#but he's obscure enough no one submitted him

[bestfakesonicshowdown]

Round 1, Poll 7

Mecha Sonic Model No.29, also known as Rocket Metal, (left) is a robot from Sonic the Fighters. It can turn into a rocket in order to travel through space

Sonik (right) is an alternate universe version of Sonic from the Archie comics. He was placed in suspended animation for one thousand years. When he awoke, he joined the Freedom Fighters of the Galaxy. His suit allows him to survive the hostile atmosphere and to use psycho-kinetic energy

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ kieran x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 (backlog)

tags : pwp (without plot), ambiguous relationship, dry humping, grinding, heavy petting, kissing and making out, vaginal sex, riding, praise, dirty talk, slight mocking, use of pet names "angel", "pretty" "miss hunter". lmk if i missed any tags! ((unedited))

wc : ~1.5k

an : a small thing queued for a HAAPPPYYYY NOVEMBERRRRR 🥰 i know my kieran bias is showing again but. THIS WAS ACTUALLY REQUESTED???? i was jumping for joy when i saw a kieran req in my inbox omfg 😭😭

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

The party ends, and yet you can't keep your hands to yourselves.

You'd made many mistakes over the course of your life—some, then, including the ones you'd made tonight.

And the first was deciding to bring him along for your mission.

"Why me?"

His voice had taken a tone of firmly-set scorn the moment you'd brought it up. Despite the fact that his face had been obscured by the mask he so often worn, you could practically see the way his brows furrowed, anyway—in fact, he might as well have been rolling his eyes.

He didn't like being ordered around.

Not by you.

"Nothing, just… I thought you might want to come. If not, I'll just ask Luke or Sylus—"

Easy words.

He'd grabbed your hand in a heartbeat. Didn't say anything, didn't even shake his head. The action alone was enough.

You smiled.

"Okay. Tomorrow night at 9. Entrance of the Crown Plaza."

And it was simple enough, at least in your head. An invite, a request for direct aid… Sylus had grown fond of you; he wouldn't have minded you borrowing one of his henchmen…

But you hadn't calculated far enough.

That was your second mistake.

You should have known he wouldn't have made himself stand out any more than necessary by wearing his mask; you should have known he'd allow himself to blend in enough by matching the dress code as any guest would have. What else could you have expected him to do? Kieran was always thorough. Careful. If this was his brother accompanying you, things could have been different, but this was not Luke.

It was Kieran.

Kieran, who, despite not having the mask to conceal his expression, remained perfectly poised and perfectly calm. Kieran, who, despite being out of the comfort of his usual clothing, played exactly the part you'd required of him.

Kieran, who, as you walked up the steps into the venue, offered his arm for you to latch on to.

And you did.

That was your third mistake.

Not necessarily the first time you'd made it, and not necessarily an unfamiliar gesture for you to submit yourself to—but a mistake, nonetheless, at the reminder of how it felt like to be touched by him.

Looping your arm through his? That didn't last long.

He had his arm around your waist within minutes, drawing you to his side like—like you were his—

"You look pretty tonight, Miss Hunter."

He'd leaned down to whisper into your ear, and maybe it was the sound of his voice so close to you that made you shiver, or maybe it was the low tone he had—you were sure—purposely taken… or maybe it was the way he'd dared to place a slight, barely-there peck just behind the shell of your ear.

And then it was mistake, after mistake, after mistake, after mistake—

Until you'd be behind closed doors, and then there was no more getting out of anything that you had done tonight.

Not like this.

Not when you had him pressed against the couch, your dress riding up, legs dangling over his as you moved your hips against his crotch. Not a word was spoken, not yet—you were both too busy in the moment, lips melding together, tongues seeking purchase with the other. He would kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you, and you would barely pull back for air before you cupped his cheek and smashed your lips back against his.

And whenever it got like this, the longer it went on, the more he unraveled, the messier all this became.

When he breathed you in, his back arched right into you. Your hips didn't at all shy away from moving over the bulge in his pants, allowing it to shape against your underwear and have you moan into the kiss at the friction. His hands, too, slid down your sides in sensual caresses—anything to pull you closer, anything to simply feel you.

"Mmmh, fuck."

His voice was raspy, low. Every little bit of it made your body tingle with desire, that it almost made you feel a little ashamed of it.

This time, however, he really did pull away—panting, eyes practically glazed over, lips swollen.

You cherished the image of it.

Though you were quite sure you weren't in any better of a visual state, those flushed cheeks, the messy hair… He was heedy with want, and whatever ounce of self control he usually had felt long gone.

His hands rest upon the small of your back then, and the squeeze at your ass, pushing you back against him, had you gasping.

He smirked.

"Yeah, you like that? Huh?"

Again.

His hands controlled your movements, kneading the flesh, allowing you to drag along his slacks. This way, you could feel the way he throbbed beneath you, poking at your clothed slit, your thighs twitching around him.

He was impossible.

"Nnnnnh, Kie… No fair, we should just fuck already…"

Your moans turned into whines, pathetic little humps against his cock, your damp panties soaking the fabric of his pants.

"Ha, needy."

That goddamn smirk.

He was scoffing at you, despite the strain of his own arousal against the confines of his trousers. And as much as you treasured having to see his face like this, you almost wished for his mask to be back on—if only to save you from that satisfied, smug little smirk, eyes shamelessly falling upon your breasts as you moved.

"K-Kie…!" you whined, grinding on him harder.

"Nah, not yet. You're pretty like this, angel."

"But—!"

"No. Buts. I said what I said."

"Kieran—!"

He rolled his eyes and placed a finger to your swollen lips, and you nearly had half a mind to take it into your mouth. "Shhhhh. Why don't you get yourself off, hm? You're already so wet, anyway."

Each movement brought a slick noise to your ears, and his smirk grew. Your arousal made it easier to move—coating his slacks, what was previously a damp spot now having spread over your panties to have it cling to your folds. You could feel his cock twitch, grazing against your clit—he would angle his hips just to hit it right there, every rub against it pulling a gasp from you.

"Oh, pretty, look at you…"

He cooed, leaning into your ear. "Naughty angel you are. Did you plan this? Invite me here to see you in this dress, tempt me to take you right then and there?"

"N-no… Y-you just…!"

"Seems like it, though. Can feel how wet you are. I could slide right in…"

Your eyes closed as you groaned, falling against him.

He was all too happy to oblige—cradling you in his arms, rubbing soft, smooth circles over your back before sliding back down to grope at your ass.

"D'you want me to?" he laughed softly into your hair. "That badly?"

"Please… Please, Kie, please—"

He thrust upwards, beginning to match your pace.

"Good things," he hissed, "come to those… who… wai—"

You weren't about to take any more of his teasing if you could help it.

With a click of your tongue, you reached down to push your panties to the side, hands making quick work of his zipper—You didn't even pause to take a good look at him, thick and throbbing in your hand as you guided it to your entrance.

"Shut up," you huffed at him. "You're the one who's been teasing me the whole night! This was your plan!"

He raised an eyebrow, and he didn't appear the least bit apologetic. "Oh, really? My bad."

Impossible.

Even as you sank down on his length and clutched at his suit jacket, willing yourself to take all of him—to the brim—and you whimpered into his chest.

"Shit… shit… Feels good, angel, fuck—"

He tugged you up by your hair to meet his lips, and then his hands were at your waist, and he was bouncing you on his cock—relentless, merciless, whether to pay you back for your teasing or whether out of the sheet desire that had overtaken him with how much he'd been holding back… the sound of skin slapping against skin mixed in seamlessly with both of your moans, and your head clouded.

"Kieran… Kieran…!"

You gasped and cried out his name, swallowed only back into the way his lips were back to claiming your own, the very same way your walls wrapped tightly around his cock.

"Mmmmm, pretty angel… Just like that… gonna fuck you so good."

He was true to his words as he abruptly flipped you to the side, spread out on the couch, your legs brought up to rest on his shoulder. It was his turn to make quick work of your clothing this time. The straps of your dress pulled downwards, bunching the fabric up by your waist, bra unhooked and strewn to the side. And again, and again, and again, and again, he would fuck himself into you, purposefully, lustfully.

Hair clung to his forehead, clumps stuck together with sweat, and he let out another low moan.

This time, he leaned down to bury his face into your neck.

"I just can't get emough of you at all."

It was going to be a long night.

taglist! @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @ononpetitecroissant @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @love-and-deepstrays @theanbitchless @m2ichaelis @keioxo

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[notlongtolove]

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

​​“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for. 

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+. 

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.” 

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through. 

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.” 

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” 

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.” 

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside. 

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking. 

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide. 

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that…  that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side. 

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you. 

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences. 

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.” 

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable. 

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty. 

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that." 

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature. 

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again. 

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much. 

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’. 

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course. 

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him. 

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out. 

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else. 

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.” 

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh. 

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.” 

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.” 

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much. 

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers. 

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.” 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A. 

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. 

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you. 

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him. 

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Congregation Of The Mind

Summary: You were Leon’s partner in Spain, belong to rescue the president’s daughter. But it all goes wrong when Leon and Ashley get infected and you had to confront Lord Saddler while also save Leon and Ashley.

Warning: fight scenes. supposed to be unsettling and more accurate (I think I got cooked ngl). There is no romance or smut, this is simply for the October people who like a little bit of uneasiness.

A/N: to my professor that makes everything about religion and gets mad at me for countering his arguments THIS ONE’S FOR U HOE🖕 (yes I’m petty and what about it)

“The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.” —Animal Farm, George Orwell

Pure. Pure. Pure.

The mind is a pure soul that gets tainted by those who refuse. Lord Saddler, in his mind, blesses the impure and turns them pure with his sacred gift. Las Plagas.

Millions of lives were lost to his cause, declaring that he is the one true God that will bring peace to the tainted world and will cleanse the evil out.

When Leon got sent to retrieve Ashley back from Spain, he definitely didn’t expect to meet such obscure and horrific situation. Zombified people, immortal aristocrats, and a bald guy who thinks he’s god. If you were to tell him before he went to Spain about what he’ll encounter, Leon would’ve scoffed and say that you were being dramatic.

But no. It wasn’t dramatic. It was the truth.

You stood behind Leon as he held his hand in front of him, trying to disarm Ashley. Both Ashley and Leon got infected with Las Plagas and Lord Saddler had wanted Ashley to kill Leon and submit to the virus.

You stood behind Leon, the room dimly lit as Leon’s arm was covered in dark veins, an indication that Leon had also received the same “gift.” Ashley stood in front of him, gun in hand and readily aimed at Leon but before she could follow through Saddler’s commands, you jump right in by taking Leon’s shoulder and pulling him back until you were in front.

“Damn you, Lord Saddler,” you said through gritted teeth. You’ve about had enough of this, you’re tired and you’re over Saddler’s shit, “Enough with your shit already!”

But Lord Saddler does not budge. The ends of his chapped lips curl up into a frightful smirk, revealing his yellow and decaying teeth, “My friend, I cannot give you my sacrificial lamb. The girl is vital for our faith.”

“Faith? You call all of this fate?!” You retaliated, anger cursing through your veins as Ashley grunts in attempts to resist Lord Saddler’s commands, same with Leon holding back behind you.

“Yes,” Lord Saddler continued, pacing left and right along with his staff and cloak as he spoke, “We believe in a better world and with this gift, we can achieve anything so long as we get our Holy Body.”

You scoff, “Holy Body? She’s just a girl! You’re robbing her of her own life, how does that relate to faith?”

“You may not understand now but you will soon once we give you the gift as well like your friend Mr. Kennedy,” Lord Saddler said as he pointed at Leon, eyes sunken with darkness as he glared at Saddler. Leon tries hard to resist and remains still, not wanting to succumb to his subordination.

“I’m… sorry,” Ashley whispered as best as she could before she pulled the trigger but terribly missed, or luckily. Once the sound of the bullet rang, you took that as your cue to intervene.

You quickly take Ashley’s arm and pull her towards you before throwing her behind you towards Leon, who manages to break from Lord Saddler’s control and catches her. With Ashley now safe, you take out your own gun and start shooting at Saddler while two summoners stood beside him.

The summoners began to make their way towards you, summoning Plagas and commanding them with psychotic influence but you were quick. You shot them in the head, their bodies falling limp on the floor as their lamps go out and the plagas die on the floor. Saddler stood there, seemingly unimpressed since he believed he still had control over Ashley and Leon behind you.

Which is exactly what he did. With his psychic abilities, Saddler commanded both Leon and Ashley to attack you.

“Let’s see how well of a person you are,” Saddler taunted as Ashley, against her will, stood straight in front of you with her hands fisted and ready to fight. Leon, however, had taken out his combat knife from his sheath. They stood in front of you, ready to attack while their faces were hard—they didn’t want to attack you.

“Make it stop!” Ashley yelled in agony as she attempted to swing at you but you dodged to the side, putting a hand behind her back to push her away while Leon tried to lunge at you with the knife to which you kicked his knee and watched him fall to the ground on one knee.

“Give in children!” Lord Saddler exclaimed, “Become one with the divine providence bestowed to us! I shall be your new God!”

You grunted as you were about to lunge towards Lord Saddler, only for him to use his psychic influence to make both Leon and Ashley hold you down by the arms, “You really think you’re a god, don’t you? You’re not a savior, you’re a monster!”

Lord Saddler stares down at you as he commanded Leon and Ashley to force you to kneel before him, “Monster? No, Y/L/N, I’m a force of nature. This gift—this power—it's meant to change everything.”

“Change? You mean turning people into mindless zombies? That’s not change, that’s destruction!” You yelled back, frustrated at the deluded man.

“It’s evolution! I’m giving them a chance to transcend their weaknesses. They’ll be stronger, united.”

“United? They lose their free will! You’re not uniting anyone, you’re enslaving them! How is that moral?” You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as he slowly walked towards you, “Morality is subjective! I see the bigger picture. Humanity is flawed, and I’m offering a solution.”

“A solution that comes with death and suffering! You’re preying on their fears, not saving them,” your words cut deep but they fell on deaf ears.

“You don’t understand the power of this gift,” Lord Saddler said as he stood in front of your kneeling form, “It’s not just about control, it’s about liberation from the mundane!”

“Liberation? You’re just using your power to play god! You’re hurting people. That’s evil.”

“Evil is a construct. They’ll thank me one day when they see the world as it truly is.”

“Thank you?!” You scoffed humorlessly, “They won’t be able to think or feel! You’re taking away their humanity!”

Lord Saddler scowled down at you, his eyes narrowing and his grip on his staff tightening, “And what has their humanity brought them? War, suffering, chaos. I’m offering a way out!”

“By making them into monsters? You’re deluded if you think this is for their good,” you tugged at your arms, attempting to break free from Ashley’s and Leon’s grasp, but to no avail. Saddler was making them hold you tight. A small smirk reached Lord Saddler’s lips, “Deluded?” He repeated.

“I’m the only one with the vision to see beyond the present. I can create a new world!” He leaned down towards you, grasping your jaw in his hands. You tried to move your head away but his grip was tight, “A world built on fear and loss. You’re not a creator, you’re a destroyer.”

He chuckled amusedly, “You’re scared, Y/L/N. You can’t see the potential. Join me, and together we could change everything!”

“You cling to outdated notions of morality while I forge a new path,” he continued, “Fight all you want, but in the end, I will prevail. This is evolution, and it’s already begun.”

“Not if I can’t help it,” you muttered before you harshly pushed Leon and Ashley behind you, both of them grunting in pain as they stutmbled backwards and you swung at Lord Saddler but he was quick. He quickly disappeared, his superhuman speed allowed him to move backwards and away from your target range. He was too quick.

“Come now, Ashley and Leon,” he said to them. The two of them tried to not walk towards Saddler, resisting against Lord Saddler’s command. This only made him angry, “Follow me you feeble humans!”

This was your chance while Lord Saddler was distracted, you took the gun that was dropped on the floor and shot Lord Saddler but he escaped before he could get hurt. As he escaped, his influence on Leon and Ashley disappeared and the two collapsed on the floor. You quickly went to check over them, making sure they were still breathing. Las Plaga was spreading fast and you needed to take them to the Laboratory Luis had mentioned earlier.

“Hang in there,” you muttered as you put Leon’s arms over your shoulders and an arm around Ashley’s waist. It would be hard work but you were determined to help the two of them throughout the castle. It couldn’t be that far, right?

-

Both Leon and Ashley got treated in the underground laboratory. Now, as Ashley stood on the sidelines by a cliff, it was time to face Lord Saddler’s horrific form. You and Leon were initially fighting but he only seemed to eat the bullet that penetrated his skin. It wasn’t until Ada showed up and helped.

Lord Saddler’s disgusting and slimy body attempted to swipe at you and Leon, barely dodging by a hair’s breadth. This was a tough fight but when Ada threw Leon a grenade launcher, it was checkmate. As Lord Saddler began to die, you ran towards Ashley to check on her while Ada took the sample.

A lot happened but now you were happy to go home, even if meant doubting yourself on your beliefs thanks to Saddler’s words.

After Ashley had been returned and you and Leon went back to headquarters to write a report, you couldn’t help but be a bit distracted.

Was Saddler doing the right thing by wanting to forge a new path without war? How nice it would be to live in a peaceful society—no, don’t think like that. Lord Saddler killed millions of innocent people and turned them against you and Leon during your mission.

“Hey,” a voice suddenly rang out and a hand shook your shoulder. It was Leon, “You okay?” He asked quietly, sitting in front of you on the other couch since you two were in the break room.

You nodded, rubbing your face with your hand as you sighed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Hm,” Leon hummed quietly as he observed you in silence. The mission had taken a toll on the two of you, it was surprising how you weren’t losing your head already, “That guy—Lord Saddler—he’s… I’ve never seen anything like him,” Leon muttered.

“You and me both. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life but never have I thought that we’d fight against a god wannabe. Should’ve known we’d find lunatics in the middle of nowhere in Spain,” you replied and looked back at him. The ends of his lips slightly curled into a small smirk, very faintly, “A little heads up would’ve been nice, yeah.”

Silence overtook you both once again but it wasn’t uncomfortable. So much happened in the mission and yet you two understood each other very well, “Wanna grab drinks later?” He asked bluntly.

You stared at him for a couple of seconds in silence before you shrugged your shoulders and nodded, “Fuck it, why not,” you muttered, mimicking a faint smirk on your lips like his.

Later that evening, as you and Leon went to grab drinks at a bar to forget about the mission, the thought still lingered in the back of your mind.

Lord Saddler had wanted to create a peaceful empire with Las Plaga, but what difference does he have by using destructive means when countries do the same thing under the pretext of saving humanity? Is the pretext of religion simply a way to pursue all means necessary to establish peace and combat threats like how you and Leon did?

Upon reaching the end of the night, bidding other bar customers that you knew, Lord Saddler’s face keeps haunting you. Taunting you with your thoughts as you could almost hear his voice, "When you acquired this power, you too will understand."

You swore you heard his voice but as you turned around before you could leave, he wasn’t there. It was just normal people drinking the night away. Goosebumps crawled up your arms and a shiver ran down your spine, but you brushed it off and walked out with Leon.

The presence of Lord Saddler only seemingly taken a following to you, feeling the touch of his sharp nails drag along your skin, feeling the coldness of his fingers as his voice continued whispering in your ear—forcing you to doubt yourself and spiral into a mania of paranoia.

Unbeknownst to you, his remnants lives in your brain. The voice commanding you to spiral into a haze of delusional and self-doubt.

You had become the sacrifice lamp.

[divinevault]

Hiiii could I request an Ares x fem/gn!reader? (Doesn't matter which of those genders)

Can it be one where the reader gets hurt or something because she/they are very reckless (which is party what drew Ares to them) and Ares has to take of them and heal/dress (?) their wound(s)?

Why of course! Here you are, my dear!

I do hope you enjoy

“You absolute dumbass.”

Featuring: Ares x Reader

Summary: You’re hurt, due to your own recklessness. A very disgruntled Ares patches you up.

CW’s: Injuries, but nothing graphic

Reader is: Gender neutral!

Words: 546

Type: Scenario- and it's Fluffy

Requested? Indeed it is

(Note: reader and Ares do not have an established romantic relationship for this)

You’d really have loved to scrape by unnoticed and gone home to your little cottage in the woods without anyone noticing the scratches and bruises that littered your body— alas, there was no such kindness in a world like this.

Well— specifically when you had an entire greek god that liked to lurk around your house and bully you into training.

You’d snuck inside under the cover of the moonlight, hoping like hell that you would be able to cover up your wounds before the god found out.

Looking back on it, you should have been far more aware that no mortal— least of all one he likes— was going to escape his watchful eye.

Which now led you to where you were now, sweating as the God of War stared you down under his helmet with a completely unreadable expression. 

“You’re hurt.” His voice— as always— is a mixture of rough and deep. His tone gives you enough insight to be well aware he’s got his eyes narrowed and a likely-disgruntled expression on his face.

“What me? Injured? Ha! Not evennnnNN—” You snatched onto his arms when Ares picked you up like a cat, hands beneath your armpits and began to stride over to the nearest couch. You flushed in embarrassment as he plopped you down, wordlessly taking out the first-aid kit.

“I can handle it myself,” You grumble, the tingling warmth of his touch remaining even though he’s no longer in contact with you, “I’m not helpless, Ares.”

No response, but you get the sense he just rolled his eyes at you.

… It’s clear this isn’t a battle you’re going to win, so you submit to his whims.

His work is quick and surprisingly gentle, calloused hands missing their usual metal-plated gloves as they bandage the cuts. A comfortable silence envelops the two of you, leaving the sound of the wind rustling the trees outside and the fire crackling in the hearth as the only obvious ambient noise. The couch is soft beneath you as you lay back on it, careful not to press too hard in order to avoid the bruises you’d no doubt sustained there.

“You’re not helpless,” You blink at Ares’ voice, glancing up from the careful, precise bandaging he’s doing on your left arm. As always, the shadow obscuring the little amount of his face that would be visible is far too thick for you to see through, but you still get the feeling that he’s looking up at you, “but that doesn’t stop you from being a fucking dumbass.”

A mischievous grin takes over your face, “yeah, but I’m your dumbass.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Ares seems to muse, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. You catch a glimmer of a red iris staring into your own for long enough to make an uncertain blush begin to grow on your face.

“Now get the tartarus to bed.” He stands up once more from his kneeling position, half-kicking, half-sliding the kit back under your couch, “or else.”

“Yessir,” You chirp, saluting at him as you scurry on by to head to your bedroom. You can feel his gaze brush over your back as you vanish into the hallway, heart beginning to hammer.

What the fuck did he mean when he agreed—

[k-hotchoisan]

congrats on five hundred darling! so proud! 🥳💕

for the this or that... number 3 perhaps??

keep going! love your work 🫶

3. Tease Yunho with toys or Jongho controlling the vibrator inside you for an entire day?

OK WAIT NOT U CALLING ME DARLING STOP IT \(//∇//)\ This one is a toughie bc boTH SOUND SO FUN…. But OKAY IMAGINE CONTROLLING YUYU…..

I feel like writing yuyu fics are my Roman Empire

When you finally catch the Cupid and decide to confront him in an unconventional way.

Warnings/genres: smut, Drabble, Eros & psyche au!, orgasm control, orgasm denial, toy play, orgasm,

Tag list: @bro-atz @diamond-3 <message me to be in my tag list✨)

K’s 500: this or that? Masterlist here!

You know you had to spend almost every week in the dim-lighted room, with a man who you didn’t even know, and you could only hear his voice and feel his touches. When he first did touch you, you never thought it would be so electrifying and it got you hooked on so quickly. Even though the both of you were always drenched in darkness, your body reacted almost automatically when you feel him cup your jaw and you immediately submit under his soft touches, as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

The only thing that stung your heart other not knowing your companion’s identity, was that by dawn break, your bedside would be left empty and cold. You didn’t mind at first, but as you spent more time together, it was inevitable—you were starting to feel something for this man, and you were getting gradually frustrated.

“You know what you should do? Fucking trap his ass”, your friend says.

“I want to, but how?” You huff in frustration.

A confident smile plasters on your friend’s face, as she pulls out a pair of glowing cuffs, and a bullet vibrator. You cock an eyebrow, picking up the vibrator.

The night came quicker than you thought, and as your heart is beating loudly in your ears. You only had one chance for this. You were always so curious of how your lover looked like, but were you ready to find out who? You almost decide to just leave it be, but the sudden reminders that you were always left alone and cold in the morning only solidified your resolve to find out his identity. You bite back the cowardliness that nips your nerves and hatched your plan.

You see his figure on the bed, obscured by the shadows of the flickering flame. He’s not leaned against the headboard waiting for you like he usually is, rather, he seemed to have fallen into slumber, his comfortable and soft breathing making him look all the more vulnerable. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do, almost.

You climb onto the shared bed and straddle his lap, hoping it’s enough to trap him, because you know he would never hurt you.

Yunho eyes flutter open. He’s confused for a moment, until his eyes adjust to the familiar dim room around him. You definitely took awhile to arrive that he ended up taking a short nap. He realises two things:

1. You’re on his chest, sleeping soundly;

2. He tries to move, but he can’t. He looks up, and realises he’s been retrained against the headboard.

You stir, when the shaking of the chains disturb your sleep.

“Y/n?” He calls out. You shift, lifting your head as your rub your eyes.

“Hi Yunho”, you greet back, acting like nothing’s happening.

“Hey. I think I’m stuck”, a rattle of his wrists, before you feel his gaze go back to you.

You sit up, your crotch right on his, and you shift to look over, ignoring the way he groans softly under you, looking over at the cuffs you trapped him in.

“Right. You need help with that?”

You feel him nod beneath you.

“That’s gonna have to wait.”

Yunho is confused. He stares up at you, and he puts two and two together almost immediately.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight, Yunho”, you whisper.

“Wha-“ he doesn’t get a chance to complete his sentence, and terror washes over his face when you take the oil lamp seated on the nightstand, and move the light close to his face.

His facial features slowly come into view, and he’s so much more gorgeous than you thought—a face truly sculpted by the gods. It’s the first time you finally feel your eyes lock onto Yunho’s under the light. He looks at you with such softness, and all the more you want to ruin him.

You settle the oil lamp down, and Yunho opts for the smart decision not to wriggle beneath you so he doesn’t get burned (unlike the previous Eros).

“Now you know how I look like, would you let me explain and release me, please?” Yunho pleads, his pupils growing larger. A small pout appears on your lips, as your fingers trace his lips, your thumb swiping his bottom lip. His pleads sound so lovely. But it only feeds into the greed you have—being in control.

The memories of him constantly leaving you alone every morning resurface again, and your smile grows more sinister.

You grind against his slowly hardening cock, and Yunho gasps as you lean into his ear, and the words that leave your lips has shivers sending down his spine.

“No.”

“ Why are you doing this?” He asks, watching the way you remove yourself off his lap, tugging his slacks off him, his cock springing out, long and hard despite his confusion.

“For the mornings you left me cold and alone,” you simply answer, as your fingers wrap around his length, giving it a couple of pumps as you hear Yunho’s breath get caught in his throat.

“Y/n, wait-“

“We can always stop, and never see each other again.”

Yunho’s eyes widen. The truth is, he’s as attached and in love with you more than he realised. What begun as a simple mission from his mother, turned into something more than that. He knew that one day, you would discover his identity, and that it would be over, but when that though crossed his mind, he realises that he never wants to leave your side.

And the thought of you being in control for once? He has no complaints. He just never thought this day would come so soon.

“I guess I could just break Aphrodite’s rules once in awhile.”

Now you’re in between his legs, as he watches you give small licks to his twitching cock. Your eyes dart back and forth to his and his cock, watching his expressions. You relish the sounds of his soft groans and sighs before you take his cock whole in your mouth, and Yunho bucks his hip, a longer drawn groan leaving his lips.

“Fuckkk!” He cries out, trying to fit as much of his length into your mouth. You choke slightly, letting your saliva dribble past the corner of your lips to his cock. You begin to slowly bob your head, creating a rhythmic sensation that only pulls out more cries from the Cupid beneath you.

As his cries only climb in octaves, the many sessions you’ve had with him had conditioned you to recognise his reactions, and you halt, dragging your tongue upwards alongside the underside of his cock as you hear a whine.

Yunho stares at you with such a glazed out look as you’re seated upright again, licking the slick on your lips as Yunho watches on helplessly, the action only causing him to feel more sexually tensed. You pull out the small vibrator.

“Y/n, darling, what are doing?” Yunho asks, trying to hide the shivering anticipation coating his words.

“Venting my frustrations”, you reply as you stroke his thighs. The Cupid calms down slightly, as he watches you lick the device, covering it in your spit before switching it on, as it buzzes to life.

You tap it lightly onto the tip of his cockhead, and the reaction is immediate—Yunho’s whines grow high pitched, and his cockhead spurts out more clear fluid. You shift the vibrator awfully slowly across the skin to the place you know he’s extremely sensitive, and it pulls more cries out of him.

“Oh cupids, oh my gods. Y/n, please”, he begs, his legs opening on instinct, as he tries to control himself. He hates leaving you alone when dawn breaks, because the more he does it, the more it gets harder for him to do so. But he decides that he probably deserves it.

You push the toy harder against the area, and Yunho elicits a high pitched cry. It feels so fucking good, he wants you to keep doing that, he wants you to torture him like this, he wants to fucking cum-

And then it shifts, and Yunho’s eyes snap open wide, horrified, as he watches you drag the toy down his shaft. It feels so good that it hurts. You know his body as good as he knows yours and it’s a double edged sword.

The toy is at the base of his cock, and Yunho feels his balls tighten at the sensitivity—it’s so close to his balls but so far, he feels the ripples of the vibrations but it isn’t enough.

“It’s not that I wanna do it… Aphrodite…” Yunho’s mind is just turning into mush the more his stomach tightens.

You stare back into his glazed eyes, stroking his cheek endearingly, as you watch his face contort into one filled with pleasure as you trail the device upwards again, pressing against his tip.

“Aphrodite is a fucking bitch, you know. So what if she created you?”, you pout, watching him squirm as he tries to chase another orgasm, only for you to remove the toy from his cockhead, and his breathing is so erratic and heavy.

“She doesn’t need to know that I found out how you look like”, you continue. All Yunho could do is nod desperately, as he feels you press the buzzing toy right at his tip again. “For a goddess of love, she has weird rules.”

“Fuck. It’s too much”, Yunho sobs, the constant pleasure building, and being pulled away from him and then immediately flooding his senses.

“You could just break them”, you say as a matter-of-factly, twirling the device around his cock head, looking at the way he flexes his abdomen every time you brush against the sensitive area of his red-tinted cock. “She doesn’t have to know.”

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” You finally ask, albeit way too causally.

“Let me cum, darling, Angel, baby, please”, he tries again, his eyes oh so full of desperation. “I’ll do anything for you. Anything.”

You lean back, deciding to be kind for now, and up the vibration of the toy, pressing it painfully against the tip of his cockhead, and sounds Yunho makes sends so much dopamine into your brain. Your pretty little Cupid, unravelling right before your eyes.

“Cumming, cumming. Oh fuck-“ he cries, as his cock twitches uncontrollably, spurting so much thick cum, the vibrations only sending him into deeper layers of pleasure.

“So fucking good. Oh gods, it’s so much, haah-“ his moans are slowly turning into sobs, as his eyes roll back from the overstimulation. Your breathing is ragged now, seeing your partner in such bliss, that you are almost jealous.

You bite your lip as you drop the vibrator onto the bed after turning it off, as you reach over to uncuff his wrists. Deep down, you knew he had to go since you found out about his identity. But the moment you release his shackles, his wings grow wide as it spans and towers over you, as if his big frame wasn’t enough.

Now he’s on top of you. Yunho has a frenzied glint in his eyes, and it’s your turn for your heart to thump in anticipation.

Yunho has you trapped beneath him this time, as he stares at you hungrily. You’ve never seen him like this before.

“You’d best believe I’d defy Aphrodite. And on top of that, you’re not leaving until I fuck you so fucking sore, not even when dawn breaks.”

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: Caligine, the Sweltering Saint

(Art by @fishfacedterror!)

The twisted, self-described "Saint of Spices and Suffering" known as Caligine has numerous other titles with varying levels of detail and alliteration, is one of the youngest and most obscure of the shadowy demigods known as the Velstrac Demagogues. As such, his cult is quite small, but it grows every day as it draws in eccentric spice aficionados, brave gourmands, and all manner of uncommon men with tastes and habits bordering (or surpassing) the inhumane. Whether they wish to experience entirely new forms of suffering or simply test their tolerance, the "Trials of St. Caligine" call to all kinds.

Because Caligine prefers to experiment on the willing rather than the unwilling (if only because the willing are more likely to appreciate the molecular gastronomy at play), he is among the most peaceful of all the Demagogues in relation to his interactions with mortal life, going so far as to place his personal workshop just a three days' walk from Shadow Absalom and encourage patronage and trade with its citizens for exotic ingredients he would otherwise not have access to... but do not confuse 'peaceful' with 'harmless,' and do not believe 'prefers' means 'will only.' Anyone who disrupts his experiments is very likely to become a part of them, and the internal excruciations he delights in causing are a far different torture the common flesh-flaying and bone-breaking of most velstrac, a fact on its own which draws fiends from all over to experience them, fiends which have FAR fewer qualms disappearing Caligine's clientele for their own hideous projects.

While most of the fatalities he causes are the results of his gastric atrocities, Caligine relishes the occasional combat, both to make use of the runoff of his many experiments (it's still good for something) and to relieve the tedium that comes with waiting for endless vats of ingredients to boil down into something worthwhile. Despite his primary occupation as both a chef and a chemist, he is a terrifying and resilient combatant regardless of the range one fights him at, either hacking his foes apart with his enchanted cleaver and breaking their bones with his wretched tongue up close, or hurling truly impressive amounts of caustic explosives at more distant foes.

Despite his ferocity in battle, the Saint is willing to live up to his title in his own bizarre ways. An offering of especially rare or exotic ingredients or powerful, unique potions and poisons may see him pausing his assault long enough for one to reason with him. He may even bargain with those he was just trying to kill to get his hands on something he's never seen before (a challenge in and of itself!), and honors all promises he makes to the best of his abilities with very little litigious twisting, something which may change as he ages. He has been known to even provide healing to victims he's butchered or slain, though his prices for doing so always include submitting to his gastronomic experiments, something which has made many a victim wish they had stayed dead.

Saint Caligine CR 27

Lawful Evil Large Outsider (Evil, Extraplanar, Kyton, Lawful)

Init: +14; Senses: Darkvision 60ft, Keen Scent, See in Darkness; Perception +29

------ Defense ------

AC 44, touch 24, flat-footed 29 (+14 Dex, +1 dodge, +20 natural, -1 size)

HP 740 (34d10+544) Regeneration 30 (Deific and Mythic)

Fort +35 Ref +24 Will +24

Defensive abilities Mithridatism; DR 20/Epic, good, and silver; Immune Charm and compulsion effects, cold, fear effects, petrification, sleep; Resist Acid 30, Electricity 20, Fire 30; SR 38

------ Offense ------

Speed 40ft, climb 40ft

Melee Cleaver of Caligine +45/+40/+35/+30 (1d8+12 plus 1d6 Acid and 1d6 Fire/19-20/x3), claw +38 (1d8+5), tongue +41 (2d6+9 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire plus grab), OR two claws +41 (1d8+9), tongue +41 (2d6+9 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire plus grab)

Ranged Bomb +48/+43/+38/+33 (10d6+8 Acid or Fire)

Space 10ft; Reach 10ft (15ft with tongue)

Special Attacks Coated Tongue, constrict (2d6+14 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire), Ring of Telekinesis (DC 22/CMB +41), Unnerving Gaze (60ft, DC 34)

Infusions Prepared (CL 20; Concentration +28)

1st- Abjuring Step x2, Anticipate Peril x2, Expeditious Retreat, Long Arm, Shield 2nd- Barkskin, Blur x2, Touch Injection, Twisted Innards, Vomit Swarm x2 3rd- Fly, Haste, Heroism, Nauseating Trail x2 (DC 21), Toxic Blood (DC 21), Thorn Body 4th- Arcane Eye, Detonate x2 (DC 21), Fire Shield, Greater Invisibility x2, Spell Immunity 5th- Delayed Consumption x3, Grand Destiny, Overland Flight, Resurgent Transformation 6th-Caging Bomb Admixture, Heal x2, Mislead x2 (DC 24), Walk Through Space

Spell-like Abilities (CL 34; Concentration +41)

Constant--Discern Lies, Freedom of Movement, True Seeing At-will--Dispel Magic, Plane Shift (self and willing targets only), Teleport (self and willing targets only) 7/day--Acidic Spray (DC 22), Beguiling Gift (DC 18), Contagious Flame (DC 24), Tongues 5/day--Caustic Eruption (DC 24), Overwhelming Poison, Wall of Fire (DC 21) 3/day--Quickened Fireball (DC 24), Incendiary Cloud (DC 25) Transmute Blood to Acid (DC 26)

------ Statistics ------

Str 28 Dex 38 Con 42 Int 27 Wis 20 Cha 25 Base Atk: +34; CMB +44; CMD 68

Feats Brew Potion, Cleave, Close-Quarters Thrower (Bombs), Craft Magic Arms and Armor, Craft Wondrous Item, Dodge, Improved Critical (Handaxe), Great Cleave, Multiattack, Point-Black Shot, Precise Shot, Power Attack, Rapid Shot, Splash Weapon Mastery, Throw Anything, Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Focus (Bombs)

Skills Acrobatics +24, Appraise +38, Bluff +15, Climb +22, Craft (Alchemy) +55, Diplomacy +22, Disable Device +24, Escape Artist +24, Knowledge (Arcana) +38, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +38, Knowledge (Engineering) +28, Knowledge (Geography) +25, Knowledge (Local) +23, Knowledge (Nature) +45, Knowledge (the Planes) +31, Perception +29, Profession (Chef) +54, Sense Motive +28, Sleight of Hand +24, Spellcraft +45, Survival +25, Use Magic Device +37 Racial Modifiers: +12 to Craft (Alchemy) and Profession (Chef) checks.

Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Celestial, Common, Draconic, Ignan, Infernal, Shadowtongue; telepathy 100 ft.

SQ Alchemist Abilities, Crucible

------ Ecology ------ Environment any (Plane of Shadow) Organization Solitary (unique) Treasure Triple (Cleaver of Caligine (a +3 Flaming Burst and Corrosive Burst Handaxe), Ring of Telekinesis, Saint's Spice Bag (a Handy Haversack with three times the normal storage capacity), 1d8+4 random potions levels 1 to 3, 1d3 potions levels 4 to 6)

------

Combat: On any given day, Caligine always has 1d4+3 generically useful spells ready via Delayed Consumption, such as Death Ward, Haste, Cure Critical Wounds, Protection From Energy, and always at least one instance of Greater Invisibility, invoking them the instant they're needed. Caligine begins most fights with Greater Invisibility, then using the granted breathing room to tailor himself to his enemy's apparent might with whatever combination of extracts he feels will give him an advantage. His first order of business in any fight is restraining the hardiest-looking opponent with his tongue to suppress any resistances they may have before striking them with his more debilitating spell-likes such as Transmute Blood to Acid. As a pain fanatic, he doesn't care if he catches himself in the area of his own spells or if he grapples a creature that harms him to touch. He will use any poisons he has access to as early and often as possible, on both his enemies and himself. If his opponents prove particularly vulnerable to poison, he will often teleport away just long enough to craft some especially debilitating ones, bless them with Overwhelming Poison, and teleport back to continue. He utilizes his bombs primarily against foes who keep out of his reach, but will gladly use them against much closer enemies if they group together.

Morale: The Sweltering Saint rarely fights to the death. If brought to below 50 health, he will often concede to his foes' might and congratulate them on an excellent battle, especially if his enemies used Acid or Fire damage or poisons on him. He will attempt to placate/reward them with an offering of powerful potions and, perhaps, more alchemical items at his disposal. If his enemies reject his surrender, he will teleport or shift away, or simply flee with Expeditious Retreat. If he cannot, only then does he fight to the death.

------ Special Abilities ------

Alchemist Abilities (Ex): Caligine has several abilities similar to those from the Alchemist class:

He can can prepare and use extracts as if he were a 20th level Alchemist with the Infusion Discovery. He knows all Alchemist formulae; the above list is his most common selection if he anticipates hostility.

He has the Bomb ability of a 20th level Alchemist with the Fast Bombs Discovery, capable of swiftly hurling caustic chemicals which deal either Fire or Acid damage (Reflex DC 28 dodges the splash damage). He adds his Intelligence modifier to his bomb damage, as well as damage done with other alchemical splash weapons. His bombs have a range increment of 40ft, and he can create 42 bombs each day.

He can create items with incredible swiftness, crafting any alchemical item or poison in a single full-round action and most potions (see Crucible, below) in just 1 hour, provided he succeeds the Craft (Alchemy) check and has access to the materials to do so (he is always assumed to have the materials on-hand so long as he has his gear).

He can apply a poison or oil to a weapon as an immediate action. This includes his own natural weapons, which exposes him to any poison he uses, but see Mithridatism below.

Coated Tongue (Ex): Caligine's tongue is frighteningly dexterous, uncannily strong, and is coated with countless chemicals with deleterious effects on anything touching it. It is always a primary natural attack, and he can grapple and constrict a creature with his tongue without gaining the grappled condition himself. A creature grappled by his tongue has any Fire or Acid Resistance and/or Immunity they possess suppressed while they're grappled, and for 1d4+1 rounds after the grapple ends.

Crucible (Su): Caligine's mastery of chemistry allows him to perform feats that many consider impossible: He can have multiple Delayed Consumption effects in place at the same time. In addition, he can craft potions of spells up to 6th level instead of 3rd. However, a 4th level potion takes one day to create, a 5th level spell takes two days, and a 6th level spell takes three.

Mithridatism (Ex): Caligine is not immune to poisons, but most poisons have an effect on his physiology that is far outside the norm. Whenever he would take ability score damage or drain from a poison, instead he gains a +2 alchemical bonus to his attack and damage rolls, as well as ability checks and skill checks for 1 round. He gains this bonus for each different poison affecting him, and the bonuses stack. In addition, Caligine recovers from ability score damage at a rate of 1 per minute, and ability score drain at a rate of 1 per hour.

Unnerving Gaze (Ex): Any creature that succumbs to Caligine's unnerving gaze becomes suicidally convinced that they can survive his trials, taking a -10 penalty to the next saving throw they make against one of his spell-like abilities or a -10 penalty to their AC against the next alchemical bomb attack he makes against them.

[milkman-zahhak]

Cal and Leo Halloween special PART 1

Sorry this took so long, it's not even Halloween anymore.. life has been really shitty for me lately. I don't wanna talk about it.

When you're done reading, please reblog this or share it and whatever and try to vote in the poll at the end to decide how part 2 should go!

As usual, WARNING, THIS IS A KINK POST, IT CONTAINS FETISH CONTENT. This one isn't as blatant as some of the others, but still a warning in case you come across this somehow from somewhere else, idk.

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Leo and Cal had decided to embrace Halloween wholeheartedly, despite having no plans to go out or attend any parties. They were determined to have a memorable night in, just the two of them. Unfortunately, they're grown men, so they're not trick or treating. They also don't really have anyone to party with, nor did either of them feel like going through too much effort this year. After all, jobs don't give you a day off for Halloween, and Leo had just submitted multiple job applications and wanted to try and get himself used to a normal work schedule again. Soon. Surely. Just not tonight, because it's Halloween. Leo is so very lucky that both him and Cal were but simple men, content to live in the most bare undecorated apartment. savings were preserved and spared from being used for the light and water bills due to the fact that Leo dwells within the cave that is his room with the lights off, and Cal survives off of energy drinks instead of water.

Cal and Leo had decided to celebrate Halloween together, just the two of them, having a scary movie marathon.

Leo, being the pop culture nerd he was, had spent weeks working on his homemade costume. Cal, on the other hand, went for something a little more simple – a vampire costume that he'd found at the local costume shop. Truth be told, the suit was cheap, it wasn't like it was tailor-made, so its generic sizing fit a bit funny on Cal. But he didn't really care, it did its job as a costume.

As they sat together on the couch, surrounded by blankets and pillows, Leo couldn't help but admire Cal's costume. "Hey, you look pretty good for a last-minute choice," Leo chuckled, his own excitement bubbling over. Cal rolled his eyes playfully. "Yeah, well, I figured I'd let you have the spotlight with your masterpiece here." He gestured towards Leo's impressive getup. Leo blushed at the compliment.

Cal raised an eyebrow as he looked Leo over, taking in the intricate details of his costume. It was clear that Leo had put a lot of effort into it, but Cal couldn't quite place what it was supposed to be. "So uhh. You're like a baseball player or something?" Leo's face fell a little, but he quickly recovered and launched into an explanation. "Dude, come on.." He said, gesturing to his outfit. "I'm Trey Parker's character 'Joe Cooper', y'know, from BASEketball?" Cal nodded along, trying to look interested, but it was clear that he still didn't understand.

Leo let out a small sigh, "You know what, never mind. Let's Just enjoy the night, Cal. I'll have to remember to watch that movie with you sometime" He said, smiling softly. Cal didn't really have the attention span for movies, but thankfully Leo seemed to have an oddly specific taste in either obscure older cartoons or very cheesy and stupid comedies, which usually held his attention just enough for the important parts that he would inevitably be quizzed on afterwards. So it's whatever. As long as he has snacks he can sit through anything.

They settled in for their movie marathon, with bowls of popcorn and a small bowl of candy to share between the two of them.

As the first horror flick started playing on the TV screen, Cal couldn't help but notice that their candy bowl seemed rather small. "Leo, where'd all the candy go? I swear we bought like five bags." He asked, eyeing the half-empty bowl greedily.

Leo looked over at him and smiled, "We did buy a lot, but I didn't want you to eat it all in one sitting. You know what happens when you eat too much sugar." He teased lightly. Cal pouted, "B-But Leo, it's Halloween! I'm supposed to stuff myself silly!" He protested, reaching for another piece of candy already, as if to strengthen his point. Leo chuckled and shook his head.

"I know, I know, and usually that would be fine but..." he paused, continuing in a more serious tone, "It seems like lately a lot of the overindulging you do seems to be during our movie nights.. and.. We can't make this a habit, or else you're going to start associating movie nights with getting stuffed." Leo explained, his face calm and playful, but Cal could tell he wasn't kidding around.

Cal looked at him, confusion written all over his face. "I, uh, hate to be the one to break it to you, but I already associate movie nights with stuffing myself. along with most things, honestly. I appreciate the concern, but It's a bit too late for me, haha." He replied matter-of-factly.

Leo sighed, knowing he had to spell it out for him. "No, it's not about you- I mean, every time we watch a movie together, I'll expect you to eat a ton..." He said, trying to keep a straight face. "...and I'll get. uh... Look, I just don't wanna condition myself to be horny whenever we watch movies together. I really enjoy doing this with you and I don't wanna get my love of movies mixed up in all this. I promise you can do whatever you want tomorrow, just try to be normal for tonight, okay?"

Cal's face turned a deep shade of red, realizing exactly what Leo was talking about. Oh, God, he thought to himself, I guess he's right. There’s something about Leo that was somewhat apparent just living with him as a roommate, but became glaringly obvious once Cal had started dating Leo. They’d only started getting sexually intimate with each other recently, but whether it be normal intimacy or something fetish-related, Cal couldn’t help but notice that once Leo got “in the zone” so to speak, that it would become the only thing he would be able to focus on, fogging up his mind until he got relief. …Personally, Cal thought it was kinda cute, but he could see how that kind of thing could end up messing with someone’s regular life.

Their movie nights were of the utmost importance to Leonard. Of course. Cal didn’t wanna ruin his lover’s hobby, no matter how dorky it may be. He took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Yeah, you got a point. I'll try to pace myself."

He grabbed a handful of popcorn instead, focusing his attention on the screen. At least the movie was getting good, the tension rising as the main character crept down the dark hallway.

Leo sat next to him, eyes glued to the TV, completely enthralled by the suspenseful music. Cal tried to concentrate on the movie, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Leo's confession. He appreciated and respected it, really, but he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that he wouldn't be able to indulge tonight.

Leo noticed Cal's expression and gently nudged him with his elbow, "You okay?" He asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the movie too much. Cal nodded again, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth and making a comment on the movie instead. "Mmhm, I just don't have very high hopes for this guy. If I were him, I would break a window and escape the house." Leo gave him a reassuring smile, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly before letting go. "Right? I always think about that when the character supposedly can't escape some kind of structure, but there's windows. Like, Resident Evil 7 for example would have been significantly shorter if Ethan just rammed into a window and fled to get backup or something..." Leo discussed- mostly with himself.

Cal nodded and ate another handful of popcorn. It was light, filling, but not very heavy. It wasn't the same as eating his weight in candy, but Cal knew that Leo was trying to keep things in check for both of their benefits.

As the movie continued, the atmosphere between them shifted slightly. The tension in the air was palpable, not just because of what was happening on screen, but also because of what wasn't happening between them. Cal tried to ignore it, but it was difficult when every time Leo jumped at a scare, his body brushed up against Cal's, sending little sparks through him.

Interesting. Even unrelated to cramming food down his throat, or either of their fetishes, you would think that the close physical contact would be enough to rile up his notoriously touch-starved roommate (Hell, it's even getting to Cal, now.), but Leo was immersed and invested in his movies.

Ironically, it seemed to be Leo's turn to unintentionally turn on Cal this time. With excessive pats on his arm and sides with urges to hurry and look at some detail before he missed it, cuddling up close during tense scenes, grabbing onto him during sudden jumpscares.

Cal found himself caring less and less about the movie as other things took priority in his head. He didn’t care how that itch was scratched, be it through stuffing candy down his own throat, or shoving his tongue down Leo’s throat… but he wouldn't let Leo know that.

They went on to watch several more movies. Leo was completely lost in the stories while Cal struggled to keep his mind focused on the plot. He was acutely aware of Leo's every movement, the warmth radiating off of him, the occasional grip of his hand or thigh during suspenseful moments. It was torturous in its own right, but Cal knew that Leo wasn't doing it on purpose.

Whenever the movie would get too intense, Leo would lean into him, burying his face in Cal's shoulder or pressing his entire body against Cal's side. This sent a flood of emotions through Cal - excitement, desire, frustration, amusement, and warmth. He couldn't help but laugh quietly to himself every time it happened, feeling his heartbeat quicken as Leo's breath tickled his neck, and he would mutter something along the lines of "holy shit, sorry... that got me good!" each time.

Cal wanted so badly to give in, not just to pigging out on Halloween night, but from getting handsy with Leo as he kept squirming around, seemingly unable to sit still. Is this how Leo feels all the time?

Leo was so happy and in his element, he hasn't had the chance to go full Nostalgia Critic on any newer horror movies in over a year, since he saved the genre to be viewed only during the spooky season.

Cal knew this, and didn't want to ruin Leo's movie experience. So, he endured, trying his best to keep things casual while internally fighting against the growing desire.

Leo, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of Cal's predicament. He was too absorbed in the world of horror and suspense unfolding before his eyes. The occasional jump scare sent adrenaline coursing through him, making him clutch onto Cal instinctively. But otherwise, he remained focused, commenting on camera angles, acting, possible references, character development, and predicting plot twists. At this point, Cal almost expected Leo to start taking notes.

As the final movie of the night approached its end, Cal felt his patience slipping. He couldn't bear to sleep Halloween night away on a not-completely-full stomach! So, as Leo sat on the edge of his seat, biting his lower lip in anticipation, Cal quietly began to formulate a plan.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall. The movie should be over soon. Cal could hear the ticking of the clock in his head, counting down the minutes until freedom. He knew exactly what he was going to do. Once Leo went to bed, Cal would sneak into the kitchen and grab a few pieces of candy, just enough to satisfy his craving without drawing attention.

Just a little bit, Cal reasoned with himself, Leo won't even notice. Besides, he needed something to keep him awake after such an adrenaline filled movie marathon. He was already imagining the sweet burst of flavor in his mouth, the way his taste buds would sing with delight.

Cal tried to hide his excitement, masking it as simply excitement for the movie they were watching as it came to its conclusion.

Soon enough, the movie ended. Cal watched Leo with an amused expression as he continued talking animatedly about the movies they had seen tonight. "That last one was the perfect one to end on! Honestly, the 1st one was mid, but I kinda expected it to be like that because, well, obviously. You can't expect too much from the winnie the pooh cashgrab bullshit, I kinda just wanted to see it so I could hate on it more accurately- you know how it is..."

He couldn't deny that seeing Leo so excited was endearing, but he was also tired from fighting his own urges all night long. As Leo jumped up from the couch to grab his laptop, Cal decided it was time to intervene before Leo lost sleep over his movie reviews.

Cal stood up slowly, stretching his hand lazily covering his mouth as he tried to stifle a yawn. "Aaaalright, buddy. Time for bed. We can talk about these movies all day tomorrow, but right now you need your beauty sleep." Leo looked over at Cal, wide eyed and full of energy. "But I haven't even started drafting anything yet!" He protested, clutching his laptop to his chest like a security blanket. "Like, the last one we just finished, it was actually genius how they-" Cal walked over and placed his hand on Leo's shoulder, gently guiding him towards the hallway that led to his bedroom. "Come on, you can start writing them down in the morning. It's late." Leo reluctantly allowed himself to be led, still talking about his favorite parts of each film.

Leo was so caught up in blabbing that he barely realized as Cal practically laid him down on the bed and tucked him in. Leo stretched and yawned widely, his body relaxed and satisfied from hours of indulging in his favorite genre. He stopped talking and caught his breath for a bit, realizing how tired he really was. Cal watched him with hooded eyes, the hunger for something sweet still lingering within him. Leo turned towards him with a grin. "Hey, Cal? Thank you for having a halloween movie marathon with me today. That was a lot of fun for me. I hope you enjoyed tonight as much as I did, 'cause I know it must have been hard for you to hold back on celebrating how you wanted..." Cal waved his words away confidently "Nahh, don't even worry about that, it was nothing. I may be a glutton, but I have patience!"

That was a big, greedy lie from a big and greedy Callum.

With Leo finally settled, Cal took a deep breath, closed Leo's door and headed to his own bedroom.

But not before he took a little detour. He looked around the living room, making sure everything was in order before turning off all the lights except for the small lamp near the couch. It cast a soft glow around the apartment, illuminating just enough to see where he was going without being too bright. He sat out there, quietly playing around and scrolling on his phone, sneakily checking in on Leo to make sure he was in a deep enough sleep. After a while, Cal quietly made his way towards the kitchen.

The plastic grocery bags on the kitchen table loomed in front of him like a beacon of hope, relief from the torment of temptation. Inside the grocery bags were multiple large, mixed candy bags that were meant to be used specifically as a Halloween bowl filler to hand out to trick-or-treaters. Except it was all his.

He went for the one they'd already opened, careful not to make any sudden noises that might wake Leo up. Inside were all kinds of colorful candies, each one calling out to Cal like sirens of the sea. He reached into the bag, his fingers brushing against the cold plastic as he wondered where to begin.

Just a little bit, he told himself once again, grabbing a Twix, a Snickers, a little Starburst pack, a handful of Tootsie rolls... Just a little bit, one of each kind to satisfy every possible angle of this sweet tooth that's been nagging him.

The moment the first piece of candy hit Cal's tongue, he knew he was in trouble. The sweetness washed over him like a wave, drowning out any remaining resistance. He savored the flavors, letting them dance across his palate before swallowing. It was pure bliss. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned against the counter, allowing himself to fully enjoy the sensation.

When he opened them again, he found himself staring back at the half empty bag of candy. Guilt briefly flickered in his chest, but it was quickly replaced by desire. He reasoned that if he was already breaking the rules, then why not go all out? After all, it wouldn't hurt to take just a little bit more...

With renewed determination, Cal dove back into the bag. This time, he grabbed more than just a handful - he took fistfuls of candy, balancing the loot in his hand, gripping candies by their wrappers trying to hold it all at once. Chocolate, gummy bears, sour patch kids... He didn't discriminate!

It was then that he heard a loud noise. Panic set in as he quickly tossed the candy back in the bag, trying to look innocent.

Shit, shit, shit! He thought frantically, trying to figure out how he was going to explain this. He turned towards the sound; it was coming from outside.

He let out a huge sigh of relief. it was only some jackass' and his loud car ripping through the streets late at night.

The surprise was enough to get him nervous though. What if it was Leo waking up and discovering him? He can't stay here in the kitchen. He might as well bring the candy into his own bedroom, where he can eat it behind closed doors- not that he was gonna eat any more than a few pieces, of course!

This was just for convenience. Besides, they were probably gonna keep the candy in his room anyway, it can't stay in the kitchen cabinet forever, right? Cal's just cleaning up a bit, that's all!

Cal gathered the rest of the candy bags, stacking them up in his arms and making his way to his room. He rehearsed the excuses in his head just in case Leo woke up and saw him.

Once safely behind closed doors, Cal placed the candy bags on his bedroom floor. He took another glance outside into the living room and kitchen, ensuring that the coast was still clear. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the colorful assortment of goodies. His heart raced as he ripped open a tiny bag of skittles, pouring them into his mouth and chewing them all at once.

He couldn't believe how good it tasted! How had he gone so long without indulging in something so simple yet delicious? THIS is how you're supposed to spend Halloween! The sweetness coated his tongue and filled his senses, pushing away any lingering guilt.

His mouth felt sticky and coated with chocolate after fishing out the mini Hershey's chocolates and eating just those for a few minutes. He took a swig of water from a bottle he kept in his bedroom, washing away the overwhelming chocolate taste, ready to get back to business and let some other flavors have a turn.

He must have taken too big of a gulp, because immediately after the bottle left his lips, he barely even realized what was happening before a huge, airy burp flew out of his mouth.

*Buu-UUUORP* "woah.."

He froze up, listening for any movement outside. God, he hoped that didn't wake Leo up. Maybe it was the water hitting all the popcorn he'd eaten that night, expanding it or something. Whatever. No biggie.

Cal looked at the candy in front of him. He was going to stop right about now, but that burp just now really made a lot of room...

“Just a few more pieces…” he promised himself as he reached for more.

One by one, Cal allowed himself to indulge in the candies, each taste better than the last. He tried to keep track of how many pieces he consumed, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Every time he reached for another piece, he would tell himself it was the last one. But then, he'd find another type that caught his eye, and the cycle would start all over again. "it's just another tiny piece" He would think to himself.

Before long, wrappers were scattered across his bedroom floor, and he noticed the wrapper that his hands were mindlessly opening was… a bit bigger than usual.

oh.

He'd finished off the first bag.

Glancing at the clock on his nightstand, Cal realized that it was now close to 5 in the morning.

He hadn't meant to spend so much time on his candy escapade, but once he got started, he couldn't seem to stop. The soft light from his digital clock illuminated the room, just bright enough for him to look down and see his sticky, candy covered hands. He could only imagine what his face looked like. He sure felt a lot of candy residue around his mouth, and he definitely wiped his face with his dirty hands a few times. Ugh.

He was supposed to do this with Leo tomorrow - or rather today, since technically it already was tomorrow. But he couldn't bring himself to care much about that now as he clenched his jaw. For some reason, the sweetness of the candy made it so that his mouth and throat just felt.. Gross. Focusing on that feeling too much made him feel unreasonably queasy considering his usual capacity. Suddenly, Cal gagged without even trying. He had to snap his mouth shut as tight as it could go and hold his breath for a few seconds to keep everything down. He wasn’t even that full, just overwhelmed with sugar.

Cal groaned. Being nauseous is only worth it if his tummy is hard and heavy, that way he could at least enjoy rubbing it. It was a deeply unsatisfying feeling, all things considered. He wished there were other halloween treats and snacks to eat to at least switch up the flavor so his body wouldn't get sick of just candy.

He wished he could lay down and sleep it off, but the sugar rush was too intense, coursing through his veins and making him feel alive in a way he hadn't felt in a long time so he sat there a while with nothing to do. He skimmed the top of the next open bag and grabbed one of the lollipops- maybe that’ll be easier to eat? And they take a while to finish, sure to pass the time.

Cal felt his stomach gurgle as he sucked on a little round lollipop, the saliva in his mouth watering as he did so, and the constant swallowing helped distract his throat from gagging.

His mind was buzzed, but his stomach started rumbling ominously in short, high pitched squelches, sending waves of discomfort throughout his body. He winced, rubbing his belly gently as he realized he might have overdone it with the candy consumption.

"Oh boy..." he muttered to himself, looking down at the empty wrappers surrounding him.

"Why did I do this? I knew this was going to happen... Leo knew this was going to happen...", Cal thought, feeling slightly regretful.

He hadn't eaten this much sugar in years, not since his prime camboy days when a viewer suggested he stuff himself with candy. And now he remembered why.

But even as his stomach twisted and groaned, Cal couldn't help but smile slightly. This was the kind of stupid mistake he used to make all the time when Leo wasn't around to take care of him. It was just Cal, alone in his room, gorging himself. It felt weirdly nostalgic, reminding him of his carefree younger days before Leo had become such a huge part of his life.

Leo... He quickly checked the time again. Yep, still 5am.

Cal flopped onto his bed, discarding the half-eaten candy bag next to him. Disarrayed and covered in sugar dust and crumbs, smears of melted chocolate on anything his hands had touched. He looked like a mess. His dark hair was sticking out in every direction, no longer combed and presentable. His cheap vampire suit stretched uncomfortably in the middle across his slightly swollen belly, a testament to how potent candy can be for a stomach compared to actual food.

He wasn't even gonna try to take his costume off now. He could worry about that later. He just really really needed to get some shut eye before Leo woke up.

He curled up in his blankets, feeling the soft fabric against his sticky skin. Gross.

He tried to ignore the persistent ache in his belly and the lingering taste of candy on his lips. But sleep wouldn't come easily. The sugar rush kept him wide awake, his mind buzzing with random thoughts and scenarios. He tossed and turned, trying different positions to ease the discomfort, but nothing seemed to work.

Finally, after what felt like hours, but was only probably an hour and a half, the inevitable sugar crash arrived. The energy began to fade away, leaving behind an intense nausea and sluggish feeling. Cal groaned quietly, clutching his stomach as it cramped up. The rest of his body wanted sleep, but his stomach was still trying to digest everything. He tried to breathe through the pain, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. But then, he could practically feel the air as it rose up his throat, like it was trying to squeeze through a sticky tube that was his throat. A sickeningly sweet burp escaped him *Buuurrrp* and the scent of artificial fruitiness and partially digested chocolate wafted upwards, making his head spin.

"Eugh... that definitely tasted better going down.." He grumbled.

The room started spinning slightly, and he felt himself grow hot. This was bad. He had definitely eaten too much. Food and meals were one thing, but candy was another.

When it came to sweets, he could handle pastries, ice cream, cake, and cookies stuffed in his gut, but something about candy just felt so sticky and dense. Everything from the smooth chocolates to the stretchy taffy mixed together inside him to make a very uncomfortable amalgamation inside his body.

He closed his eyes, willing the sensation to pass. But as soon as it felt like things were calming down, he could feel his stomach gurgling again. He knew he needed to get rid of the gas building up inside of him, so he let another burp slip out. *grrrr..bu-urrrrrp*.

This time, it was even worse. The sweetness of the candy coated his mouth again, sending a wave of nausea through him.

Eventually, exhaustion finally took over and Cal managed to drift off into a restless sleep. His dreams filled with a castrophony of colorful, distorted shapes that danced in front of his eyes, accompanied by the ever-present rumble of his upset stomach.

As dawn approached, Leo stirred in his room. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the new day.

Yawning widely, he slipped out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, where he had left the bags of candy for Halloween. Leo got up pretty early for his own standards, he planned to wake Cal up so that he could get a pick of what he wanted to start eating first. He figured he would be chomping at the bit to finally start chomping at the candy, he didn't wanna make his boyfriend wait any longer.

Besides, Leo couldn't remember exactly what, but he could have sworn he’d dreamed about some scary shit after watching all those movies, unfortunately none of it in a sexy or kinky scenario… But alas, Leonard's morning wood seemed to be completely unaffected by the nightmares, and he's sure Cal is gonna get a big kick out of that.

Cal is hopefu- probably going to love teasing him about it, Leo thought… Heh, yeah.

He froze in place, however, when he found the huge candy bags missing from their spot on the counter.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, he turned towards Cal's room. Was Cal up? Did he eat the candy? Leo knew how much Cal loved sweets, but he thought he would at least be able to resist temptation on his own for one night.

Leo tiptoed over to Cal's door and cracked it open, peeking inside. The sight that greeted him was definitely shocking, but he would be lying to himself if he said it was a complete surprise.

Cal was sprawled across the bed, looking more disheveled than usual. The room was littered with candy wrappers and the faint smell of chocolate and sour apple hung in the air. Weird, he remembered a lot of the fruity candies, but only a small bit of them were even remotely sour.

Cal's stomach churned audibly enough for Leo to hear it from his doorway, and a muffled rumbly toot could be heard leaking out from the poor boy in his sleep and into the mattress.

Ah. Leo held his breath, for the obvious reasons of course, but also to hold back laughter. Poor Cal, this has probably been happening all night.

Leo’s eyes scanned the room. He couldn't believe it. Had Cal really eaten all of the candy while he slept?

He opened the door further, stepping into the room and taking in the full extent of the damage. He shook his head in disbelief. There were wrappers everywhere and an empty bag. 3 were left, one of them already opened.

Leo felt his cheeks heat up, a small smile playing on his lips as he took in Cal's state. He wasn't mad, really. It was more amused-annoyance than anything else. Besides, he couldn't deny the slight arousal he felt looking at Cal's hand on his belly. He could only imagine what Cal was like last night before he had fallen asleep, in this same position, but awake and aching.. And vulnerable. Leo found himself drawn to it, letting his eyes wander across Cal’s body in selfish ways, since Cal wasn't awake to possibly judge him for it.

Leo decided to have some fun with this, he'd never really been one to tease people (people usually tease him first, and he always crumbles immediately), but it was hard not to when Cal was practically begging for it having made no effort to cover his tracks. This time, Leo would get the first turn to tease someone. He walked over to the bed, leaning over Cal and letting his breath tickle Cal's ear.

"Hey, sleepyhead," He cooed softly, "Wake up. You've got some explaining to do."

Cal stirred slightly at first, then groaned, clutching his stomach. His face twisted into a grimace as he slowly began to wake up. "whutimeizzit?" he croaked out.

"It's almost nine." Leo replied, grinning wickedly.

Cal groaned, rubbing at his eyes and wincing at the movement. He opened his eyes and looked up at Leo, taking a moment to process his surroundings, then suddenly his face contorted with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. "Whuh.... w-what?" He croaked out.

"Oh, I dunno, I was hoping you would tell me." Leo replied nonchalantly, gesturing to the empty candy wrappers around the room.

Cal groaned and laid back against his pillow. "ohhhhh-hohohoooohh.... *urp* I'm sorry, I... stayed up super late after our movie night.." Cal began to explain

Leo raised an eyebrow at Cal's explanation, trying to suppress his laughter. "Stayed up late, huh? Doing what exactly?" He asked, his tone playfully accusatory. He couldn't help but let out a small snicker when he saw the flush spreading across Cal's cheeks. Oh how the tables have turned. Leo reached over to push his hand against Cal's upset tummy, feeling how bloated he was through his costume, the shirt of which had now ridden up just below his belly button.

Cal squirmed under his gaze, trying to sit up, but the weight of Leo's hand on his bloated stomach prevented him from doing so easily. "I... *urgh* uh... just couldn't sleep. And then I saw the candy..." He trailed off, his voice getting weaker as he realized how ridiculous he sounded.

Leo chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to lightly poke at Cal's belly. "You couldn't sleep, so you decided to try and eat all the candy?" He repeated, poking his fingers into Cal's sensitive belly.

Cal let out a small yelp at the contact, then another burp, this time sounding more like a whimper than anything else. "I-it just...didn’t feel like Halloween without it... " He mumbled, looking down at his lap.

Leo couldn't hold his laughter any longer, he fell into a small fit of immature giggling, watching Cal squirm under his fingers. "And so you couldn't even wait until morning?" He said, poking him again, enjoying the small sounds of discomfort Cal made.

Cal glared at him half-heartedly, his cheeks burning red. "It's not funny..." He muttered, trying to push Leo away from his stomach. But his movements were sluggish, and he didn't put much force behind it. He knew he was caught red handed.

Leo leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Cal's forehead. "Yes, it is. It's really funny. But I promise, I'm not mad. Just surprised." He said, his laughter dying down. He looked at Cal, his confidence in teasing growing by the second, then added, "I was planning for each bag to last a few days each, but I have'ta make some changes now, thanks to you."

Cal let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "I know... I just... I don't know. I'm so sorry, I'm just.. just big and greedy.." He admitted, sounding sheepish.

Leo smiled softly Leo felt a surge of excitement run through him as Cal admitted to being greedy. He had always been fascinated by the idea of control and dominance, but he'd never had the chance to really explore it. Even when Leo was in charge of things, Cal would always be the one to really call the shots on what happened next and where things went. and Leo usually listened. He's the one that feeds Cal, He should probably try to play his part and be a bit assertive once in a while.

Seeing Cal in this vulnerable state, admitting to being greedy and apologetic, was like an early Christmas gift. He bit his bottom lip, considering his next move. He wanted to push the boundaries a little further, see if Cal would go along with it. "Well, maybe you need a little punishment for being so impatient." Leo said, his voice low and husky. He trailed his fingers over Cal's belly, feeling the hard mass of candy beneath the fabric of his costume.

Cal's eyes snapped to Leo's, wide with surprise. "W-what kind of punishment?" He asked hesitantly, but Leo could see the spark of curiosity in them.

Leo leaned closer, his breath hot against Cal's ear. "I'm not a total asshole, so first things first, I'll take care of you now." He whispered, undoing Cal's sticky vampire costume off little by little, his fingers tracing patterns on Cal's belly whenever they were nearby. He could feel the candy sloshing around inside, and the thought made him even more excited. Cal seemed cautious "...o-okay.."

Leo continued, "I'll leave the choice up to you. Since you clearly love candy so much you couldn't even wait for me before you managed to eat an entire bag of it in the night behind my back, you can either make up for it by waiting even longer- no food until tomorrow..." Leo paused, poking his fingers into Cal's belly once again, "OR, you can continue being greedy and finish the other 3 bags in one day."

Cal swallowed hard, looking at Leo with a mix of trepidation and desire. "Y-you're serious?" He stammered, his cheeks flushing even darker. Leo nodded, grinning wickedly. "Oh, completely serious." He replied, then pressed a kiss to Cal's forehead. He could see Cal was clearly going along with this too, but he wanted to give him some comfort just in case, "But don't worry, I'll take good care of you, whichever one you choose."

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

(there was a poll here but after editing the text color and the post it seems to have disappeared, but it was a vote on which punishment Cal should receive, and the "finish the rest of the candy" option won)

^if this poll runs out and you can no longer vote on it, but I haven't posted part 2 yet, please reply in the comments which option you choose, and it will be counted.

[codenameredkrystalmatrix]

The Porcelain Soldier

ʚɞ˚ synopsis:

Wanderer reflects on his journey, and that which began it all- the nature of hearts. Set post-Sumeru Archon Quest, pre-Simulanka.

ʚɞ˚ genres:

fluff, angst, found family, friendship, platonic love

ʚɞ˚ word count:

1204

ʚɞ˚ warnings:

light horror, allusions to depression, existential musings,

The darkness was home for people such as themselves. People like them found safety in it- thrived, even. Easier to conceal things within it. It covered them in a blanket, obscuring gesture and transaction. It was home. It had been home for so long- instilling comfort, and even a measure of daring. But all these bordered on folly. Such was not to be endured in the land of Wisdom.

A smell was slithering in. That... shouldn't be. The leader signalled a henchman to investigate. Trying to quell the turning in his stomach, he rounded the corner and screamed.

The hallway was full of them. Eyes stared wide and pleading from the slop that was once their bodies. The blood-become-ooze slunk into the rooms, crying out in a brightening blue-green glow. A figure floated in, ghostly in his pallor. His teeth glinted. His lips curved. His eyes narrowed. But call that expression what you will, it was not a smile.

The leader uttered a string of expletives, his accomplices scrambling back and arming themselves as best they could. "Nahida's dog!"

"Woof."

The winds and their victims howled. The fruit of their deeds made the humans choke and heave, staggering-slipping-sloshing in the slime. "Mercy! Please!"

"Those words should sound familiar-let me jog your memory."

He knocked them out and began gathering evidence samples. Buer's plan had been both practical, and kinder than anything he would have concocted. She even knew him well enough to grant him some creative licence in rounding them up. Satisfying- but not completely. This scene was all-too familiar.

The good doctor's plumes still flitted around his subconscious, snickering and pricking at the scars left behind. Those scars weren't leaving him in agony these days, but he splashed in no clear river, either. He just sat on the ledge, dangling his feet over his own personal abyss.

"Such a waste." He griped, watching the cleanup team work. What he thought was a void throbbed at such sights. He was never quite sure what to do about that. The irony of his unlife was that he'd tried to both crush whatever was in his chest and fill it with all he could find. And if this was his lot, he could not imagine what the humans felt in those hearts of theirs- the canisters of meat, energy, dreams and wishes that bound the world to the "transcendental" Principles.

The humans didn’t live that long- why did they even need something powerful enough to endure childhood's death and a rebirth into man or woman? How could it rationalize agony as the background for their joy and fulfilment? And how did it give them enough peace to put up a brave face for their young in turn? Not all made it, naturally, but enough had shone through to be astounding. Those hearts had powered lives more than well-lived, and without them one faced death that caused one to die, then devour.

That process was quite familiar to him.

As his (core?) corroded, it wished to corrode. And that invited the whispering, writhing mass of the Abyss. He'd thought that if he’d aligned with it (submitted to it, if he were being honest), he'd have a similar strength. It was that of which he’d seen the purest demonstration of destruction. But he couldn't ignore the truth. The Abyss held no sway over the numb, or those with the true power. It couldn't look at a casket and slowly build something capable of navigating the bubble on the water. Not like what exposure to the heart-energy had done to him through Buer and the Traveler.

And somehow, humans still were callous about it, giving this force the remarkably stupid name of love which really meant animalistic lust and half-baked fairytales. Their foolishness would guarantee failure in the war against the heavens. But, maybe a puppet could honour the true legacy- and to best do so, he'd have to experience this “love”. Maybe someone other than Beelzebub had overseen his creation for such a time as this.

He dragged the “scientists’” sorry meat sacks to the Corps of Thirty and reported in to Buer.

"Thank you, as always, Hat Guy!"

Past the sunshiny façade, he saw her restraining her tears. Grief suppressed crushed a griever. This was an area in which he had no expertise. He turned his back and began striding out-

"W-wait..."

He felt himself bristle. After all she’d done for him, the greatest kindness he could bestow was to leave. "I'm no therapist."

I’m not the person you need me to be.

A wet chuckle. She wiped her eyes with a little smile. "Understanding all aspects of human nature is necessary to lead them with kindness. But, it is a burden I can't bear alone. Thank you, Wanderer."

He nodded, feeling uncharacteristically exposed. "Anything else you need, let me know."

Gratitude- she’d always been so sweet to him, despite his sourly self. Something...stretched or snapped in him. He wanted to pay her back. He wasn't screaming inside as much, and he was doing things- things that...helped.

He’d be teased about this relentlessly, but he decided he was strong enough for a bit of ribbing. Removing his hat, he knelt, then took and kissed her tiny hand. In his own, slightly uncomfortable way he thanked her for her longsuffering, playful kindness and dedicated himself to fighting for the love which she’d shown him could lend strength. An Archon's dog, sure. But he had a nice kennel and some entertaining walks.

Buer giggled, still a little choked, but in a happy way this time. Lifting his chin, she lightly pinched his cheeks and hugged him. His world really had shifted. Sickly pale cyan could be warmed with the hues of the forests. Maybe a change of pace wouldn't be a waste of time.

A twinkle started lighting up her eyes that had nothing to do with her tears. "As a matter of fact, there is a mission of the utmost priority: visiting the local village!"

The Wanderer froze. "I… don’t have the skill set for this mission. Besides, there are still hundreds of-!""

"Oh, that's alright! You're off-duty."

"What a ridiculous idea.”

"All criminals are being identified and tracked as we speak. They won't disappear. Too long listening to the shadows, and you start dancing to their song."

He chuckled. Kindness and cunning- Sumeru had an Archon to be proud of. "Thank you, Buer."

"You're welcome, Hat Guy."

The little ones started crowding around them the moment they arrived. Their guardians managed flustered bows before showing them around. Nahida insisted on baking cookies, and that meant having a trusty assistant on hand to play keep-away.

As the first batch left the oven, muddy feet were drawn to its scent. Oddly enough, he had the sense that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, despite the long road it took to get there.

The Kabukimono had had no say in whether he wanted to play this game. If he'd been able to choose, Kunikuzushi may not have decided to participate at all. Scaramouche, with his blind bloodthirst, had been purged from reality. But he was here, something close to alive and breathing.

And the Wanderer hated losing.

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading! Also, if anyone knows how to code Google fonts into the HTML, please let me know! Other than that, I am super proud of the decorative elements on this one. As to the story itself, I'm not 100% satisfied, but I still wanted to give you guys something I had for a while, and to at least do something that I can improve on later.

ʚɞ˚ dividers:

@taurus-magicka @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

ʚɞ˚ kaomojis:

@yoonitosi

[pinkhairswagtourney]

Not-Pink-Enough Tourney, Round One

Sakuya Propaganda: 1.): “Is it red? Is it pink? We don't know! I think it's pink though. I almost submitted Homare Arisugawa also from A3 too because I think there's more arguments about his hair but it leans more purple so... I won't submit him. Sakuya probably counts though <3” 2.): “doing this for the blorbos but judging by sakuya's pics his hair is like a dark red with tints of pink, but he looks pretty good with pink so like maybe thats whats going on with him idk he def feels almost pink but not quite fully pink” 3.): “Hheees like. Pink in a weird way. It’s undeniable that he’s pink. Pink eyes and color scheme, his hair is pink as well, but it’s this like. Dark shade where at certain angles it seems like a burnt color to a dim red. Especially in certain sprites of his, where most of his hair is obscured or shaded in a way. A silly little concoction of almost pink but definitely kinda pink “

Sakura Propaganda: 1.): “I feel it's more red than pink, but I absolutely understand the people who say it's just pink.” 2.): “Bestie it’s pink, trust me on this one.” 3.): “I WILL GO FERAL IF ANYONE SAYS SHE DOESN’T HAVE PINK HAIR JUST LOOOK AT HER”

[nudibutch]

butch/femme voyeur club drabble

cause i was digging into my writing folder and figured id post bc ive been meaning to work on it for ages but it isn't like. Complete [TM]. this is a pre-print except for Public Review

sub butch (he/him), domme femme (she/her). have fun

“Welcome. Watchers tonight, or are you looking for something more?”

“Just watchers,” she replied easily, flipping open her wallet and handing the greeter a few folded bills. “For now.”

With a nod, the greeter opened the door. A gentle push from her on the small of his back nearly knocked the wind out of him. He willed one foot in front of the other and tried not to look at her. It’d burn otherwise. The small hallway they funneled through – passing by lingering patrons, satin at the edges of his vision – opened into a well-furnished lounge area cast in deep blue light. Seats and couches lined the walls, and populated the center, to face nooks – some closed by a draw curtain, some open – that were large enough to occupy two, maybe three people at a time.

And they were occupied. Hazy, shadowy, and glowing from being cast in monochrome – some things he could see, but not quite, unless invited closer.

“Alright so far?”

He started at the warmth of her breath against the shell of his ear. He didn’t realize he had stopped walking to take it all in. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Following your lead.”

“Good boy,” she murmured. Her hand glided up to his collar, where her finger hooked around the ring and tugged him along to a loveseat. She sat, releasing him.

He froze.

Bathed in the dark blue light, her ethereal form merely anchored itself to the cushion. She was beautiful. Untouchable. A goddess. With one arm stretched across the couch, she beckoned with a finger. “Come here.”

He felt himself slipping. Sand in an hourglass. Its familiar taste floated at the tip of his tongue, its warm pressure creeping up his temples. Its whisper had echoed in his ears throughout dinner, but now the pull in his chest – in his knees – was stronger. In her expression – stoic, cocky – she commanded him

submit.

She tipped her head to the side, giving him a slow, searing full-body scan. Regarding him. He stood silently – obediently. This is exactly what she wanted. He could taste her desire in the air, see it rolling off of her in waves. She leaned forward, pressed her free hand up against the side of his leg with a firm grip, up, up, up –

His eyes fluttered shut, but he held still.

She let out a low chuckle and continued until she reached his waistband. At an agonizing pace, she slipped her fingers one by one behind it, and all of his nerve endings screamed at the point where she touched him, begging for more,

until she tugged.

down.

Instinctively, he knelt beside her. She laughed, leaned forward again, caught him by the chin, ran the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip, made his heart do somersaults in his chest. This close, the smell of her perfume, thick and heavy, flooded his senses and mingled with the warm fog that crept against his temples. He inched forward on instinct – her lips were so close, he just needed permission.

“Pretty boy,” she whispered, then tilted his head away from hers, towards the booths. “Look.”

He followed the gentle pull of her grip. Tucked away in an alcove, obscured by half-drawn curtains, a burly butch – one hand against the wall, the other under her femme’s dress, circling. All he could see of the femme was one leg and hip, falling off the pillowed bench, and an arm clutched across its backing.

He fixated on their moving shadows from the distance, completely stilled and rigid there on the floor.

“Would you like to do that to me?” she asked.

He swallowed. Felt himself approaching a singularity. “Yes.”

She purred, slipped her hand down to the collar’s o-ring, the clinking metal drawing his focus. This close, her breath was hot against his cheek as he sat, transfixed. Watching. Her finger dragged up the center of his throat, the tip of her stiletto nail just barely digging in. Purposeful. A promise. “We’re just watchers for now, sweet boy.” Click. Click. Her heels clicked on the floor as parted her legs. “Come sit and watch.”

[imaginedreamwrite]

Brat Taming: Part 13

A/N: Smut is prevalent in the chapter, with overstimulation, vibrators, teasing and edging, domination/submission and punishments. Please don’t read it if it makes you uncomfortable

Ari had certain expectations when it came to making his office run seamlessly, as he should have, and there was an incredible amount of tenacity to his patience. He was not a man who could easily be angered by desperate attempts to get him to react unless there was a direct threat to the people he loved and wanted to protect.

It was one of his traits as an alpha that separated him from what seemed like the other 50% of alphas who seemed to make up the designation.

It seemed as if at least half of their designation had the same distinctive abilities to be good alphas without having to rely on traits that could have been deemed toxic. Ari and Steve, even Ransom if he had tried to put in more effort to not be such an arrogant prick to other people, were all good alphas at the root of themselves.

Both of the older alphas had deeply embedded protective tendencies, an ability to understand and compassionately grasp the workings of an omega’s hindbrain without reducing them to their basest selves.

Ransom was cocky, he was an arrogant and rich alpha who could have had anything or anyone handed to him on a silver platter. He was born with a silver spoon shoved up his ass and that had damaged his ability to deny the toxic traits that made omegas want to settle down with the alpha.

However like Ari & Steve believed, Ransom only had to meet the right omegas who wouldn’t immediately cater and submit to his whims, but rather they would try to push him to his limits and make him back down. It was what made you and Jake everything those alphas needed.

It was your fire and your ability and nature to be bratty that drove every one of your alphas crazy with need. Your tendency as omegas to feel comfortable enough to push back against the alphas was both embraced and revelled in.

They enjoyed their omegas brattiness, the back and forth that aided the bonds that were being built was a necessity to have an unbreakable relationship.

However patient Ari was, and however indifferent he could have been, he had found your punishment just as invigorating and addictive as your attitude was.

He was just waiting for it, just waiting for the opportunity to punish you as a good alpha would have. The alphas knew, all of them had been aware, that you and Jake were dealing with the sensations of being marked and mated.

They had been well aware that you both were settling in your bratty moods and with a common agreement between you, albeit made through your natural bond as best friends and lovers and had kickstarted the punishments that were befitting for both of you.

With you at work in the office making comments under your breath about Ari and his first assistant degrading the choice to have someone who was so aggravating without trying, had incited his decision to punish you.

Normally this patient alpha would have let you mumble every comment under the sun about his first assistant who he knew could be difficult to deal with, however today Ari couldn’t let it slide.

Whether it was his unwillingness to go through a teleconference knowing you were outside of his office wearing a skirt that was far too easy to slide up your thighs and a piece of cloth obscuring your sweet little cunt from his view, or whether it was his vivacious lust and hunger, it had all ended at the same conclusion.

Ari had stepped out of his office, pausing to listen to you muttering your annoyance at both your boss and the woman you claimed was the wicked bitch of the West.

He had watched you while leaning against the frame of his door, his arms crossed over his chest and his chin tucked as his eyes had become engrossed with thick seams of desire. It was reflective of his need for you, his dire hunger that aided him to make a demand that caused hair at the nape of your neck to stand and your eyes to grow wide.

“Y/N, my office. Now.” The command was sent from his mouth, and you were immediately aware of how rooted he was in his alpha hindbrain.

He had seen your lips part with a potential argument, a rebuttal that he wished you would’ve let fall from your lips. He wished you would have fired back with some kind of aggravated response to Ari’s demand, earning another punishment that you didn’t know was coming.

It could’ve been a demand that could have been negated, or at least an attempt could have been made, however, Ari was pleased to see you standing immediately to follow him toward his office.

“Is there anything you need of me, Mr. Levinson?” His first assistant had already started to rise to her feet, overeager to please him in any manner despite already being in a steady and comfortable relationship with her alpha.

It was after Ari had settled a hand on your back to lead you into his office, to the punishment waiting for you, that he had looked over his shoulder with a controlled half-smirk on his face.

His first assistant was not guarded with her disdain for you and your role in the office, especially since you had been sleeping with the boss and getting away with it. However, Ari was just as displeased about her attitude toward you and had already been making plans to have another reasonable offer sent her way for a new job.

“Go home, you have the rest of the afternoon off.” Ari had closed the door without allowing another potential argument and just as quickly locked the door behind him.

He stood and faced you, silence between the two of you was not stale or stagnant, it was fuelled by desire and mild confusion, knowledge of what was to come and expectations of pleasure and pain.

“I have a meeting, Y/N.” Ari’s long stride had taken him past you and around the side of the desk, his leather chair angled to the left of his computer.

“If you needed me to take notes-“

“Did I ask you to take notes?” Ari spoke over you with a bite, the force behind his words making you shudder and whimper simultaneously. “You’re going to keep me occupied.”

Ari placed a hand upon the back of the chair, steadying it as he sat down upon the cushioned bottom and then he spread his legs. His cock was strained and throbbing beneath the seams of his slacks and with a single wave of his hand, you had started to walk toward him with your hands by your sides and your eyes still unnerved.

When you were within reach, Ari grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him and his hard-on, your palm jutted toward the bulbous head. Ari’s voice was laced heavily with need, your name falling from his lips as he made you squeeze his erection.

The intent was known and the command had been all too easily absorbed as you recoiled and lifted your skirt, your hands holding the material in order for him to hook his fingers in the band of your panties to yank them down your thighs.

“This is a punishment,” Ari addressed you with a firm tone yet no less loving than before, “you wanna be a brat? You get punished.”

He enjoyed your verbal exhilaration when he smacked your ass, his palm cracking against your flesh before his fingers dug into you. He had pulled you back toward him, keeping a hand on your ass and the other busied with freeing his thick and throbbing cock.

“You’re going to keep my cock warm while I take this teleconference. If your try and get off my cock before the meeting is finished, you’ll be under the desk sucking me off. If you cum before I say you can, you won’t cum for a week.” Ari’s hands settled on your hips and he arranged you between his legs, giving you no room to protest as he lowered you to his cock, your puffy pussy lips already wet.

The head of his cock had started to part your labia, the seeping precum mixing with your desire, and his name all too easily fell from your lips when he made you take all of him into your tight cunt. When he had settled you in your place, Ari leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the nape of your neck, almost entirely too soft and contradictory to his demanding dominance.

“You have your warning, brat.” Ari’s lips parted and he nipped your flesh as a warning. “I would love any reasons to punish you further, let’s see if you earn the right to cum or if you’ll end up with a week of denial.”

It was hard to breathe without shuddering, hard to contend with the twitch of Ari’s thick bulbous head as it plunged into your cunt.

It was hard to function and focus on taking notes while Ari was on a teleconference since you were being stretched and filled to the brim, wholly and entirely stuffed. He was ruthless, smacking your puffy and hard clit when you faltered, all entirely fuelled by his irritation with your attitude.

“Maybe next time you’ll think about being such a brat. I’m your alpha sweetheart but I’m also your boss.”

“Are you focusing?” You shuddered and whimpered, his voice husky and hoarse in your ear while his fingers deftly plucked at your hard little nub. “I almost feel sorry for you…but I know you like it.”

“J-Jake-” your voice shook, indelibly able to detect his state of being like a dull fog at the back of your mind.

“Yes, Jake is learning a hard lesson too.” Ari purred huskily in your ear and then taunt you further, starting to tap his fingers against your hard clit with every illicit breath you’d taken.

“We’re planning on taking full advantage of our private dining room, puppy. And you are going to take your punishment with pride.”

Wine, he thought as he swallowed what was given to him, wine should’ve made him feel better and yet it was another delectable sensation intent on ruining him. A good wine that Ransom assured would be palatable with the edging Jake deserved, and he was right.

He had been overstimulated already, entirely too full and stretched with a vibrator in his tight asshole and a ring pulsing at the base of his cock, Jake was being dragged through countless rounds of edging that had only been part of his punishment.

The argument that started it all had come from Jake and focused more on Steve than Ransom. It was a few remarks about Steve’s sexuality and the urge to just jump from the edge of the cliff. Jake had pressed Steve to be bolder with himself, given that there wasn’t anything to fear about being open with how and who he loved.

And though the comments had meant to encourage Steve, it had taken a turn when Steve had embraced Jake’s open brattiness and reassured him that being bold was nothing new to Jake.

“Full, puppy?” Jake’s shiver was inductive of his tension, his cock begging for release that wasn’t granted to him by Steve or Ransom. “I think you’re enjoying yourself.”

It was pleasured and painful torture that left no bruises or marks. It was the sensation of the dildo in his ass vibrating when Steve turned it on and the fallout after it was turned off to give him a chance to calm down. Between the remote in Steve’s control, the remote in Ransom’s control and what he could detect from you, Jake was truly going to lose his mind.

“He can handle it, he’s a big boy.” Steve was almost erotically sadistic when he leaned toward Jake to cup his cheek and turn his head. “You can handle it, right Jake?”

His lips met Steve’s and he tried to chase the feeling, only to fall short and whine in desperation when Steve pulled away.

The super soldier had let go of Jake’s chin and patted his cheek twice, and then he leaned back against his chair and raised a hand to signal the waiter. With striking confidence that made Jake believes he had been playing the entire time, Steve had brazenly raised the remote in his other hand and pressed the button twice.

The shock of the faux cock in his ass had earned another husky groan that fell too easily from Jake’s lips, and the sudden jerk of his hips to seek some kind of pleasurable release from the toys that he was being teased with.

“If you cum, you’re going to pay for it.” Ransom’s warning was whispered as a seductive command in his ear, the deterrent coming with another level of erotic intimacy as the alpha command had settled in his hindbrain.

Thick fingers slipped beneath the table, a hand sliding up a covered thigh while he was truly and well on his way to losing his mind. Trapped under electrifying gazes that burned through him, it wasn’t just one but two that had given him no reprieve from the building tension and cathartic need to reach his end. This was a punishment for his decision to push both of them to their limits, though it wasn’t conventional in any sense.

When Jake had been under the impression that he was going to be punished, he’d thought it would involve Shibari or some restraints to keep him still. He’d never anticipated his ass being stuffed full of a vibrating cock while his shaft and balls were being stimulated by the same torturous quivers.

It was clear that Jake and yourself were being manhandled by your alphas to be punished, he could feel your pleasured pain through the bonds that you and Jake had formed from childhood, and he knew that he wasn’t alone.

“You’ve barely touched your food.” Teasing words that rolled off a silver tongue paired with fingers that slipped further up his thigh before ultimately squeezing the thick throbbing hard-on trapped beneath Italian slacks. “You should eat something.”

“Something wrong, pup?” Steve crooned, raising his fork to his lips to enjoy the seared steak he had been craving. “Not hungry?”

“Ohhh fuck…” Jake’s head lolled back, his eyes screwing closed as vibrations coursed in his ass, the vibrator used to drive him toward a slow orgasm was maddening. “P-please-!”

“I think we need dessert,” Ransom leaned in close to Jake, his tongue lapping at sweat-laden flesh while his hand closed around Jake’s clothed cock. “You’re going to have to wait longer to cum, brat.”

“I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” Jake hissed, his eyes straining to open and his teeth gritting as he cursed with the tension that was rattling him. “Please, fuck-!”

He jerked his hips and dug his nails into the tablecloth with almost enough tension to tear the fabric clean. Jake had ground his teeth with every pulse that rocked his nervous system and drove his mind closer to temporary insanity.

There was no denying their domineering status as alphas, and Jake would later swear on his life that he loved being their little subby omega but at the moment he was fighting for his life.

“If you want to cum,” Ransom let go of his trapped erection and deftly unzipped Jake’s fly, his hand slipping in the opening to grasp his cock under the table, “you have to beg for it.”

The sound that fell from Jake’s lips was garbled and twisted, it wasn’t coherent in any manner but yet it still made his alphas starkly proud of the omega who had resisted until this moment.

He hadn’t been mentally aware of what he was saying, he was letting his tongue work on its own and had only recognized the permission that was given to him after Ransom had dug his teeth back into the mark on Jake’s neck.

The vibrations hadn’t ceased even as Jake had been granted the ability to chase his orgasm. His hips rocked as he threw himself back into the chair, his head lolling as their names rolled off his tongue as an erotic sonnet. It was blinding and white hot pleasure that shot through every nerve ending in his body, Jake’s mind contorted and twisted by desire and release while Ransom’s hand pumped Jake’s shaft.

And even as he started to come down from that high, pleasure was still falling upon him when he felt Ransom’s lips against Jake’s cock to clean his shaft and bulbous head.

“Thank you,” Jake’s chest was heaving with every strained breath, his body wracked with leftover trace amounts of electrifying pleasure, “that was incredible.”

His chin was grasped again, his face turned toward Steve and relief had soon been replaced by anticipation when the super soldier claimed Jake’s mouth as his.

“You’re not done yet.”

Permanent Tags List: @jennmurawski13-writes @beardburnsupersoldiers @rebekahdawkins @supraveng @bookfrog242 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @loveitorleaveit20 @alexakeyloveloki @socalgem1124 @mogaruke @dreamlessinparis @frisky975 @dispatchvampire @hereforbuckyandsteve @jesgisborne @fairybnha3 @hallecarey1 @tang082646 @mrslokibarnesrogers @deputy-videogamer @posionivy0061 @loving-life-my-way @kaylamcd2000 @mercyy98 @rootcrop @whatinthestyles @slutforsteve @cornmousequeen @rededfoxy @yagurl-snow @glimmering-darling-dolly @patzammit @buckymydarlingangel @missusbarnes-rogers @andy-is-gay @nervousfandom @rileyloves5 @emi11ie @carelessreadersstuff @readingandwritingandreading @cynic-spirit @inkedaztec @gh0stgurl @cats-and-sheep @pono-pura-vida @seitmai @teambarnes72 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @miss-rebel-without-applause

[satancopilotsmytardis]

I'd love to learn more about Minor God Dabi tied to Cult Leader Shig, whenever you have time for it

Content warning: Dub-Con

Dabi is a minor god, he was originally supposed to be a god of potential, but when he couldn't live up to that ideal, the pantheon changed his designation to 'broken things' and his once glowing, prismatic skin, took on a deep dark tarnish over most areas, cracks appearing in his skin where those places touched the unblemished parts. People don't worship broken things, they throw them aside, so he's been dwindling in obscurity ever since that happened. 

Enter Tomura Shigaraki. He is a priest of the church, but he doesn't want to follow the gods that can make any demand of their faithful that they want. He doesn't like that he's seen other students of the church, during his own training, that were asked to do things like mutilate themselves, cut off their families, starve themselves, or whatever other inane thing that the pantheon demanded of them in order to be accepted as one of their priests. Nah, no. He wants the power that comes with being a member of the church, but he wants it for himself first and foremost. So he does a bunch of research in secret, moves a good way away to a small church in a smaller town that's been abandoned since the last priest they had died a decade and a half ago, he sets up an alter, and he starts a ritual. 

Dabi can't believe that he's so weak he's able to be summoned to the prime material plane like a common ghost and he tries to posture his divinity to this strange mortal who is absolutely not buying it. Instead, the human offers to make him more powerful in exchange for binding their essences with a ritual that has been outlawed for millennia. If Dabi submits to it, then he will never have the power to hurt Shigaraki, directly or not, and the human will have him on a leash until his death. But if he puts on that leash willingly, then Shigaraki will build up a sect of the church to worship Dabi and allow him to achieve a proper place in the pantheon. Dabi is desperate enough to be something there, that he will allow himself to be Shigaraki's pet here and agrees. 

He did not know he was agreeing to being pinned beneath the priest on his alter to complete the ritual, but even though he feels humiliated having to take a physical form and allow himself to be claimed, he does it in the name of capturing the potential that he lost so long ago. Mortal sex is very different from celestial sex and by the time they're finished, Dabi is kind of sick with the humiliation that he's going to want to try it again. He, unfortunately, understands now why some gods demand it of their priests and faithful, because it was intoxicating. 

Shigaraki starts to preach and put on services that stress that the current pantheon does not love them unconditionally. The pantheon has many conditions. For Lomir, God of Life and Day, he only loves those who walk forever in his light. For Okone, Goddess of Death and Night, she only takes their hand as they breathe their last breath. The gods of revelry, luck, health, fertility, war, art, disease, and every other, only care about mortals when they are acting as a part of their domain, and they only give their favor to those who stick within that unwaveringly for their whole lives. How many of them have spent more time in churches or their homes, praying for forgiveness from straying from this teaching or that, only to be left in the cold again and again? The gods are made to embody one thing, but mortals are multitudes, made of shattered fragments of all parts of divinity the moment they come into the world. The only god that can love them because of that is Dabi. 

He preaches, and slowly, a few people start to listen, and even more slowly, Dabi finds himself growing a little stronger, able to enact small miracles for his followers as Shigaraki starts a cult. If part of said duties as a cult leader include ravaging the needy god whenever he begs for it, no one else needs to know. (Shigaraki isn't sure he could ever get anyone to worship Dabi again if they saw him flushed, desperate, and begging, as he crawls across the temple floor hoping to get his priest to fuck him senseless on the alter again, Tomura holding his leash taut in hand.) 

[fayes-fics]

Congrats! You are an incredible writer! I love the way you write smut - tender, romantic, dirty, rough, playful - you’re the queen of it all.

My request:

“I can never seem to get enough of you.”

From Benedict “Menace” Bridgerton.

Benedict + I can never seem to get enough of you

March 2023 Mini Drabbles Masterpost

Hello lovely!!

Thank you so much for your lovely, kind words! 🫶🫶

So this one ended up romantic and Shakespearean. I hope you don't mind! 😁🧡🧡

This is the last one I will do tonight. Thank you all so much for reading and submitting. I will respond to your kind notes tomorrow. I really hope I haven't annoyed anyone by writing 5.2k of drabbles in 12 hours. 🫣

You’ve had plenty of sex in your life, but no one has made love to you the way he does. So utterly devoted, each kiss a tattoo on your heart, each touch a benediction, a prayer to you and your body. He makes you feel alive, wanted, and so cherished. You fear no one else would ever compare.

“I can never seem to get enough of you,” he whispers against the skin of your belly, and you know it’s more than true. He is as addicted to you as you are to him, an almost toxic sensual codependency. Something in your dynamic together is too beguiling to resist.

“Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie,” his voice rumbles as he slips your thighs over his shoulders and shoots you a smouldering glance from between your legs. No one has quoted Shakespeare before in bed. And not a play either, a rather obscure poem. He knows that you know exactly what the quote is; your shared interest in the Bard being something that brought you together in the first place, after having been in each others’ mutual orbit for a few years as you stumbled through your twenties. 

You have certainly never experienced A Midsummer Nights' Dream quite as vividly as you did that night with him last summer. When you sat outside the Regents Open Air Theatre, hidden among a patch of dense foliage, listening to the players bring the play to life, both of you mouthing the words to each other before the line were even spoken, fucking gently and so slow under the blanket of summer stars.

“I can never seem to get enough of you, too,” you whisper back as he crawls back up your body, having made you scream and cry and pull his hair as you writhed under his talented tongue. Never a truer word spoken. This man is engraved in your soul.

And when he takes you to the Globe the next night, you weep as your private tour culminates in his proposal centre stage, just the two of you by flickering torch lights, the tour guide making themselves scarce at the right moment.

I would not wish any companion in the world but you is engraved inside the rings you exchange six months later.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some are related to our posts, some are just twst-related; mostly short ones today.

Starting with a couple very sweet ones..!

Anonymous asked:

Have you guys seen @ao3feed-twistedwonderland's pinned post for July 2024? There is something there that might be interesting to see. Dw, it's good!

Ahhh this is so cool! 😭❤️❤️❤️ Thank you very much for letting us know! And thanks to whoever is running the page/submitting works 🥹

Katsu was very hesitant about sharing this work, so I am very happy that it was received so well.

Anonymous asked:

I love your Touhou crossover!! I immediately liked and retweeted it the second I saw it on my timeline. It's so cute! Please know all your hard work feeding the fandom—your art, Katsu's writing, taking the time to respond to everyone—is very much seen and appreciated!

Anon, this is very kind of you, thank you so much 😔💖💖💖!!

About the Touhou drawing, even though it really underperformed, it did the thing that I really love about obscure crossovers: there were some people who connected the dots and went “ah!”. It ended up being a drawing for a very specific audience lol But I am extremely happy that those who liked it did like it, including you! It means a lot that we still get support on stuff that doesn’t necessarily click with a lot of people.

Katsu said it the other day, but I’ll say it too: we really don’t want to seem ungrateful because all the support we receive is honestly insane and we’re really happy that we could be this self-indulgent about stuff that we post. It motivates both of us a lot, and I feel like no matter how much I thank you all, it’ll never feel like I’ve said it enough time to express just how much we appreciate it properly.

So yeah. Cheesiness aside, as long as it’s fun, let’s keep doing it.

Anonymous asked:

You should definitely draw greenhill getting caught watching porn by gregory (not forcing tho)! Btw I'm in love with your art

I really should, Anon. I want to draw them more, and to be honest I’d love to sketch something for every hc about them that I wrote lol Maybe one day…

Thank you so much for your kind words!! <3

Anonymous asked:

out of all the bottoms who do you think the twins would team up to noncon together

Any of them. They don’t discriminate 😇

Realistically though, those who are the most likely to get Tweel’d are Riddle (if Floyd is in a mood to share, of course), Idia (ultimate victim…better catch him first though), Jamil (another ultimate victim of fishies specifically) and probably Deuce… can’t really explain the last one, he just seem to be a magnet for trouble.

Anonymous asked:

so, moray eels tend to have multiple partners, have you considered a Jade x char x Floyd poly ship? And I’m not talking about a v one either. The idea of Jade and Floyd fighting for dominance is sorta amusing.

I’m pretty sure I talked about this before, but I can’t find the post right now, so I’ll answer again!

Jade and Floyd are interesting because even though they act together a lot of times, they don’t really like being “a set” to each other, so I guess whether they would do something like this or not really depends on a lot of stuff. I do love to sandwich one character between them, and I tend to do it with Idia because of course I do lol But it still doesn’t feel like a poly ship to me, more like two creeps harassing poor guy because he amuses them…

I agree that it would be an interesting dynamic to see Jade and Floyd fighting for a piece of meat someone else’s attention because it would showcase their pettier side, like two kids hissing at each other. But in practice, I don’t really know who would fit to be that one person these two would fight for like that 🤔 They are too good at minding their business when it comes to each other’s love affairs.

I’m waiting for an epiphany on this one.

Anonymous asked:

When you say the freshmen used Idia to satisfy their urges, do you mean they assaulted him on the regular orrr…?

(this is related to this post)

Pretty much! It wouldn’t always end up with them having sex with Idia, but they would still do a lot of sexual stuff: rubbing against him, touching him, humping him, etc.

They used Idia’s hair for that a bunch of times too. 😔

Anonymous asked:

I feel embarrassed when I keep sending so many asks about Silver lol 😭 but your recent post about mob/subs for twst has reminded me again of something I used to think about on the DAILY!!

I loooove the idea of Silver being attacked by fae mobs from the valley sososo much, whether it's just some shopkeeper taking out their long lasting hatred for humans on him, or nobles from the castle overruling Lilia's power to demand that Silver attend them for the night... Ughhhh I think about it so much. He wants to unite humans and fae for peace so badly, but it's FUN to imagine him being a frequent victim of all that fantasy racism UGH UGH

He's not even uncomfortable with the things they want him to do or the ways they try to humiliate him, even though they want him to be.. He's just sad and confused by why they hate him and trying his best to be good so they change their mind 😭

This is a hot idea, Anon! Silver is very good at being a good boy trying to please others, even if they’re clearly just trying to belittle and abuse him. Of course he would tolerate anything, of course he would patiently do anything they ask him to do because changing their minds and appeasing them would be this important to him.

They would probably be shocked by just how much this boy is willing to do.

[finding-w0nd3rland]

"Welcome to Wonderland!"[INTRO POST]

Hello, my name is Javier(He/him).

Welcome to my blog! This blog is dedicated to archiving *most things about Frank Wildhorn's obscure musical, Wonderland. Whether that'd be photos, videos, articles, etc.

*While I will archive most things, I will not archive any reviews of the show or anything related to the UK tour from 2017. Most reviews for the broadway show were infamously incredibly negative about almost every aspect of the show and as someone who's favorite version of the show is the one on broadway, I don't want to sift through all that for my own mental health. For the UK tour, it's just that I despise everything about it and don't like looking at it. The most is that I'll post about the concept drawings for the costumes

"Can I submit things to the archive?"

Yes, of course! If you have anything like photos of different productions, scans of programmes, videos, literally anything! You can either dm me or use the submission feature.

I will try to consistently update this blog as there is so much Wonderland things out there but I am a college student so that might be hard

I hope you are interested enough in following the blog to see all the cool, interesting things I have found and will find about this underappreciated musical.