, but once Slade's got a whiff of his wet cunt, he will act on instinct, right? They will mate on a roof, or maybe go to some nice hotel and spend together a very pleasurable night.

Tim feels himself blushing like a slut.

And then... nothing happens.

First off, they were too late. Slade had already killed his target.

Secondly, the fight between him and Dick was too fast and ended way too quickly. Tim wasn't even able to approach them, let alone get Slade to scent him and see how eager he is.

The same happens next time. And next time. Slade barely acknowledges his presence. 

Poor Tim gets kinda depressed.

The fact that he's in a pre-heat doesn't help in slightest. He always gets teary and emotional before his true estrus begins.

It's a dark, gloomy evening and Tim is sitting on a gargoyle on top of some gothic cathedral, feeling melancholic & re-thinking his life choices. And suddenly-

"Didn't expect to see you here, omega."

"Slade?! What are you-"

Deathstroke is standing behind him, nonchalantly leaning against the cathedrals wall.

"I can smell your heat is close, and yet instead of laying in a nest with your alpha, you are here. All alone."

Tim is speechless.

"Or maybe what you need" Slade stars to walk slowly in his direction like he has all the time in the world „is a real alpha, not that little rich boy, as tamed and obedient as a housedog. Huh, kid? What is it?"

Now when they are standing so close to each other he can see how enormously big the alpha is. Tim's face is at Slade's chest height and he has to stretch up his neck to look into his face.

On top of that Slade smells amazing. Expensive cologne mixed with alpha's natural scent & musk.

Five minutes later Tim is pinned against wall by a huge body as Slade pounds into him. Sounds of wet pussy and Tim's moans reverberating through the air. Even though this wave of pleasure is making Tim's eyesight hazy he's still able to notice a black & blue spot over Slade's shoulder.

It's Dick. Very surprised & very shocked Dick. Slade apparently thought it was a right moment to knot Tim because that's what he does, climaxing with small growl. After his knot goes down he places the omega gently on the ground.

Tim looks right into Dick's eyes, spread his legs wide and touch his pussy inner lips, thick cum slowly oozing out of him.

"Dickie, can you clean me up, please? I know how much you like Slade's cum" Tim says with a lazy, blissed out smile.

Slade chuckles.

After that event, Tim and Slade have few amorous encounters when alpha just creeps up on Tim, unzip his slit ("Well, looks like Batman's bitch has some very needy pussy and someone has to take a good care of it") and pound into his wet cunt on all fours.

When they are in Tim's safehouse and Slade wants to make their fucking a little more intimate and put his cock even deeper, right through Tim' cervix, they do it prone bone (it's also easier to do than other positions because of their size difference). Tim swears he sees heaven's golden gate during it. This position is also perfect for small talk, when Slade lazily thrust his hips up & down, up & down. His heavy balls hitting on Tim's swollen clit.

"Feels good, huh kid?"

"Mhmmm"

 "You know, I don't usually fuck omegas with such smalls tits."

 In any other situation, Tim would feel offended, but right now, when this nice huge cock is a guest in his cunny and making him see stars, he doesn't care.

 "But you have the fattest pussy out of all Robins"

Tim giggles. "I'm the only ex-Robin with a puss- aaaaah!"

"Shush. Good omegas don't try to sass alphas when they are balls deep inside them" Slade says and give Tim's soaking cunt a hearty slap.

Tim yelps, both in pain and pleasure, and reach out his hand to stroke and pet Slade' full beard. "Are you- ah! - gonna - mhm - eat me later...?"

"Not a chance"

 He loves the taste of a fertile cunt on his tongue, actually. But the bitch should know his place. Maybe next time. 

Slade groans, thrusts very deep one last time and cums inside Tim.

Three months later, when his heat doesn't appear and his titties start to ache and get fuller, Tim is very confused.

Nine months later Tim gives birth to a beautiful chubby, silver-haired baby boy. 

Slade is very smug when he hears the news.

Bruce seems to get a little heartbroken. Tim placates him by promising that the next baby will be his (or not 😌)

😍😍😍😍 tim being a slutty little omega that chases after alpha knots he desires!!!! fucking slade again and again because no one has ever fucked tim like he has.

bruce being heart broken!!!!!!! but tim placates him and promises he'll have bruce's baby but each baby keeps coming out with silver hair. because tim can't help but spread his legs for slade whenever he shows up to fuck his baby mama omega full of another sweet chubby baby.

slade shows up, fucks his omega deep for a few hours, drains his tits dry of milk meant for his babies and disappears for awhile because bruce has been hunting him since the moment the baby came out with little white curls.

[sawdusst]

The Rainmaker Heist Chapter 6 (Coroika Pirate AU)

wow i cant believe we've got 6 whole chapters of this thing. i'm gonna be honest i also couldn't make up my mind for this chapter as well-- i should probably start planning these things out better ;-;;

this chapter was eh for me, i feel like i couldve done better but there wasn't really much i had in mind here. but after this chapter is when i have things mostly figured out, this one was kinda meant to be a filler thing so-- yeah :/ sorry if its a bit of a mess

Here is the link to the main thread for other chapters + infodumps!

enjoy and thanks for reading! :D

Word Count: 1,430

====== [ ⚓ ] ======

[Keep Sailing] 

“Captain! Wake up!”

Gloves opened his eyes and was greeted by the bright sunlight hitting the deck. He looked around groggily, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He woke up on the hardwood floor with a tattered blanket draped over him. 

“Oh, good morning,” Gloves mumbled. He yawned and stretched, “Is it morning already?” 

“Captain, I don’t mean to alarm you,” Clips began, “But there’s another ship perpendicular to us, coming over to us. You might want to have a look.”

“Great, is Hivemind back or something?” Gloves mumbled.

“Luckily, no,” Clips replied, handing Gloves the telescope, “It’s the Chartreuse Pirates. They’ll block our path if we don’t turn around now.” 

Gloves sat up with confusion. He sighed with a twinge of frustration, but laughed it off. He extended his hand, taking the telescope from Clips. “I can’t catch a break around here, can I?” 

He looked through the telescope as the ship that was heading towards them. His gaze trailed up to the black and yellow-green flag that waved wildly in the wind.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Gloves laughed, “It really is the Chartreuse Pirates. I wonder how Rider’s doing, I haven’t heard from him since the whole S4 thing. Man, that’d be hilarious if he got himself captured again.” 

Gloves handed the telescope back to Clips. He walked to the front of the ship, propping his foot up onto the bow of the ship. The rest of his crew followed him. As the other ship slowly pulled closer to theirs. Most of Rider’s crew was standing near the side railings of their ship, everyone but the Captain himself.

“What a surprise seeing you guys out here,” Gloves said with a smile, “Long time no see! I’ve missed you guys. Where’s your Captain?”  

“Our Captain’s in his cabin,” Bamboo Hat replied, her arms folded across her chest, “We’ve been busy these past couple of days.”

“Really? What have you guys been up to?” Gloves asked, then pointed finger guns at the crew, “My crew and I are going to go after the Rainmaker once we find out where it is! It’ll be so cool, I’ll have to show ya when we’re—” 

“We are?” Half Rim asked.

“Yes, yes we are,” Gloves replied, then looked over at Bamboo Hat. “What about you guys?”

“The Rainmaker, huh?” Bamboo Hat responded, “I’ve heard about that, I think our Captain wants it as well—”

“What’s all the commotion out here?” 

The door to the cabin was now open and out stepped a yellow-green colored inkling with a black coat. 

“Captain Rider! Long time no see,” Gloves exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Rider mumbled, “I thought it was someone important. What do you want?”

“Nice to see you too,” Gloves replied, “I figured you’d be ecstatic to see me. How’ve you been?”

“Oh you know, the usual,” Rider answered, “We recently captured another pirate, but so far talking to him has been a pain in the neck. At this rate, I’ll probably just drop him off at an island or something. I’ve been trying to get information out of him for the past week.”

“Woah, cool!” Gloves responded, “Who is he? How’d you manage to get him? My crew and I just escaped another pirate ship just the other night.”

“Shady of the Wireglass Pirates,” Rider began, “I wasn’t sure at first, we found him near the docks, running away from salmonids by the shore. I’d recognize him anywhere. I had my crew look for their ship, but they couldn’t find anything. It was odd.”

“You mean you actually— have one of them on board with you?!?” Gloves stuttered in disbelief. Then, he lit up with excitement, “I want to see him!! I’ve been looking for the Rainmaker, I wonder if he could tell me anything about where the rest of his crew is!!”

“Tch, good luck with that,” Rider scoffed, “None of us have been able to get him to say anything. He’s not much of a talker. We’re better off just throwing him overboard.”

“Oh come on,” Gloves laughed, “You’re not great at talking to people anyways, I bet I could get him to start talking.”

“Riiight.” Rider rolled his eyes, then turned to leave. “Well, it was nice to see you, we should get going—” 

“Do you think I could meet him?” Gloves asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Alright!” Gloves cheered, then looked back over at the rest of his crew, “You guys wait out here. Turn the ship around while I’m gone so we don’t hit Rider’s ship. I’ll be back in a few!” 

Rider exchanged a look with his crew. "No— We should really get going—"

"Pleeeasssee??"

Rider sighed heavily and shrugged. “Fine. Hop aboard.”

Gloves took a step back. Swiftly, he leapt across and jumped onto the other ship. His leather boots hit the wooden floorboards with a loud thump. Gloves then followed Rider to the ship’s cabin. He happily skipped down the steps. 

“So, where are you keeping him?” Gloves asked.

Rider pointed to the end of the hallway, where there were a few iron bars propped upright. 

“Right over there,” he replied, “This ship used to belong to the royal fleet, we’ve had a space for any prisoners but we haven’t had a chance to use it until recently.”

The pair walked over to the iron cell at the end of the hallway. Gloves tilted his head curiously. There was a cyan colored inkling that sat inside the cell, staring at the ground. He wore a tattered white shirt and a black flap cap which covered most of his face.

“Hey! You must be Shady!” Gloves said excitedly, he walked over, “My name is Captain Gloves! What happened to the rest of your crew?” 

“What’s it to you?” The latter replied with a monotonous voice, “That’s none of your business.” 

“Listen, your crew’s probably worried about where you might be—”

“That’s debatable.” Shady rolled his eyes. 

“I really want to know more about the Rainmaker,” Gloves continued, “Rider here does too. Maybe he’ll let you go if you tell us where it might be, I’ve heard your crew’s the one holding onto it. We could work together.” 

“I’ll pass,” Shady mumbled.

Gloves frowned with disappointment. He rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.

“We could help you find your crew, if you—”

“Oh, I don’t need your help finding them,” Shady interrupted, “I have a small idea as to where they might be. But, as I mentioned earlier, that’s none of your concern.” 

“I told you he wasn’t telling us anything,” Rider muttered, “We’ve tried almost everything. He probably doesn’t even have the information we need. It could just be another false chase.”

Gloves looked back over at Shady. “Your captain was the one who Black Labeled my friend. Because of whatever the heck you guys did, my friend can’t battle anymore— he hasn’t been able to for the past few months.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Shady replied, “My captain’s Black Labeled a lot of pirates. Nothing I can do anything about.”

“Barreleye,” Gloves said, “I thought you two were friends, but apparently not.”

Shady’s expression changed. He almost had a look of shock, before he brushed it off. He stared at the floor. “How am I supposed to know what happened? You’re— You’re asking the wrong person.” 

Shady then glanced up at the other two. “Both of you are lost causes. Neither of you know when to leave people alone. I’ve already told you, you’re not getting anything out of me. You’d probably get more value watching paint dry.” 

Rider sighed with frustration. “Perhaps we were being too nice before. We should just throw you overboard.”

"Then do it," Shady mumbled, "I'm surprised its taken you so long to think of that."

“Now hold on a second, Rider,” Gloves interjected, “You do realize if you throw Shady into the ocean— the Wireglass Pirates aren’t going to take this lightly. If they found out you did that, they’re going to destroy your ship and everything with it.” 

Gloves then raised a hand in opposition, “You guys should at least just leave Shady somewhere, at least you’re not charged with murder on your hands.” 

“First off, don’t tell me what to do,” Rider scoffed, “Second, he’s no use to me at this point. You might as well take him, I’m sick of him. We probably don’t even need him to find the Rainmaker.” 

Shady laughed to himself, leaning against the wall with his hands rested behind his head.

also, it is with a heavy heart that i have to say we are nearing the end of The Rainmaker Heist 😔 This choice here will determine how the final battle goes :] I think I have about-- 2 or 3 chapters left, idk yet.

sorry for the bad-ish chapter :/ i hope you guys enjoyed it nonetheless

thanks for reading! have a great day/night ! <3

[autumnbrambleagain]

Yhelm 13 - readmore for full

Drizzle was gone. Those who had been in-city at the time said Flyhh had gotten sick of her and had tossed her out of Flyhhnemonia. Physically. Bodily. Even in the out-city Yhelm had seen SOMEthing, a streak of gray shooting through the sky, sweeping the rainclouds away with it. In moments they were rolled up like some great carpet and lost to the horizon.

Green skies ruled again. Ardent, gold and glorious, was looking down on the pink city at last. His flying knights fluttered across the distant sky, trailing miles-long banners of rainbow this way and that. Disgruntled insects buzzed and sang in the trees. Birds chirped and honked in celebration.

Meadoe preserve, it was a nice day.

There was no way Yhelm was going to let Lils stay cooped and miss it.

They had gone shopping. Lils had always relied on trusted runners to collect things for her--mostly garbage-picking from the sumps? But Lils was smart enough she could force meaning out of trash and make magic out of it anyway. But this was Flyhhnemonia. No, this wasn't Cazzhad, it wasn't the Forbidden City, but it was still freaking Flyhhnemonia. There was an entire greenlight street full of nothing but magic stores.

Lils deserved a shopping trip, damnit.

It had been a good haul, too. A real good haul. Sacred brass fixtures, a new three-tube distiller, a spring-chisel, resin-ink from Tordabirr, stuff that would make rep-form magic a lot easier to construct. It hadn't even been Yhelm making the shopping list.

Lils had done it. Half the little odds and ends Lils had bought Yhelm didn't even recognize, Lils had just, done it. She'd done it. She didn't get lost or confused or wander off, nothing.

She'd even bought a branch of sunless wood to make a staff with. She was carrying it in her mouth like a dog getting real excited about a cool stick. It was kind of cute? And no one in the greenlight district had even looked twice at the fact that, you know.

That Lils was a hollow, dusty, walking, mummified corpse.

"You gotta call me when you make your staff," Yhelm said, as they rounded the corner to the shady alley Lils lived in. "The last staff I made was years ago and I don't even remember, like… at least three of the steps."

"There aRE three steps!" Lils sang happily around her new staff-base. "OR so it can be thusly. Lils remembers: different. IDEAS of a staff-make. Was. Was called? APA? ADA?"

"APA, MLA, and Traditional," Yhelm recited from a memory she didn't know she had.

Lils nodded seriously, nearly knocking Yhelm in the face with the staff-to-be. "The prOFFESional ways. YEs. Lils remembers such things as not adhering to. Style guides. Would say. Style guides. But this is. GREEN. Magic. Not yellow. STYLE. It was a joke Lils to make!"

Yhelm caught her laugh in her throat. "What if it's an adversary greenlight?" she teased.

"YellOW and greEN. Make. A green-yellOW. That is Creativity. Thus you are stuffed knack. Lils has sewing materials for you to use."

Yhelm had to stop and just, kinda stare at Lils for a moment.

Partially because they were at her house, the "collapsing" shack (Lils had magic installations that'd keep the thing standing in a hurricane, actually) where Belham hid her away from the world. Lils had locked the door magically. It took her a hot moment to undo the bindings.

But she also had to stop and stare at Lils because, wow, that was, that was a complex joke. When she had first been sent to Lils she could barely remember how a conversation had started by the time it had ended. Now she was keeping up with conversations consistently. Now she was making abstract jokes. She'd gone from a barely-there idea of a person to--to, well, Lils. She'd gone from this helpless bumbling thing Yhelm had to keep a close eye on to… Lils. Just Lils.

It's almost like Belham keeping her locked up for her "safety" was a terrible idea and she was doing so much better ever since Yhelm had started to sneak her out of the house. Who would have thought? Oh, Yhelm would have thought. Because she was a trained academage and had a fucking degree in this stuff.

It had been a summer. It had been a weird summer. Yhelm remembered first seeing Lils' dessicated, ruined face beneath that hood and trying real hard not to freak out. Now when Lils looked back with that little half-hidden corpse-grin and said "dOOR has been made open!" any sense of disgust was just, gone. That was the face of a peer, now. The face of her fellow guild wizard.

Haha. Haha wouldn't it be fucked up if Yhelm was getting a crush on a half-dead. Haha. Ha.

Fuck.

Yhelm swallowed that feeling right down and said "Let's get your loot unloaded," instead.

Stepping into the shack, the air was so perfectly humid, and full of the soft smell of dry wood after too much rain. Ardentlight leaking through holes in the roof held up the ceiling like gold pillars. Magical such-and-stuff filled out every corner of the shack, shelves and tables and installations all crowding around Yhelm and Lils as they entered.

"Welcome back," Belham Pio, Boss of the Guild of Porters and Fisherman, said.

"Ah fuck," Yhelm intoned quietly.

"Go ahead and close the door," Belham said, even though Yhelm had finished doing that by the time he was on word three.

Lils just trotted up to him happily, still acting like a dog who wanted to show off her neat stick. "HellO uncall! W e have done made the shopping. WaS there a magic yOu neeD?"

Belham looked down at Lils, then up at Yhelm, the cold, smokey ghostfire framing his head curling angrily. "So what's this? Why is, what is, I'm sorry Meadoe must not have given me the page where I told you to take Lils out stick-picking?"

Yhelm crossed her arms, letting her leather jacket get that real nice squeaking sound. "She needed magic supplies."

Belham nodded, clacking his jaw wordlessly. "Ah," he said, still nodding. "Ah. Maybe--now see this is on me, I thought her being in a house you couldn't even think about entering without a magic password, being hidden from public knowledge, referral only, see, I thought, and this is my fault, so we can all just stop and blame me, so don't even feel for a SECOND like you did something wrong, I thought you were smart enough to realize that meant she was supposed to be something of a secret, and not paraded around outside. I know! I know. Dumb old Belham! Silly old goat! I thought the academage who can't shut up about how smart she is was, you know, at least, in some way, not an idiot. My mistake. Won't make it again."

This was an attack. An attack of words, of Style, and for a moment Yhelm almost rose in counter-attack, but she stopped, with her tongue pressing into the roof of her mouth. The only move stronger than a counter-attack is to act like you weren't even hit in the first place. "That feel good? Got it out of your system yet?"

Lils looked back between Yhelm and Belham in confusion. "Is? Words?? has a something DONE to a-o-curr?"

"So that's all you really have to say?" Belham asked Yhelm.

"No, I'm just waiting until you're done being angry enough that I can tell you why you're wrong."

Dead were unpredictable. Those born dead, like Belham Pio, were descended from Hartlight, God of Graves, who, if anything on the Wall was even slightly accurate, had been the enemy of creation and tried to destroy the world before it had even existed. That dead existed as a race in the modern day was only due to the mercy of the original gods and the innocence of the core of their idea. But Belham Pio was a lifelong gangster, a guild boss, descended from the first villain in existence, a skeleton-ghost that ate fear, and right now, oh right now he looked really pissed.

But he always looked really pissed. And Yhelm? Yhelm was an adversary. The father of her race was born from the idea of getting into trouble and getting out of it unharmed. She could pull this off. She'd been thinking about this since the first night she'd taken Lils out garbage picking, been planning out her arguments and explanations and citations like it was a thesis defense. That was the trick. Turn the situation, whatever situation, into the kind you were meant to win. And adversaries? They were created to win the 'just got home from sneaking out with your daughter' situation.

Belham Pio broke the standoff first. "Okay, that sounds fun. Why don't you tell me exactly how I'm wrong--"

"Gladly," Yhelm interrupted. "You're looking at Lils as a sick version of herself who needs to be kept safe. Except half-dead are mimeographic resonances of their original lives; corpses are used as a base for creation because of Aescshler's Law that states it's easier to modify something than create something, and are created by exploiting the Law of Like-Must-Be-Is. The corpse syllepetically provides both a metaphorical framework and a physical framework for a continuity, and during Story-transference motive energies force, and are forced to, take the impression of the original identity. Except this is an exploit of like-must-be-is and shouldn't be counted as a revival but only a reincarnational possibility. Half-dead are reliant, and this is the important part, half-dead are reliant on the creating wizard providing continual referential context or else, just as the body decays, so will the resonance of continuity."

Nodding, Belham said, "Right, right, I understood none of that."

"I know you didn't, that was my point," Yhelm said. "The take-away is, half-dead aren't someone who died but they have dementia because being dead was rough. They're constructs that look so much like a person who used to be alive the world gets confused and starts thinking they are that person, so it fills in the gaps. Just enough to be a useful servant or fighter or whatever the wizard made it for. Bits of the person's memory and personality are just a side-effect of the process."

"Huh," Belham said. "And so you've been sneaking out with her because…"

"The wizard keeps the half-dead working through a ton of complex magic that I'm pretty sure isn't active for Lils anymore since her creator's, you know, dead. Without the wizard actively tricking the world into thinking Lils is who Lils used to be, she degenerates. And I can't replicate the magic, so the only way to keep her from becoming mindless and eventually actually-dead-dead, is to treat her like a person so hard the world is convinced she's that person and lets her keep existing."

Off to the side, Lils was nodding in unsteady, jerky agreement. "REM ember this principAL. A half-dead of LILS is: symbolism like a repform mAgic! And all magic inSTALLations do a crumble over time. CannoT sust ain! It is reaSONABlE that a Lils will also do a unsustaIn unless maintaIn! The principle of friend Yhelm is sound."

It was so hard to tell what a dead was thinking by facial expressions when the face was just a flaming skull, but Belham did a good show of crossing his arms and shifting his weight to the side and lowering his head so his eyes glowered down at Yhelm dramatically. "So you're telling me you're running around with her without permission to save her life."

"And she's my friend," Yhelm said. "It's a nice day out."

"I bet you expect I'm going to get real angry now! Give you something to be an adversary about. So you can go and be the leather-clad hero! Well. I'm going to be very boring instead and say, I'm only upset you didn't think to tell me about this beforehand. Because you are, as you are trying to prove, a licensed academage. So why didn't you think to tell me I was doing something dumb! This is what I pay you for! You saw I was doing something with negative results and didn't think, well, hey, maybe I should warn Belham this isn't what modern scientific consensus says you should do with half-dead you want to keep alive. I! Pay you to know these things! And instead of being angry that you are sneaking about like an adversary seducing my daughter I'm upset that you, as my employee, didn't do the thing that is supposed to be your job!"

Fuck, Yhelm thought. He kind of had her, there. "In my defense, prim'ent, you're a hard person to go up to and say, hey, you're wrong about something."

The fires curling around Belham's head fluttered out. "Okay, fair point. I am very scary."

[kenaran]

3x07 "Delta-V"

I'm trailing behind again by a whopping five episodes and I'm sorry to say that it's not just because RL is keeping me busy. I'm just not very enthralled by the show right now. Which is disappointing because I've been told so many times how great it is, especially where we're at right now. I really, really want to love this show. More to the point where these recaps are concerned - I don't want to be "trashing" something people very clearly love. Anyway, I'll try not to go overboard, but do consider yourself warned: Not too happy right now.

There's a time jump of about half a year between this episode and the one before that. I'm not too fond of these "medium sized" jumps. (BSG did something similar and back then I was pissed and felt cheated out of a whole lot of storytelling, which my poor flatmate would probably still be able to attest to. The boxing episode - the only one I've ever seen that I liked - helped a lot to sell it to me later on.) I will admit it's mostly a personal preference, but I really don't like losing track of the characters' development like that. Big jumps are fine btw. I guess they're just creating enough of a distance for me to not mind the gaps anymore whereas with the medium jumps I feel like I should know things that I don't. I have no idea whether this makes any sense to anyone but me, but there it is.

Chrisjen is general secretary now. Clearly an improvement for Earth, but - as it turns out over the next set of episodes - not for the show. I miss her as a character, I miss her cussing at everyone, but I also think the different perspective her scenes offered did benefit the show a lot. I'm going to assume she'll return. She'd better... The necklace she's wearing during her speech could easily double as a murder weapon.

The jellyfish has built a huge ring.

The Roci (I guess we don't really care about the pine tree renaming at all) is operating as a standard something ship now with three quarters of her crew while Naomi is off following the call of the Belters. To pay for the trial concerning the status of the ship they've taken on a reporter and a camera man, who any normal person instantly recognizes to be blind whereas I was assuming some weird scifi shenaningans.

Drummer is captain of the Behemoth and kindly asked to take on Irish vibes guy (looks it up: Ashford) as her First Officer, who also brings "you need to get laid" guy (looks that up again too: Diogo). Naomi is chief engineer because of reasons. (I'm a bit miffed we only get part of those way later, but I'll get to that at that point.)

Anna is on board of a ship near the ring as well. Because that's what you do when your family is expecting you back home. More on that later as well - right now she's dancing the line to what is still fine with me.

We get some Amos back story: He won his education spot in a lottery. Nice system there, Earth. And apparently his documentation is less than complete. Which is shady though I heartily approve in the context of this episode because I don't like the reporter.

The Mormon special place on the ship they were looking for previously turns out to be the command center. Thanks for clearing that up.

And some lady named Melba places a bomb on a support ship. Which also means she needs to kill nice tech guy invoking some kind of super powers to do so. To which a heartfelt HUH?!

Crazy ass slingshot pilot makes very unappealing exit from the show thereby activating the ring.

And Miller turns up. With hat.

Jump to next episode

[dsandrvk]

Wednesday, November 8 - Funchal, Madiera

We arrived here just after dawn, when the sun started hitting the tops of the hills. The islands of Madiera are volcanic and quite vertical, as we remembered from our first trip here. That time we had taken a bus up above the main city of Funchal and hiked down a very steep hill until it leveled off several hundred meters above town, and we walked along some levadas.

Levadas are the traditional way of getting the water from the wetter north side of the island to the drier south side, and are an elaborate system of small canals (300 meters worth!) that drop only a couple of inches over a kilometer. Because of the steepness of the island, agriculture has also always been terraced. We had signed up for a "levadas walk" this morning, and were driven up to over 800 meters of elevation on the eastern part of the island, on very steep roads. The whole walk was only about 4 miles, but we stopped partway for a local drink of rum and fruit juices which reminded me of a pisco sour. Because the levadas are almost level, it was a nice shady very easy walk with lots of spectacular flowers, mostly in the countryside, but sometimes near small houses or the occasional overlook. The climate here allows almost every kind of plant to flourish, especially out of the normal seasons.

Bicycles seemed to be a theme for decorative fencing, as we kept seeing them along the way. Probably better for that than being in a landfill - especially on an island. Madiera is utterly charming with its lovely climate, sun-drenched, red-roofed houses almost all with a view of the sea. Of course, it has been discovered and property values here have soared in recent years, as many outsiders have discovered its charm.

Madiera has no history of habitation until it was claimed by Portugal in 1419, when Portuguese explorers in the service of Prince Henry the Navigator arrived. It was settled starting the next year, mostly by farmers and fishermen. Sugar cane grows well here, and it was the major crop until the 17th century, when other areas outcompeted Madiera, and about this time, wine became the major export. I had always thought of Madiera wine as sweet, but it comes in five categories from dry to sweet dessert wine. Today, of course, tourism is also a major industry.

After our little hike we still had time to drop our packs back at the ship and walk around the capital of Funchal. We decided to go back to the central market, which was extremely crowded on our last visit, and which was much less so today. Lots of lovely produce for sale, as well as flowers and tourist goods - I loved the sign which specifies which items are available, and it seems interesting that they call out shredded cabbage separate from fruits and vegetables. Maybe it's different in Portuguese.

We walked some different streets than before and came across a photographic exhibition in a wonderfully tiled atrium of a building. The historic photos showed celebrities and activities from the past, but when I turned around to look at the fountain in the center of the atrium, I saw it was filled with turtles, including this pair.

Like most Portuguese cities, the sidewalks were patterned with black and white tiles or pebbles, and the Se (cathedral) is fairly modest, although the ceiling inside is made from elaborately carved wood. We could have spent more time here (actually it would be lovely to stay here for several weeks, at least), as it is extremely easy to get around on buses, and there is lots to see and miles of trails to explore. Plus, produce and wine are plentiful, good and inexpensive, and at night, the cruise ships leave.

Now that we have left Madiera behind, we have six days at sea before reaching Sint Maarten, and four more time changes. The weather is predicted to be great, and gradually getting warmer as we move further south and west. The days of wearing a jacket on deck are passed, and it's time to bring out the shorts!

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Part 4! This is getting way longer than I thought it would be haha

When Danny had mentioned "his place" Damian had expected a small apartment, not a dorm room. Not that he had anything against such living arrangement, it was more that the limited space made it so the only place for the two boys to watch the movie was crammed together on the bed.

Damian wasn't a fan of physical contact with people he did not know well, and the younger boy had almost wanted to refuse when Danny had pated the spot beside him in invitation. He'd reluctantly climbed in and sat on the bed with the perfect posture he'd been taught to maintain. Danny hadn't commented nor had he seemed particularly bothered, but Damian had felt the atmosphere was somewhat uncomfortable. The first few minutes of the film had had Damian unable to concentrate on the story, but as time went by, he found himself relaxing slightly and becoming more engrossed with the cinematic piece.

San was a worthy protagonist and Damian found himself favouring her and her cause. Not to mention that her giant wolf companion was very nicely designed. So absorbed was he in San making on he way to assassinate what she perceived as an enemy, that when the room fell into darkness, it took a full second to register that the lights had gone out. Danny groaned and paused the movie.

"Another power outage," the older boy said.

Damian frowned, mostly in confusion, but also slightly due to his dissatisfaction that the film had been halted. "Is that a frequent occurrence?"

"Unfortunately." Danny sighed and slid off the bed. "Give me a minute, there's a guy I usually go to to get the light back on. I shouldn't be more than a minute."

"Very well," Damian answered.

"I'll be back in no time," Danny said with one last smile before he walked out the door

Danny thought the third date was going great so far. The lights cutting out was a minor hiccup, especially compared with the previous dates' hiccups. Besides, this had happened twice just this week and both times it had been the same person who'd fixed everything in a matter of minutes.

“Hey Matt, could you…” Danny trailed off as he caught sight of the scene. There was a masked man with a gun with Matt sitting crossed-legs on his bed, wide-eyed with his fingers hovering over his keyboard. 

“Yeah," Danny said. "I'm gonna go with nope on this one.”

The boy closed the door back up and was about to start speed walking out of there when the door slammed opened and he was dragged inside by the burly man. “You said there wouldn’t be anywhere here, Fox,” the gunman said to Matt.

“There wasn’t supposed to be!" the boy defended. "What the fuck Danny?”

“What the fuck me?" Danny couldn't help but shriek indignantly. "What the fuck you, you asshole! I’m not the one making shady deals in the school dorms!” Danny started squirming to try and dislodge himself from the other man's grasp.

“Stop moving if you don’t want me to hurt you,” the man said.

“Hey woah," Matt said nervously. "I didn’t sign up for actually hurting anyone.”

“And I didn’t sign up for a witness,” the masked man growled.

“Look, just let me go, I'll go back to my date and pretend I didn’t see anything,” Danny tried to bargain but he was ignored.

“I can keep him quiet," Matt pleaded.

“I can make him quieter," the other man stated coldly.

“Is anybody listening? I said l won't tell!” Danny whined.

“That wasn’t the plan.” Matt was starting to sound panicky

“Plans change.” The man said as her raised his arm to point the gun to the teenager's head.

“Alright that’s it,” Danny said before elbowing the gunman in the gut while simultaneously twisting the wrist that held the gun. It clattered to the ground with a metallic clang and Danny dived for it. 

The man was too slow to react and seeing his weapon in Danny’s hand, he decided to make a break for the door. As soon as he opened it, he was greeted with a punch to the face courtesy of Damian, who was just as surprised to see the man. The masked man was laid flat on his back, knocked out cold by the reflexive punch.

Danny offered Damian a bright smile. "Thanks!"

“You were absent for too long," the other boy explained as he walked into the room curiously. "I took the liberty to investigate.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Danny let out a sheepish laugh. “Turns out the curse is still going strong.”

“So it would seem.” The half-dead teen could hear a note of amusement in the other boy's tone and as a response, Danny's smile toned down to a softer smile. Damian echoed it with the slightest hint of an upturn lips, which had the older boy wishing for a way to coax out a full-on smile. His thought process was soon interrupted by Matt who he'd forgotten was still there.

“Holy shit is that Damian Wayne?”

Here is the update tag list:) @u-a-wizard-jamie @akikkobara @michealawithana @littlefeather345 @all-eyes-no-dragon @the-legal-shipper @confusionchaos @spectralstardustandphantomnights @mothman-the-mothman87 @crystalice067 @heartsong18 @skulld3mort-1fan @emeraudesfateandfandoms @illusionwolfwriter24r8 @jaggedheart11 @naluforever3 @addie-lover-of-stories @edgyboi10000 @thegatorsgoose @chaos-n-kindness @56thingsinaname @draconicdumbass @icedbluesoul @lizisipancardo @inth3world @emergentpanda-blog @addie-lover-of-stories @8-29pm @mj-arts-n-stuff @roman4517 @basementloser @paperlicense687 @vythika96 @coruscateselene @meira-3919 @lizisipancardo @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit

Damian does not know how he has got into such a mess.

That was a lie.

Like most messes in his life, it all started with his family and their constant “ribbing”.

‘They act as if gaining a date was not easy,’

Damian glared as he scouted out a suitable target in the mall.

Sitting alone by the arcade there was an attractive boy on his phone.

Acceptable.

Making his way next to his target, he sat down and tapped his shoulder.

The other boy flinched and subtly (though not to someone as trained as him) glanced Damian over, eyes seeming to catalog instinctively.

Good, not perfect but admissible all things considered.

“Uh hi.?”

“Your age.”

“Pardon?”

“What is your age?”

“16.?”

Damian nodded as he mulled over the information. About a year his senior, not ideal but still viable.

“ Date me.”

“Excuse me??”

“I will pay you for your inconvenience of course but I am in need of a date and you are the most suitable person I have seen so far.”

“Wait a minute-“

“Here is your first payment.”

Damian handed the boy the envelope he had prepared for today and had to hold back a smirk as he saw they other boy’s eyes widen.

“I-“

“I will pay you monthly with bonuses for any extremely taxing events that may occur if you agree.”

“I- I guess?”

“Good, now give me your number and I will contact you for our first date. My name is Damian Wayne.”

“Danny..”

~~~~~~

For all purposes the agreement has only worked in his favor.

His family was off his back, galas were less boring and they even shared common interests.

That being said,

“You did not need to give me a gift Daniel, it was not a requirement.”

Damian looked down at the katana shaped keychain he was handed, it was well made and surprisingly sharp.

“I know Dami, but it just reminded me of you!”

What a mess indeed…

[lyrasings]

Bruce Wayne NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Really sweet. Makes sure you have whatever you need be it food, water, or a bath, will pick you up and carry you to a bath if needed(We all saw him pushing those tables)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His arms and back, strong for working our and being batman and on you he says its eyes(its really thighs and ass)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Average amount. Says he doesn’t care where it is but something about seeing dripping it down your face and onto your chest does something to him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The idea of doing you on a rooftop in his full batman get up. He wouldn’t dream of doing it in the alleys where it's much too dangerous, but something about doing it on the roof while he’s supposed to be watching over the rest of the city, but instead he is entirely focused on you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Have you seen this man? If you aren’t his first it's been ages since he has had someone. However, that doesn’t mean he won’t learn. He will spend hours pouring over you to figure out just what makes you tick or under you worshipping you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

A little boring but missionary, he loves being able to see your face react to every little thing he does to you. But also, he loved having you sit on his face, being able to look up at you as you run your fingers through his hair and pull a little when he finds the right spot.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Dead serious. Takes the whole thing rather seriously, doesn’t matter if he’s beings dom or sub, he is internally focused on making sure you feel the best as possible(unless he's doing a punishment)

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Nice little trail. Doesn’t groom it unless you ask him to, mostly because when he does take a shower usually he doesn’t have the energy after a long night of batmaning. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Won’t be too vocal about it, but even when he is being a mean dom he lets you know he loves you in other ways, be it linking hands or softly kissing you. He very rarely says I love you, and prefers to do it at times when he thinks you won’t realize

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to do it a lot more before he had you. He is still a man and sometimes when he has to go to a shady club…well. But it was never anything more than a way to get the edge off.

But know that he does have you, he would prefer to make love or fuck you instead. But if he can’t he’ll do a quick one.

Of course, he isn’t opposed to mutual masturbation…

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Authority kink, Bondage Kink(has definitely stolen a pair of handcuffs from the gpd), and some impact play. He is definitely a switch and whether your beneath him handcuffed to the bed begging him or whether he's handcuffed to the bed as you have him eat you out, he’ll be happy.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom most definitely, in there with you, he feels like there is no difference between Bruce Wayne and Batman, there is just him, his body, and you. He isn’t opposed to doing it anywhere in the tower and he most certainly has had you in the Batcave after a ruff night.(and as stated before, he would love to go outside the Wayne property)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Everything about you. Your eyes, your body, your mouth, everything about you. As corny as it sounds he just loves(and lusts after) you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Any type of gunplay or non-con. Consent king and the gun would bring too many bad memories back.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

While he loves when you go down on him if given the chance would spend all his time going down on you. Will eat you out until your legs are shaking and you're beyond overstimulated. Will beg you for one more and what are you supposed to do when he's looking up at you with those wide blue eyes as your cum soaks the lower half of his face.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Can go anyway. However, he definitely leans towards slow but his strokes are deep. Rearranging your guts with each one. However, he will fuck all his anger into and fast.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not opposed to a quickie but definitely prefers to take his time with you. To either beg for you or make you beg.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Open to experimentation as long as you both consent, however, there are lines he won’t cross for both your and his safety

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Can go for two rounds but after that needs some time to recover, doesn’t mean he isn’t willing to make you feel good in other ways while he recovers. Rounds usually last 15 minutes depending on how he's feeling. If he is feeling particularly cruel he can tease for at least an hour, man can be patient when he sees fit.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Won’t usually use them however, he won’t be opposed to having you have a vibrator in while he’s out, with him having the remote so he can tease you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will tease you forever, and can be quite cruel about it but the moment you use it back on him? He will become a mess for you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not the loudest but will let out little growls and will whisper the filthiest things in your ear. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a secret breeding kink, the idea of coming deep inside of you and it taking root awakens something in him. He deeply, deeply wants a family.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

When fully erect about 6 inches and thick, but not so much that you can’t handle

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s still rather young and adds in the fact of batman, high. He can and will fuck you every night and every chance he gets.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Won’t sleep until you do, will watch you fall asleep, and will tell you all the things he's too afraid to say when you're awake. 

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 13: ...O-OH?

it’s the night of the big stream. y/n uncovers a strange, albeit deep, bond with charlie. corpse interrupts her garden date with sykkuno quite unceremoniously. tensions are high as ever; proximity chat reveals internal monologues and stray thoughts. y/n’s “batshit insane” energy affects everyone. this is, quite literally, the best game of among us bretman has ever played.

─── corpse husband x reader, sykkuno x reader (if you squint, it’s very one sided)  ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 6.1k oops ─── ❥ reqs: sum people requested some interaction w bretman + jealous corpse + flirty sykkuno

author’s note: guys....GUYS WE’RE ON THE 3RD “OH” hope ur excited cus i am!!! this was rly fun to write, but then again, everything is better than writing an essay lmao! this is extremely chaotic and a bit seggsy but like a minuscule bit u wont even notice it i swear xx there’s not much social media in this one, mostly written lol. as always lmk wat u think n thank u for all ur kind words n sooo manyyyy ideassss!!! love u lots

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It’s happening, you think, picking the discreet, angelic white color for your astronaut - with a halo and all, truly, you are a seraph that stepped through the gates of heaven and descended onto earth to grace these morals with your presence...quite literally, you’re not only donning white in game, but also in real life, cute as a button or more like as a bunny. Cat girls are overrated - cat boys, on the other hand, you’ll ardently defend till your last breath - but bunny girls...Safe to say, your chat had been going feral. Your endless ego is fed well. You even swore on your heart that no devilish trickery would follow in this game - you had left your snake ways behind you.

No one believed you. The Roaches know you too fucking well.

The influx of new subs, however, do not. Look at this cute girl! She wouldn’t hurt a fly! You chuckle at the compliments. At the exact same moment, Rae pipes up on the discord call, “Y/n is leering and cackling evilly. No one trust her.”

Demon woman herself must be watching your stream before starting her own. You pout, all adorable and innocent, but your eyes gleam slyly. Truly, a mastermind of manipulation! Look at you go! The chat is swooning. The viewer number steadily climbs past 16K and you hum happily, welcoming all that decided to join your little clan, “Don’t listen to Rae. Wifey is mad because I said I’m not bringing her back a souvenir. Well guess what, bitch, I’m the gift.”

Your perfect image does not quite align with your tone, nor the affectionate nickname you call your roommate (bitch, not wifey). The new viewers are none the wiser though, just like your new stream mates.

There is laughter from people you don’t quite know. The lobby is almost full, but not everyone has trickled in yet.

“Filing divorce papers right now.” Rae mumbles, but you hear the smile in her voice. It makes you crack a grin, too. 

More hello’s and shy introductions to the people in the lobby. Sykkuno’s green astronaut pops in with a upbeat, “Hey, everyone! Hi, Y/n!” as his character circles around yours. A collective awww echoes in your stream chat as you, quite breathless at the wholesomeness, reply with a “Hi! Hi hi!” as well.

Corpse is next to join, mysteriously ominous. The discord call is pure chaos, everyone screaming over the other variations of his name while stressing different syllables. Silent as a grave, he just stands there, his black astronaut seemingly eyeing everyone in the lobby. 

Alas, when the noise dies down, he utters, “Whaddup, baby.” and it’s pandemonium all over again. You are screeching/laughing along with the rest. His astronaut swiftly glides to Sykkuno, still circling around you, “Hey, Sykkuno.” He says. The latter abruptly stops. The game hasn’t even started, and already - betrayal! Sykkuno starts circling around Corpse now, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey, dude!”

“Yo,” You interrupt, “I’m like here too, yeah?”

“Fight, fight, fight!” Pokimane jeers. You can’t see her, but you’re certain she’s pumping her fists in the air. 

“Let’s leave the bloodshed for the game, yeah?” Dream offers past her laugh ridden urging.

“No, fuck that, let’s start this shit right now,” Charlie declares - his monotone is strangely pleasant to the ear, and you lean back in your chair with a thoughtful hum. Something about his energy just clicks with yours instantly, but perhaps you’re judging too quickly- “Got my fucking knife ready to slit some throats. You can all pretend you aren’t ready to kill on sight, but that’s not me. I’ll teabag your dead fucking body.”

-yeah, no, your initial estimate had been correct! What a pleasant surprise, you feel like you and he will get along beautifully. 

“Way to be subtle, Charles.” Rae snorts.

“Subtle doesn’t make an interesting game, Rae,” He’s quick to bite back, “and if I’m Impostor, you bet your fucking ass I’m going after you first.”

“Noooooo!” She shrieks, rushing to your astronaut, which is still just standing there, abandoned, like the equivalent of that one emoji, “Y/n, protect me.”

“Of course, baby.” You purr. 

There’s mumbling in the discord call, though it’s barely audible. Corpse seems to be repeating the word to himself: Baby...Baby?...Baby...

“You’re gonna stab me in the back the first chance you get, won’t you?” She questions, already painfully aware of the answer.

“You know it!”

“Finally, someone that’s not fucking cowering in their boots and flaunting their real nature.” Charlie says, “Y/n, form a Big Dick Alliance with me.”

“Oh for sure, man.” You agree immediately, trailing to his in game figure, “Let’s show these virgins how it’s done.”

“This is going to be a mess, isn’t it?” Sean’s voice rings with a cheerful laugh, making you flustered. Yes, you’re actually playing with THE JacksepticeyeTM. You still haven’t fully wrapped your head around that part, “I’m very excited to see where this will go.”

“Nowhere good.” You say with unparalleled sincerity - every word you speak to him, the icon, the legend, the one of the few youtubers you actually actively follow, must be genuine. You doubt you can lie to him. He’s too good of a person. You admire him too much. Stuck between wanting to be a shady bitch and an absolute saint, you refrain from addressing him more - you are simply not worthy.

its the y/n trying to act like a normal person in front of jack for me

ikr she looks ready to join the monastery

each day we stray closer to gods light???

Your viewers are snide as always. Gosh, you love them.

The last player pops in, fashionably late, “Hey, y’all.”

“Hey, Bretman!” The call choruses somewhat harmoniously.

“Hi, daddy.” He’s speaking to Corpse now, a smile in his voice - you can hear it even past the static of his atrocious mic. Your eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. Your friends are cackling, but confusion refrains you from doing the same - were you not the only one Corpse offered, seemingly so long ago!, to be his sugar baby? 

One betrayal after the other. You’re glad for the Big Dick Alliance. The name has a nice right to it, too. 

Corpse laughs, “...Hey, Bretman. How are you today?”

Damn, two sentences for him, but not even a word spoken to you!? You’re already scripting a very melodramatic paragraph you will text him after the stream. With poorly masked discontent, you mutter, “Wow, thanks for such a warm welcome, Corpse, my day’s going great, yeah, loving the company.”

“Now now miss girl,” Bretman chimes, “we can’t be all daddy’s favorite.”

“Careful,” Charlie drones, “I think you just got yourself onto Y/n’s shit list.”

“Right next to Corpse Husband and Valkyrae.” You agree, “Sykkuno!” You suddenly call him.

“Uhm-Uh-Yes?” Is his nervous reply.

“You’re safe.” You state coldly, “For now.”

“You are not going after Sykkuno on my watch.” It must be a belated holiday miracle because Corpse finally decides to address you. His words seem to awake something in him, “Hey-Hey-Hey-” He swiftly glides to you, standing right next to your minute virtuous angel, “When are you coming back to Cali?”

corpse stop acting weird challenge

literally omg lmao

he does bring up a good point y/n y u not in cali yet?!

^pack it up corpse simp he disrespected the queen when he didnt say hi

“Back off, buddy,” Charlie interjects, “this spot is for Big Dick Alliance members only.”

“I’m never returning.” You inform him, your voice cold like the Arctic snow, and the look in your eyes is no kinder. You feel like you’re having a stare down through screen. 

Silence stretches. Is this an intimidation tactic? Because if it is, it’s a paltry one. Your conviction to be petty is stronger than any vulnerability you might feel.

“Then I have nothing to say to you.” He admits and fucks right off with that. Fine, go join Sykkuno and Rae in their little corner of betrayal! Friendship ended with Corpse, now Charlie is your best friend.

“Okay, guys, guys, guys-” Toast, noting this is going to spiral any minute now, tries to catch their attention, “Let’s start?!”

You look into your camera, and the roaches know what you’re thinking. You’re twins like that, communicating telepathically. You are taking back your tender promise of not being a conniving bastard. It’s fucking on. You will destroy everyone in your path, starting with the guy you have a stupid crush on - maybe?! Feelings are confusing, you’d rather just not think point blank period.

With no objections from the cast, the counter ticks away seconds and, for the first round, you’re stuck as CREW MATE.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Charlie is a gift. Truly, you had not expected such a sudden, wonderful relationship to bloom. How have you not known of him sooner?! It’s a crime that you hadn’t spoken to him earlier. You are a 100% certain if you had found him before you started streaming, he would’ve been a big inspiration. 

The two of you do your silly little tasks and curse like sailors, commenting about this and that thanks to proximity chat. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the claustrophobic silence if it was just a normal Among Us game - to think, missing out on all his foully worded quips! It almost springs a tear into your eye. He’s just as unhinged as you.

worried about this dynamic 

its a trainwreck lol i love it plz collab more plz

Caught in a headed discussion in Electrical - TikTok trends, or audios specifically - you defend the app the best you can. Charlie thinks it’s super cringe, and you insist it’s part of the charm as you connect wires.

“I mean, have...-do you know that one audio, the one that goes, like,” You’re spilling your words, heated, frustrated that he’s so dismissive of the app that literally saved 2020, “it goes like, uhm,” You clear your throat, prep your voice - even take a sip of your favorite drink. Drawing the syllables, you try your best to make it drop an octave - it must sound like you’re doing an atrociously bad and nauseatingly scratchy Corpse impression with an extra dramatic flair, “My assssssss, your cockkk, you do the mathhh.”

“Did-Did I just-” You freeze hearing Corpse’s voice, finally done with your task. Charlie is muffling his laughter behind his palm; Corpse’s astronaut stands in the doorway, “What the fuck did I just walk into?” He seems genuinely confused, though a strangely winded. You’re mortified. Your shoulders are shaking. You look at the stream chat but it’s going too fast for you to follow. Manic laughter bubbles in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, mouth split into a toothy grin, lowering your head and trying to hide the blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hey? Guys? What the fuck are you talking about?” He questions again.

“Honestly?” Charlie chimes, “No fucking clue. TikTok, I think. Ask Y/n.”

You can’t reply. You’re crying. You cover your face with your palms, muttering a soft oh my god before bursting into a full blow laugh, throwing your head back, the motion accidentally knocking your headphones off.

“Y/n.” Corpse calls you, “Fuck was that?”

You’re howling. Your stomach hurts. There are literal tears in your eyes. You think Charlie might be laughing too, but you can’t really tell over your loud screeching. Hastily fixing your headphones, you wipe away the tears stuck to your lower lashes, heaving, “S-Sorry, I-” You stutter, breaking into another fit of giggles. Corpse patiently waits you to calm down. Catching your breath, you start again with a sniffle, “TikTok, yeah.” You idly fix your hair, trying to bite down a smile, “It’s an audio.”

“What- What kind of videos are you watching?”

“The good kind.” Your reply is instant, merciless, “Also, why are you here? We’re having a BDA meeting, you know.”

“I-I...” He trails off, “I...I heard people talking and...I just came here to check it out, but...I’m regretting it.” There’s a lilt in his voice, and you know he doesn’t regret jack shit. You bet he’s smiling. You wish you could see it.

“Bitch, then leave!” You huff. You aren’t sure what is with him today, and you don’t want to stick around and find out - his playfulness makes your stomach flip at the most inappropriate times! Like when you’re trying to sound threatening. You must retreat posthaste, “No, wait, I’ll do it for you.” You say, brushing past his character. Charlie follows after you.

“Dude, you’re so fucking lucky neither of us are the Impostor because you’d be deader than I’ve been feeling since I was 10.” Your favorite companion comments. Charlie is truly a modern wordsmith. You’re pretty sure you adore him, because you’re nodding your head, so quick to agree with him that even you’re surprised. 

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

A meeting is called. You spare a glance at your fallen crew mates. They will be missed. Sean most of all, God, why does heaven always take the good ones?! The game feels emptier without him, even if you really only passed him once on your trek to Cafeteria with Charlie.

You may or may not have been avoiding him, afraid you’d accidentally say something horrible and he would hate you. It’s a silly fear, though a deep one. And with Charlie keeping you company, you had not uttered a single objectively  good, or even coherent, sentence. Your parents can’t watch this stream once it’s uploaded onto your Youtube channel. They know you’re barely keeping it together in most of your videos, but here, now? Yeah, no. Charlie is already hard to listen to on his own for sensitive viewers, and hearing you agree with literally everything he says with your own chaotic ideas? Your dad would stumble into an early grave.

Mom probably wouldn’t mind too much, but you’d have to explain your relationship status again. She is under the assumption that everyone you collab with is your significant other. You’d say it began with Sykkuno, though the exclamation of “Finally! My daughter isn’t pathetically single! We need to celebrate.” had started with Rae. Truly, a scandal.

Speaking of which, Sykkuno is gone, too, but you had time to mourn him already. You found his body roughly ten minutes ago; so torn with the fresh agony of heartbreak, you could not do anything else but cry. It was Charlie, bless his heart, that reported it.

“Someone killed Jack,” You say, voice dripping with venom, “court is now in session. I’m ready to vote the fucker out.”

People speak all at once. Toast roars over them, “ORDER! ODER IN COURT!” as he slams his hand onto his desk repeatedly. That seems to work, though briefly.

“I think it’s Y/n.” Corpse says. You stare at him, hand gripping your heart, mouth falling open in surprise.

flame him

corpse boutta be a corpse fr

beat his ass queen!!!!!

“Pardon my french,” You grumble, “but nani the fuck?!”

“It’s definitely Y/n, I found her and Charlie conspiring in Electrical. Surrealist experience of my fucking life, but it’s definitely her.”

“Dude, we’ve been over this,” Charlie sighs, shushing Rae who was about to comment something - knowing your luck, it was probably in favor of the man throwing you under the bus, “we would’ve snapped your fucking neck the moment you walked in. But we didn’t.”

“Yeah, we didn’t.” Corpse notes, “I said nothing about you, I’m just saying it’s definitely her. She probably didn’t kill in front of you because of your stupid alliance-”

“Someone sounds salty because he wasn’t invited.” Pokimane snickers.

“-or possibly she did tell you and you won’t betray her for the exact same reason.”

“That’s some big brain logic you pulled there, genius,” Charlie says, absolutely unimpressed, “sure you didn’t have an aneurysm trying to connect all of that together?”

“Well,” Rae pipes up, “Y/n and Charlie did say they will kill right before the game started. If you ask me, it’s not unbelievable. And Sykkuno was sorta on the shit list.”

“I’m writing down your name twice, Rachell.” You spit.

“Not helping your case at all, Y/n...” Dream worries, “And Rae makes a good point. Charlie and you have professed desire for murder. I’m just saying! It’s a bit suspicious, you know?”

The next words to leave Corpse’s lips sound incredibly smug, “See?” He drawls.  The pressure is getting to you - you don’t understand where this beguiling talent of his to convince literally everyone comes from, but it doesn’t inspire any confidence. Your fist suddenly feels incredibly lonely, so useless - oh, how you long to swing at him, “It’s definitely Y/n.”

“I dunno...” Toast mumbles.

“It’s Y/n.”

“Corpse-” You try, but he's ignoring you - shocker, as if he hadn’t been doing that from the very start of this stupid game - and chanting your name like it’s a fucking mantra or something, a smile in his voice, knowing, relishing in the fact that he’s grating on your nerves, “FIRST OF ALL,” You scream into the mic, successfully cutting him off; catching your breath, you exhale, and continue, calmly, lowly,  “get my pretty name out of your mouth.” 

There’s a pause full of tense silence. 

Then, there’s a sound, seemingly stuck in the back of his throat, “...O-Oh...?”

“Second of all,” You continue, words like honey dipped in arsenic, “This is the clearest smear campaign I have ever witnessed. By how hard you’re trying to frame me for fuck knows what reason, I’m led to believe it’s you that killed them. You’re the Impostor.”

“Corpse wouldn’t kill Sykkuno, though.” Rae comments, skeptical.

“Then the other Impostor did it.” You counter.

“Maybe you’re both Impostors.” Pokimane chirps.

“Y/n would never betray the Big Dick Alliance like that.” Charlie states.

You grin, “Charlie, I literally love you.” 

“Wait hold up now,” Corpse seems to get his bearings together, “what’s this about love I’m hearing?”

“I have none for you, dick.” You snap, flipping him off. Your chat cheers. While he can’t see it, you hope he senses it through the screen, “I officially hate you.”

“No, wait-”

“Boo, Corpse, you suck.” Toast laughs.

“Y/n, please-”

“Let’s all vote for Corpse Husband, okay?” You say it like it’s his full official name with an encouraging smile and multiple soft nods. Sykkuno can’t be here to nod, so you’ll do it for him. You eye the rapidly decreasing timer before clicking on Corpse’s figure and voting for him. The VOTED icon instantly pops up beside your adorable astronaut.

“Baby, I-” It slips past his lips so easily, as if he’s not even thinking about it, like it’s only natural to call you that and a spike of anxiety shoots up, making you glare. It’s only halfhearted. You try your best to ignore the rapid and uncoordinated pulses of your heart. Replace unwanted feelings with anger and hate - works like a charm, every time.

“You are not allowed to call me that.” You hiss. The chat spams snake emojis. 

“Wait-” Bretman chimes, “Hold up, y’all, slow down a minute. Why does Corpse never call me baby?”

“Yeah!” Pokimane agrees, “I want to be baby, too!”

Pokimane may not have been called baby, but you just single-handedly decided her nickname for her - Target 4. Welcome to the shit list, she is officially your public enemy number 1. You aren’t sure why the thought of Corpse ever referring to anyone else as baby makes you sick to your stomach (you actually do know why, but brain no think at the moment), but you wish this whole conversation never happened. You don’t like it.

20 seconds left. More VOTED icons appear by your friends. Corpse is the last one to cast his ballot at, you assume, you, as the rest wait for his quick explanation before everyone (or not) returns to the game, “...Because she’s my baby.”

Goodbye. Life had been sweet, and there was sorrow, though the amount of embarrassment you feel now is worse than when the internet found your cringe worthy high school pictures on your mom’s Facebook. It’s a mixture of dread and excitement - the pleasure of being noticed, cherished even, though anxious from vulnerability. Someone is screaming a very prolonged “WHAAAAT?!”, or maybe multiple people are, you aren’t sure, your ears start to hurt from the loud, conflicting cacophony of voices as you stare blankly at the screen. You received two votes, just like Corpse, Charlie got one, the rest skipped. With no one flung out, you all find yourself back in Cafeteria again.

Baby. My baby? My baby. My baby. The sentence is playing ping-pong in your mind, reverberating louder each time. You’re actually speechless for the first time in your life; your chest hurts, your heart beating so fast your hands start shaking. Had he meant it? Or was this a some joke? Was he trying to get a rise out of you again? You might just go insane from so many questions. My baby. Holy shit, this is a heart attack, this is what a heart attack feels like, dear God, you figured you at least had ten years before you get one!

  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

First round ends with IMPOSTORS raining victorious. Your sixth sense had been working wonders since, true to you previous estimate, it had been Corpse. His companion was Pokimane. For absolutely no reason what’s so ever, you change her name once more from Target 4 to Target 1. Normally, you’re all for girls supporting girls. Men don’t deserve anything, really, but now you’re so flustered and still reeling from what you are 80% sure was cardiac arrest that you genuinely don’t care about your established morals.

Round two starts without much deliberation. You get CREW MATE again; the game must sense your growing bloodlust, making sure that once you do get IMPOSTOR, you will not hold back. True power is granted to those who are ready and strong enough to wield it. You wait for your moment with bated breath.

Charlie is taken from you too early. The two of you were once again caught in a discussion - God knows about what, Minecraft, hentai, oh! your server! - as you tried to card swipe for the umpteenth time. The lights blew out and you just knew one of you was getting murdered there and then. Charlie’s voice abruptly cut off, and you think a part of you died with him.

It’s a cold meeting; with your new best friend being the first to go, everyone decides to skip. You proclaim you seek vengeance. When the meeting comes to an end, Sykkuno is the first to offer his condolences.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says, and while he’s not in Brooklyn, you somehow feel him patting your back. You feign a sniffle.

“There’s nothing to apologize for...” You murmur sadly, “Unless...” Your voice turns sharp as the knife that was surely twisted into Charlie’s back, “It was you?”

“NO!” He exclaims, “I would never-you gotta believe me! I would never kill him. I know he’s important to you. I wouldn’t do that, I swear.”

“He was like a brother to me.” You admit, solemn, “Charlie, if you’re haunting me right now, know I will avenge you. I will not let this go.”

Sykkuno hums, circling around you, “Hey, I have a task in Greenhouse. Would you, uh--Would like to, uhm, join me?” Despite the shaky start, he finishes on a firm, pleasant note. He’s trying to cheer you up. Having lost your closest friend, he’s offering you his company. You accept with a soft smile and a cute “Yes, please!” and he releases an airy little laugh. The two of you make your way to your favorite place in map MIRA.

It’s difficult to stay sad for long when Sykkuno’s so sweet; the atmosphere of the Greenhouse is strangely calming; your problems seem to be left behind the shut doors. If you tried hard enough, you could imagine being in an actual Greenhouse - the warm, damp air clinging to your skin, the unmistakable smell of earth and vegetation, the pleasant silence broken only by yours and his hushed voices and clumsy footsteps.

The two of you are talking. Mainly about your choice of attire. Cat first, Sykkuno ponders aloud, doing his task as you watch the plants grow, now bunny, what’s next? You affirm that you will most likely dress up in cow-print next, or as an adorable sheep. He laughs, admitting you’ll look good in anything before he trails off. His awkwardness is really endearing. 

“Or!” You chirp happily, content with being locked away with him for the whole game. The idea must be playing in his mind, too, because he seems in no rush to leave, “I could, like, dress as someone from My Hero Academia. I watched the stream you did with Stella, the one where she made you look like Todoroki. It was really cute. You were really cute.”

“Oh, uhm-well, uh, thank you, thanks, I, uhm-” He clears his throat, and despite his stutter, you hear the smile in his voice, “I-I think you’d look better, though. Not as Todoroki. Or, probably as Todoroki, too. But, uhm, what character are you thinking about?”

“Maybe Momo?”

“Momo!” He yeps, “Momo is good. Yeah, she’s great. You’ll-uhm-you’ll look amazing. Really. Momo is awesome. Very pretty. Just like you.”

You are blushing. A stupid, toothy grin makes your cheeks hurt. Your eyes flicker to the chat, but again, it’s going wild. Giggling, you thank him for his sweet words, so giddy it’s honestly embarrassing. Why can’t you stop smiling? This is incriminating. You hide your lips behind your palm.

“...What’s this?” Corpse question. You had failed to note his sudden appearance, too busy gushing. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hey, Corpse!” Sykkuno greets. For someone so awkward and shy, he sure is good at hiding it when he wants to. Perhaps it’s all an act and you had been deviously tricked! Probably not, but you can’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously, finally able to calm down. You definitely underestimated him, you just haven’t figured out how yet, “Not really! Y/n was sad Charlie died so I took her here.”

“You interrupted our date, dipshit.” You deadpan. 

“...Fuck you say?” Corpse dares, his voice low and somewhat menacing - for someone who exclusively portrays his emotions through only his voice, he’s incredibly hard to read. This is payback. Your love for wreaking havoc resurfaces suddenly. Serves him right for pulling all this ignoring shit at the start. Maybe you’ll make him say oh again.

Your sly smirk is promptly wiped. Fuck. He said oh, he literally said oh out loud. The Teruhashi fangirl in you is screaming. You had been so caught up in defending yourself you didn’t even register it at first. Alarmed, you look at the camera, then at the chat. First oh, then my baby. There’s no way he had been teasing you, and this proves it. Holy shit. You mouth the words “HE SAID OH!” for your audience only.

now she notices

snail pace baby we’ve been loosing our shit for the past hour 

corpse x y/n saikik au enemies to lovers 500k words slow burn im here for it

opening wattpad rn^

Your heart races in your chest - it might be considered an Olympic medalist at this point; flustered yet again, you wish you could cave into yourself. You should’ve brought your bright blue wig with you to Brooklyn. Turns out it would have been perfect for this stream. Yes, yes thinking about unnecessary details always works in distracting you from the butterflies throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. 

“I guess it is a date!” Sykkuno admits, “Kinda after a funeral, but still.”

Corpse hums. You’re still too stunned to say anything. The black astronaut with adorable cat ears approaches Sykkuno. 

“It’s not.” He states. Your mouth falls open in shock as your date, your companion, the Shoto to your Momo is murdered in cold blood right in front of you. His lifeless body, cut in half, lays on the tiles by the growing flowers, right beside you, “You didn’t see shit.”

“...I didn’t see shit.” Is all you can utter, breathless and terrified.

“Thaaaat’s fucking right, baby.” Corpse coos, “Now I’m gonna report it, and I’ll say we found Sykkuno together. Better stick close to me after the meeting, got it?”

If Sykkuno is Shoto, then Corpse is definitely Dabi. 

why is that kinda hot tho omg

didn’t know i needed dom corpse since now but i do

y/n looks like shes boutta throw up lmao 

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You follow him around like a lost puppy - because what else is left for you to do!? You’re helpless in this situation. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, successfully eliminating everyone you had previously interacted with. First it was Charlie, then Sykkuno, even Sean, who said hello in passing, was shot instantly. Real Sangwoo behavior. You almost want to scream warnings at everyone to not approach you. You cannot mourn another lost crew mate, you don’t think your conscience can take it. But words fail to form. You’re too weak. You fake cry to your audience. They’re quick to remind you to stop acting like a little bitch.

“Mean.” Is all you say, eyeing the comments.

“Hm?”

“Was talking to the roaches.”

“What are they saying?”

“That I should betray you.”

“...Better not.”

A shiver shoots up your spine and you half believe he will bust down your door and drag you into his basement for real. A nervous laugh slips past your lips, “I won’t, I won’t.” You reassure him, “Don’t worry, I’m sticking with you. I haven’t seen shit.”

“I like that you listen to me. You always this agreeable?”

“You’re kinda not giving me a choice right now.” You grumble, vending yourself a drink while he looms behind you, protecting you. From who?! Himself?!

“Oh my fucking God, finally,” Bretman exclaims, “girl, I’ve been running around the whole map trynna find someone, is everyone like, dead?”

You’re scared to reply. Corpse does it for you, “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, maybe? Not sure. Where have you been?”

“Oh you know,” Bretman grins, “doing tasks, talking shit, the usual. You two are not, like, Impostors right?”

You shoot a look at Corpse, but he obviously can’t see it. Biting your lip, you murmur, “Nope.”

“Just your regular crew mates doing regular crew mate things.” Corpse says, no, purrs. Because that’s not suspicious at all. You’d recommend Bretman to run, and not only because that sounded shady as fuck. But he seems to enjoy danger, or he just doesn’t care.

“Hmmmm, crew mates, sure. Miss girl Y/n,” He’s addressing you now; you smile anxiously, “How come every time I see you, you’re with a different man?! Like damn, leave some for the rest of us, for real!”

You like Bretman. You like his high-pitched whine and drawl. You would like him even more if not for the complex situation at hand. You fear for his life. Chewing at your bottom lip, you snicker, “Sorry, Bret. I can leave you Corpse if you want?”

He laughs, “Girl, I’d say yes so fucking quick, but I know he wouldn’t want that. Normally I wouldn’t care, but y’all are such a cute couple it’s making me not want to be a shady motherfucking bitch. Changing my ways, embracing the lord. Love it.”

 Corpse doesn’t correct him that you are, in fact, not dating. His lack of reaction unnerves you slightly. Does he...? No! No think! Only exist! You catch that train of thought and steer it away from forbidden territory. Looks like it’s up to you to clear the air, and that is exactly what you do after trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, “Uh, we’re not together, actually. We’re just really good friends.”

“Bitch, then move over,” Bretman says snappily,”go like, back to your other boyfriends. Or find another one. I think I saw Dream near Navigation.”

“Near Navigation, huh?” Corpse hums thoughtfully. It’s a subtle warning, but you catch it. Yeah, even if you try running, Dream’s going to join your other ‘boyfriends’ in the afterlife. Granted, killing someone by just talking with them is kind of cool. Or maybe Stockholm Syndrome is finally kicking in, “Bret, the thing is, Y/n’s scared of dying, so she asked me to stay with her.”

It’s disturbing how good at lying he is. It is also really really attractive, as bizarre as that is.

y/n stop being in a toxic relationship with corpse challenge

making fanart of this omg her face

its the blushing for me girl get your head outta the gutter!

^she cant, it lives there

“Baby, you’re gonna fucking die if you stick with her,” Bretman points out, “have you noticed the mortality rate of her partners? Rest in peace, daddy.”

“He’s right, you know.” You mutter, dramatically looking to the side, “I’m no good, Corpse.”

“Not leaving you, end of discussion. Bretman, join us?” Corpse offers, catching you by surprise. He might still be lying, though. Creating a false sense of security before eliminating Bretman. Probably would laugh while doing it, too. Wow, he truly is evil.

Turns out he doesn’t have to do any of that, because when Dream strolls into Cafeteria, he kills Bretman instead. The two Impostors are finally revealed. You promised not to snitch on Corpse, but you didn’t say shit about not exposing Dream. You press the REPORT button and say just that: “Dream just murdered Bret right in front of me and Corpse.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

The last meeting is called. Dream had been voted out with the help of Corpse, and now only you, he, and Rae remain.

“Baby, you know what to do.”

The VOTED icon pops up beside Corpse’s astronaut. Rae wheezes, “No! Y/n, it’s not me, you gotta believe me, I swear it’s not me!”

“...I really don’t know,” You murmur, “I’ve been with Corpse a lot, and...Rae, I’m not sure...”

“Please! I swear it on my Kagayama cardboard cut out, I’m not the Impostor, please! You know me, I’d never lie to you like this.”

“She’s definitely lying.” Corpse says, sounding pleased.

“Don’t listen to him! Remember, during the first round, when he tried to convince us that you were the Impostor? He’s doing the same shit to me!”

“I also remember you agreeing with him.” You remind her.

“I was stupid! Small dumb brain moment! He was using us to win! He’s using you right now!” She votes, “Please, Y/n, make the right choice.”

You’re silent for a moment.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna vote for who I think it is.” You lastly say.

A slow, lazy grin makes it’s way onto your lips, eyes gleaming mischievously. You had not forgotten your promise to your brother from another mother, you had not forgotten the pride of the BDA, you had not forgotten your beautiful friendship. Two miniature astronauts pop up by Corpse’s at the exact moment Rae screeches “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!”

“Fuck.” Is all Corpse says with a laugh.

The screen changes, informing of the first CREW MATE victory.

Your ears are assaulted with different voices as you appear in the lobby.

“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about.” Charlie raves, “I swear to fucking God, Y/n, you even got me going for a second. Pulled some 1000 IQ shit right there. It was fucking amazing. Best back stabbing I’ve seen in a while, and I’ve seen a lot.”

“That was absolutely fantastic, Y/n.” Sean applauds, “I really thought you joined Corpse like some crew mate accomplice or something. Can’t believe you switched on him at the last second.”

“That’s my wifey!” Rae cheers, strolling to you, “Love you, mwah.”

“Hey, Corpse,” Charlie calls him, “How does it feel to be a fucking loser?”

“I’m surprisingly fine with it.”

yeah he would be lmao

mom is the best snake ever i love you sm y/n

rae and y/n’s friendship....the feeeeeels

As the rest sing your praises for another solid minute or two, the third round begins. CREW MATE again. Though, just because you’re stuck as an underpaid worker in a dying spaceship, it doesn’t mean you’re innocent. Your last round proved that quite well. You can’t help but silently snicker.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol). 

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.  

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn. 

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor. 

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.” 

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight. 

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number.  “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves. 

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation. 

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.  

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.” 

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss. 

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

 You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping. 

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee. 

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.” 

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.” 

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?” 

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?” 

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you…  And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side. 

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. 

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression. 

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

 A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

 “I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess. 

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent. 

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. 

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.” 

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides. 

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue. 

“I think I may need a little…”  Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks. 

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback. 

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry. 

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.” 

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start. 

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips. 

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest. 

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment. 

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself. 

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants. 

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table. 

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.  There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already. 

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh. 

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him. 

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee. 

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil. 

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers. 

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching. 

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins. 

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan. 

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk. 

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his. 

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.” 

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it. 

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this. 

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt. 

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning. 

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you. 

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something. 

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going. 

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting. 

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know. 

He’s not stopping. Until he does. 

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin. 

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.” 

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact  you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth. 

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin. 

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound. 

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it. 

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt.  “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm. 

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat. 

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.” 

This. 

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire. 

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are. 

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.” 

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.  

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.” 

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip. 

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure. 

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you. 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that. 

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that. 

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure. 

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence. 

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.” 

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding.  Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes. 

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core. 

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever. 

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit. 

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking. 

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes. 

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.  

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect. 

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it. 

 You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat. 

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it. 

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had. 

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?” 

-- 

[astrablossom]

Brothers & Undateables reacting to seeing Male MC almost naked

You sigh out loud to yourself as you step out of the shower, water dripping down your now fresh and clean skin. It had been exam week and you were stressed out beyond belief, you deserved a little alone time. As you open the door steam rushes out and you grab a nearby towel, wrapping it around your waist. Just as you were about to sit down and dry off you realize your phone isn’t on your bed. 

I probably left it in the living room, you think to yourself and before you have a second thought you left your room, the towel being the only fabric giving you decency. As you trek down the halls your mind drifts to what the brothers might be doing. It didn’t occur to you that they might be in the living room. As you approach the living room you hear noise, specifically Levi badgering Mammon to give him his money back.

When you peek your head in you see all the brothers and surprisingly Diavolo and Barbatos in the room. Belphegor was eating with Beel, albeit nodding off every few seconds, Asmodeus was curled up on one side of the couch on his D.D.D no doubt checking his social media. Satan as usual had himself engrossed in another thick covered book. Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer sat a nearby glass table discussing amongst themselves something to do with RAD. Out of the whole scenario Mammon and Levi were the loudest, bickering away as usual. You momentarily forget about your phone and enjoy the somewhat domestic scene before you.

Subconsciously you let out an exasperated sigh, leaning your body against the empty door frame as you watch the brothers bicker for a few more minutes. After a bit you raise yourself off the wall and make your way to pluck your D.D.D off the glass table.

“Mammon! Give me my money you no good dirty thief!” 

“I ain’t a thief! Besides I said I would pay you back anyways.” You could practically visualize Mammon rolling his eyes beneath his shades as you unlock your phone.

“That’s a huge lie” you quip, not bothering to look up from your phone. You continue talking to the two as you check your messages, unaware that everyone was looking at you. “Do you two ever stop complaining?” Mammon turns, ready to defend himself when his words die in his throat. Levi was about to laugh but soon he too stops, gawking at your naked back. Water from your hair drips down your face and you unconsciously raise a hand to push the offending strands away, unaware of how you were affecting each demon in the room.

Lucifer: Hears Mammon screech and is about to scold him for interrupting his meeting when he stops mid sentence. He feels his mouth tighten at the sight of you and is conflicted between scolding you or carrying you up to him room.

"Honestly, you could've wait until you put some clothes on?" He wasn't fooling anyone. Those red eyes of his trailed your every move. Diavolo teases him for this.

Mammon: Literally the first one to screech if Levi didn't beat him to it.

"Why aren't you wearing clothes!?" The tips of his ears are extremely red and he is annoyed that you aren't too flustered yourself. His eyes kinda follows this one drop of water that glides down your skin and he has a problem looking away. Will try to shoo you away from his brothers eyes, this is only a scene he should have the glory of looking upon.

Leviathan: A entire mess. Will stop bickering at Mammon to look at your backside, starts stuttering and mumbling about how this is exactly like a scene from "My Roomate Has No Boundaries and Is Constantly Making A Mess But I'm Slowly Falling For Him!"

Covers his face but will peek out to look at your chest. It's not like you're built like Beel but for some reason he can't look away. He can feel his Henry down below awakening and is quick to scamper off to hide in his room. In the process he trip and falls on top of you.

"A-Ahh!!!! I'm so so sorry, this is way too boss level for a otaku like me!" He's lucky your towel didn't fly off.

Satan: When he looks up to see what his brother were screaming about he certainly couldn't blame them. You were absolutely marvelous in his eyes, it reminded him of a scene in a book Asmodeus lent him a few months back. He really enjoys the dip in your back and can't help but wonder what that towel is hiding.

"I must say I'm enjoying the show." His book is covering his face mostly. He may sound calm and collective but the slight blush on his cheek is a dead giveaway to how he feels. Will ending up trying to find the book Asmo loaned him.

Asmodeus: Literally squeals because it the first time he's seen your skin on display.

"MC look this way!" He would call out your name as you flip your hair back and you hear a shutter go off. You end up becoming embarrassed and begging him to delete the photo and he merely declines, promising its safety in his files. Will lick his lips and the one eyeing you the most like eye candy. When your about to head back into your room he'll give your ass a nice spank which almost drops the towel.

Gets a message later from his brothers for that photo.

Beelzebub: At first he was too engorged in his food to really notice. But when he does he gives a genuine smile at how pretty and handsome you look. Won't hesitate to tell you as well. He thinks you look like a angel since the living room lights are shining on your wet skin.

"You're really handsome" he gives a small smile, ignoring Mammon screaming at him about how only he should be able to say that and you find yourself becoming bashful, scurrying off to put some clothes on.

Belphegor: Probably the only one besides Barbatos and Solomon that didn't make a big deal about it. He's seen you naked once anyways.

Will opt for watching you walk in and out but will smile if you look his way. He secretly agrees with his brother about your looks and he wonders if your soft as you look. Would probably ask if you would like to sleep together later.

Diavolo: Is drinking his tea when you walk in and is surprised that one of his exchange students feel so comfortable around all the avatars to do such a thing.

"I see you made yourself home here." He would say in a warm voice and when you give him a nervous chuckle, you quick to notice how his golden eyes are looking down towards the V near your legs. Will probably asks you later to come to a private meeting. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Barbatos: Just like Belphegor he is silent. He enjoys the view as he sips his tea and honestly it's hard to pinpoint what the butler is thinking when he has such a poker face.

"Are you enjoying the view?" Diavolo asks cheekily. Barbatos would turn and nods his head before replying. "He has such nice skin. I wonder how it would look after being tied up." You can hear Lucifer choking on his tea.

Bonus!

Simeon: Will avert his eyes out of respect. No sir this is a good angel of the Lord. If you aren't paying attention to how you're affecting the brothers will kindly escort you out.

Solomon: Shady magician will probably chuckle lowly and admire you from afar, sipping his tea and reading a book. He too takes a few pictures but plans to use it as blackmail.