#but here it's more akin to paradise to me

[questionable-idea]

"ooo i hate the summer it's so hot and sunny" well excuse me while i go practice photosynthesis you vampire bitch

[futureplayboibunnie]

Aphrodesiacs Pt.2

Miguel O’Hara x fem! spidey! reader

You and Miguel O’Hara were bitten by the same spider…what could possibly happen?

y’all are wild. my wish is your command. i HAVE to make a part 3 now fr.

this is so NSFW and i’m too lazy to do any warnings, just 18+ (i’m being so serious deadass)

The way you said “I don’t care” made Miguel’s chest cave into his insides, he shuddered, gaping at you with a blank and indiscernable look that seemed akin to that of a deer in headlights. You didn’t know what you were talking about. You didn’t know what you were asking from him. He was being coaxed into paradise, lured away from any sort of reason. He stared at you vacantly, eyes wide and wild.

You could see that he was having a prolonged and probably bloody war in his mind over a decision that could effect so many different aspects of your lives. Miguel was a reliable man with many people he had to be worrying about and controlling, he shouldn’t be able to give in like this.

But you made it very clear: you simply didn’t care.

He tried so hard though, to not give in. To put morality in front of his desires that were barking at him like a pack of dogs filled to the brim with rabies. Miguel’s talons ripped through his fingers and his eyes quickly flicked to the sudden emergence, he couldn’t control the way his body was reacting. Your demeanour changed and it was like a switch flipped in your face, instead of blinking up at him like a small dog that had been kicked, your eyes squinted. You flashed him a come-hither look, tilting your chin alongside that meddling sly smile. Inviting him. Challenging him.

Miguel furrowed his eyebrow and you scoffed, taking a few confident strides backwards, your hands fluffing up your hair. He swallowed, a little puzzled at what you were about to do but insatiably curious nontheless. You bit your lip and giggled.

“Come on Miguel…I’m right here…Waiting….Looking like this…” You said completely bemused, teasing him out of any semblance of sanity he had left. Your hands toyed with the zipper or your suit before you yanked it down and slithered out of the constricting material. You were bare and naked in front of him, part of him wanted to rub his bare fists to his eyes. Your body wasn’t even inviting him at this point, it was begging him. The back of your thighs met with the cool glass of his desk, you perched yourself up on it, leaning back on your hands, showing off your assets under your clothing. He groaned at the sight of your tits. Jesus, more than a fucking handful, well, for any other man anyway. Miguel was always a different beast entirely.

“You know you want it. Don’t make me wait for it. We both know you’re not capable of it.” You purred, completely happy with yourself. You shimmied out of your underwear and you spread your legs wider, revealing just how wet and just how aroused you were. “Come on….This was designed to happen. Did you really think you could avoid this for any longer?” You raised an eyebrow. “Is it that easy of you to think of me like this? I know how bad you want to cum all over me and I might even let you.” You bore your fangs and that was it for him.

Miguel’s eyes shot open and gleamed a blood red, crescents forming in his eyes as he glared at you. He really couldn’t stop himself. He tried to hard but it all proved to be pointless. He felt like a man broken down, but all he could be right now was full of lust and rage. Miguel lunged at you, one taloned hand wrapping around your neck and the other spreading your legs wider as he settled between them. He then reached down on the floor to grab your underwear. He pushed you down harshly on his desk, looming over you and then stuffed those barely there panties down your throat.

“I’ll fuck you how I see fit, we clear?” He grunted like a wild animal and you nodded your head, eyes wide and guileless, a little taken aback. He was being unkind and he liked it. He revelled in it.

“Mmmphh…” You struggled out against the fabric that was lodged down your throat.

“I’m going to breed you until you can’t stand up.” He snarled, his breath strained and heavy and he felt your legs tremble as he-

“Miguel? Are you even listening?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, he was more focused on his zoning out than he was on you and it just made you even more irate. “Hey! Listen to me.” You smacked him across the face and he felt a sharp jolt of pain that teathered him back to reality.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He gritted through clenched teeth, completely and utterly furious that you slapped him and that you pulled him away from his alarmingly lifelike fantasy.

“I’m going to fix this, one way or the other with or without you.” You scowled at him before you walked off in the other direction and out of his eyeline

Miguel was stunned, he lost himself so quickly it was like a compelling force lulled him, his thoughts were becoming more and more realistic, preying on his weakness. He had to fist his hands to make sure he could still feel physical brute pain again, his fangs and talons suddenly emerged and he was losing every possible sense of sanity and good will that was being held hostage inside of him. He was darkened and ashen. He was becoming more and more cruel and unfeeling with every single thought of you.

-

Miguel threw his pillow to the wall in a frenzy, the sheer force of the throw made a crack form on the wall. It was 4 in the morning and he was desperate for some sleep, some peace from these desires and urges to do something normal: like fucking sleep. The side of his head was hanging off the edge of his bed and a frown settled upon his face. You were right. This was not manageable.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he felt you ontop of him, bouncing and creaming on his cock, riding him. He wanted to feel your skin, pull you up and down on him and feel you throw your head back at how big he was as you struggled to even make him fit in and out. Miguel groaned and raked a hand over his face to muffle it, his fangs were dripping venom and his dick was threatening to snap in half. He could fuck his fist and satiate whatever was in him when he wasn’t banging another random girl, but he still felt guility over it. At this point there was nothing else he could do.

Miguel’s hand travelled lower and lower until he reached his rock hard dick. Fucking hell, he felt like a teenager thinking about a naked woman for the first time. He sighed heavily as he let his mind wander.

“You’re all I think about.” You’d whisper in his ear as you grinded on him. “God, you’re all I think about.” You’d whimper. “Too much- Miguel…too much.” You’d drawl, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he felt you tighten and tense up already. “Too big.” He’d make it fit, make you take it, make you cry.

Miguel whispered profanities as his fist pumped faster and faster, his imagination running wild with him. His breathing became more shallow and ragged as he felt himself getting closer. Before he knew it, he came all over his fingers. Fuck. If he came this fast just thinking about you, he winced at the idea of cumming even faster when he was actually in you. No. He pushed the thought away. He wouldn’t let that happen. He shouldn’t.

You on the other hand didn’t feel guilty at all. You fucked yourself with your fingers furiously, trying to fill in for something that another man couldn’t fix, that your own fingers couldn’t fix- but you had to live in delusion and pretend that it helped to some degree. It didn’t at all. You arched your back, feeling nothing bur frustration and heat as only Miguel clouded your mind.

“I’m never going to be finished with you.” He’d promise, eyes wild and glassy. “I’ll pound you until you’re begging for my cum. I’ll make you fucking guzzle it.” He’d stick his fingers down your throar, teasing you with his talons and then plunge his fingers into your sopping pussy. “I’ll make it hurt even more when you’re on your knees.” He’d lick his fangs as he’d watch your body shake and tremble beneath him, laughing at you.

A moan ripped out of your throat as you finished. Nothing changed though. Nothing changed. You weren’t satisfied. You seriously wanted to cry, you were in heat and using other people, using your fingers seemed to make everything worse.

-

AHAHA i felt like i lowkey just blue ballsed you all again LOL

taglist (giggles): @thel0velykey190 @scaleniusrm @drefear @imkikibtw @tbeanie3 @spxctorsslxt @saturnknows

[shootingstarwritings]

Body a Day #8: Football

Coach Bryce could feel his hair turning gray as he thought about the team’s current dilemma. “It’s a real shitshow,” he sighed, looking over to gauge the reaction of his beautiful coworker, Sharon Fletcher; she was a renowed researcher at the university and the target of the coach’s heart.

Ever since the two of them had met, Coach Bryce had tried to ask her out for some kind of date, but she was either oblivious or uninterested. However, such a cold reaction only served to fuel Coach Bryce’s passion.

Today, Sharon was once again uncaring to Coach Bryce’s bemoaning. She simply unzipped her lunch-bag and pulled out her meal. Bryce spoke again, voice just a tiny bit louder so she could definitely hear, “All of my players, suspended. Can you believe it?”

Finally, Sharon’s gaze met the coach’s. “All of them? Oh wow, I knew that they had done something wrong in that party last week, but I had no idea it was something of that magnitude.”

“Yeah, well… can’t say they don’t deserve it. But we’ve got a game coming up, so we’re gonna have to just concede it,” said Coach Bryce. He inwardly smiled to himself as he saw the normally stoic Sharon’s expression squeeze into a look of genuine sympathy. At least he had that small comfort in such turbulent times.

However, Sharon’s expression quickly turned into something akin to a predatory grin. A shiver went down the coach’s spine as she began to titter. “Tell me something, Coach Bryce,” she said, leaning in to whisper into his ear. “Can I trust you to keep a secret…? And also sign an NDA beforehand? I think I have a solution that’ll make both you and the Dean happy.

Coach Bryce, neck sweaty and goosebumps running down his arms, just said, “I-I’ll do whatever you want.”

~o~

The Delphi Project was the university’s pride and joy. It was also the most highly-guarded secret the university had. “Delphi was where Apollo’s oracle rested and delivered her visions of the future. It was believed to have been the center of the world by the Ancient Greeks, and…” Sharon continued the history lesson, but Coach Bryce soon stopped listening. Instead, he fumbled around with the buttons of the uncomfortable lab coat he had been given prior to entering. Not only that but the goggles were annoying as well.

“Please do not remove that,” said Sharon with a tight tone and a forced smile. “Lab policies, as I’m sure you’re aware. Right, coach?” Embarrassed, Coach Bryce gave a grunt of affirmation, and Sharon continued the tour. She continued to speak some nonsense or another before stopping in front of a large machine with two pods that resembled tanning booths connected to it. “The Delphi Project concerns itself primarily with human consciousness. Essentially, it is the next step to reaching the digitization and transfer of ‘the soul.’ Some of us here even believe that this is how humanity can reach this place called ‘Paradise,’ or ‘Nirvana.’”

“Oh yeah, heard of their music once or twice," said Coach Bryce, enthusiastic now that he could participate in the discussion. "Dunno if it’s my cup o’ Joe, to be honest, but to each their own!” he said with boisterous laughter.

Sharon’s smile seemed to grow even tighter and her voice became the tiniest bit more strained as she spoke. “Right. Well, as I was saying, the purpose of this machine is the transfer of consciousness. While we have been able to digitize and transfer the human consciousness—the soul, as some would call it—we haven’t been able to find any sort of machine with the space large enough to store it. Nothing… except for another human vessel.”

In other words, the only thing that could be transferred is one person to another. It took a few more explanations for Coach Bryce to understand that, but he got the basic idea. Once he understood that, he could guess what was Sharon’s plan.

“So what you want to do is transfer other people into the bodies of my team, so technically we can still play while still punishing the knuckleheads.” Technical or scientific knowledge wasn’t his forte, but his mind was still crafty and strategic. Once he understood all the pieces on the table, he could put them all together quickly. “Will the Dean even agree to this? Seems… kinda risky. And will my players be okay once this is all over?”

Sharon smile sweetly and assured him that all tests have shown that both parties have suffered no side-effects from the experiments they’ve done. “However, if there is even a single dissenting voice, we will not go through with the experiment. That last thing we would want to do is carry this out without anyone’s explicit consent. We are strict with ethics here. As for the Dean, I believe I can convince her. Delphi is our pride and joy, even if we can’t be out and proud about it. Of course, there is one more caveat to this whole thing you must agree to, coach.”

~o~

To say that the players were shocked and horrified would be an understatement. Coach Bryce gathered them all in the locker room to break the news, which only made their voices even more irritating as they echoed in the small room. Some of the players cried foul, others argued that his was invasive to their rights, while a few let out a few swears about letting a bunch of losers parade around in their bodies. “All right, that’s enough!” Coach Bryce shouted. “I know it’s a weird prospect, but if we want even the slightest chance of making play-offs, we can’t afford to forfeit this next game.”

As always, it was easy for the coach to rile up his players. None of them dared to argue when Coach Bryce brought up the incident that put them in this Catch-22. “And, if I’m being honest… I’ll be in the same boat as y’all,” he said, looking down to avoid his team’s shocked looks as he recounted what Sharon had told him.

“Day of the game, I’ll have to borrow your body in order to properly observe the test subjects during our most important trial run. Don’t worry, you’ll only lose your body for a weekend, at most,” Sharon had said with a most bewitching smile.

Thinking about her tone and voice as she said all of that, Coach Bryce couldn’t help but grow the slightest bit aroused. He hoped that none of his players could see how flushed he was recalling that night. Of course, he also omitted that last part—there was no need for the team to know how uneven the whole deal actually was.

“Even after all of this, we’re still a team!” Coach Bryce suddenly cried out. Not only did he need to convince those last few fence-sitters, but he also needed to distract himself before he got hard in front of all the players. He hadn’t been able to get off properly ever since a messy break-up with his former girlfriend, so Sharon’s siren voice kept bouncing around his skull.

A nice speech would be a good distraction for now. He continued to bellow out platitudes about staying together and how they were all in one boat at the end of the day. “So, please consider. This may be our chance to not throw away everything we’ve worked all semester for. Think about it. Later… we’ll put it to a vote. If we come to a unanimous vote, we’ll go through with it. So if anyone feels uncomfortable, we’ll decline and throw the match.” He retreated back to his office and took a deep breath. Already, there was a plan forming in his head.

When Coach Bryce returned to take the vote, he made sure that the votes could not be anonymous. Just by glancing at the expressions on the players’ faces, he could tell that the majority was willing to go through with it, but there were a few sparse dissenters spread throughout the crowd. However, when he asked, “All in favor?” everyone raised their hands. The peer pressure assured that their fate was sealed. Coach Bryce nodded and told the team that he’d email them Sharon’s instructions.

Later that night, Coach Bryce jerked himself off as he imagined the idea of Sharon being inside of him.

~o~

Game night came and went, and nobody in the audience nor the opposing team suspected any foul play. All the players performed as well as they usually did, baring a minor hiccup or two. The only anomaly that anyone noticed was Coach Bryce, usually watching with a red-face and barking orders at the team, was perfectly stone-faced the entire match, even when the team just barely clutched out a win.

Later, Dr. Sharon Fletcher looked down Bryce’s thick, hairy hands. Due to the various tests they’ve run with Delphi, being a male wasn’t new to her, but she was still surprised by just how masculine the coach was. “Ah, I got distracted again,” she said to herself as she returned to the report on her laptop. It was difficult to type at the speeds she was comfortable with, but that was the price to pay for valuable data at such a close distance.

“Overall, subjects found themselves quickly adapting to their new forms, which supports to the hypothesis that muscle memory is one of the most important factors during learning. It’s possible that…” Coach Bryce’s thick, masculine fingers stopped and stared at the screen. It was one of Sharon’s most frustrating part of being a scientist. She loved getting her hands on interesting data and interpreting it, but it was when she had to stop and write down her thoughts that she found herself unable to commit for long periods of time. “This will revolutionize the field of learning, but…” She let out a sigh before packing up her laptop to leave. Coach Bryce’s office, with all of its football posters, brights flags, and pictures was not the ideal environment to sit down and type out her reports. She would continue in the library tomorrow. With that settled, she left the office and began the trek to her home for the weekend.

Just before Sharon transferred into Bryce’s body, he had given her a copy of the key to his apartment. “It’d be odd if they saw my entering and leaving your home,” he had told her. Well, he had elaborated on the point for quite a while, Sharon hadn’t been interested in his hearing his logic. Her thoughts then and even now were, Why bother caring about who sees you spending time with you? It was nothing to do with how well you can do your job.

Either way, Sharon took the bus to and allowed his muscular legs to carry her to Bryce’s apartment. She thought about it as another opportunity to further her research, but there was something so fascinating about just moving about with Coach Bryce. His natural, mature gait was addicting. Just for research’s sake (her own fun), she continued to walk around the hallways and even up the stairs, forgoing the elevator. Even after climbing several stories, she didn’t even feel the least bit tired. In her old body, she would’ve been halfway dead and anemic by the time she reached Bryce’s apartment, but now she was hardly out of breath. Fascinating, she thought to herself, mistaking her lust for curiosity.

Without thinking, Sharon made her way to Bryce’s apartment and began to shed off his clothes until her borrowed body was clad in nothing but a shirt and a pair of boxers. Oh, huh… I hadn’t meant to take off so much of his clothes, she thought to herself, but her body had moved without her knowledge. Still, Sharon saw no reason to not allow it to continue. It was better to allow the body to continue its natural habits.

It was for that reason that, after drawing a bath, Sharon dipped Coach Bryce’s into the bathtub and relaxed his sore muscles. “Phew… oh, this feels so nice,” said Sharon. After such a long day of experiment, research, and overworking herself, it was nice to relax in a bath. If she could, she would spend all day in a bath and enjoy this nice, burly body. She raised his arms and rested them behind his head, apparently a natural position for the coach to be in with a bath. With soap and a loofah sponge, Sharon explored Bryce’s body. His personality wasn’t anything special, but she enjoyed the way that his body moved whenever he worked out in the gym or in the field outside in the lawn. The sweat dripping from his bearded chin was nice. Usually, Sharon wasn’t really interested in dating men, but their bodies were nice to look at.

And, as she groped and massaged various parts of Bryce’s body, Sharon realized just how nice it was to touch them like this. “Ohh… ohh…! Oh my god!” Somehow, this was the most sensitive body she had ever transferred into. Was the coach simply that much more sensitive than the other hosts, or was the process itself magnifying the sensitivity to touch? Sharon’s scientific mind was going on overdrive while just about every part of her was busy indulging in Coach Bryce’s appealing and overly sexual body. “C-Coach Bryce, y-you’re so… ngh… ahh…!” The moans that escaped his lips drove Sharon insane as well. It became a feedback loop: Sharon, hoping to draw out more data and more moans from Coach Bryce groped his body, which only drew out more automatic moans from her borrowed lungs.

It was also the strength and the sheer amount of command that Sharon had. The thick, almost sausage-like, fingers and powerful core and moved at her command. Coach Bryce was like a glove for her to put on, nothing more. The power behind it was intoxicated. Each muscle obeyed Sharon, and it was because she deserved it.

Coach Bryce’s body stiffened as it felt the inevitable happen. The waves of pleasure that nearly threaten to shatter her very mind. Sharon grit her borrowed teeth, groans of guttural and masculine ecstasy only just barely restrained for the first few torrents of cum that launched high into the air. However, Sharon could not contain it for much longer. She tilted her head back, tongue sticking out as Coach Bryce’s hips thrust on their own as the last of the world-shattering climax erupted through the jiggling, hairy frame.

This is the first time I’ve ever masturbated with such intensity, Sharon thought to herself. She had explored the other test subjects—other professors and coaches at the univerity—and Coach Bryce was definitely her favorite. She had to test out just how and why his body was so sensitive. Yes, she needed more tests. She needed to take over the bodies of all her previous test subjects and continue to explore and compare the pleasure that came from each of them. Only then would her hunger for pleasure and data—two things that were basically the same to her—would be satiated.

Of course, that should be easy to accomplish. Just about every person in campus owes me a favor, and the Dean will certainly enjoy this delicious data—especially if I record it all for her. I wonder how much freedom I can have if I offer to give the Dean such an opportunity? I’m sure she’ll love it now that we know it’s perfectly safe.

Sharon sighed and sank even further into the warm, now slightly milkier, water. Her new muscles certainly seemed to enjoy the sensation. Now all she had to do was to just enjoy the weekend in the perfect body for it.

[mrsshabana]

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟖: 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary You are one of Douma's most loyal followers, and he decides that some affection from you is exactly what Gyutaro needs. But Gyutaro is worried because he has no experience in this department, so Douma steps in to guide him. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x Douma x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex, creampie, manipulation. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.5k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist

“Oh Gyutaro, you are going to love this,” Douma chimes excitedly as he leads upper moon six through the elaborately decorated halls. 

Gyutaro curiously follows Douma, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“But I did! This is a special occasion!” he squeals, “It’s not every day that we get a new upper moon!”

With Douma’s guidance, Gyutaro and Daki were able to quickly rise through the ranks. But of course, only Gyutaro was the true upper moon six. While he worked hard to become stronger, Daki was too busy terrorizing weak humans. And when a real challenge came along, she went crying to Gyutaro for help. 

Gyutaro takes his new rank very seriously, so he doesn’t want to waste time with meaningless gifts and celebrations. But he respects Douma, so he puts up with his shenanigans. 

When the upper moons arrive at a door at the end of the hall, Douma puts his hand on the handle and smirks deviously before twisting the knob and pulling the door open.

Gyutaro’s eyes widen at the sight before him. A beautiful young woman wearing elegant robes with seemingly nothing beneath them. 

“A human?” he murmurs, “But why?”

The smirk on Douma’s face widens, “But for pleasure of course.”

Gyutaro shakes his head and holds his hands up defensively, “N-no, I don’t need things like that. I-”

“Shhhh,” Douma shushes him before he can finish his sentence, “I know what your weakness is, Gyutaro. You’re lonely,” his gaze softens as he looks into Gyutaro’s eyes, “Painfully, painfully lonely. And I’ve given you the solution right here.”

Gyutaro clenches his teeth and shouts, “I’m not lonely! I have my sister! She’s all I need!”

“Oh really? Are you sure?” He leans in closer to Gyutaro and whispers, “I think we both know that there are needs that siblings cannot fulfill.”

Gyutaro frowns and looks down at the ground, letting Douma’s words sink in. He hates to admit it, but it’s true. The connection he shares with his sister is immeasurable, but there are times when he wishes he had more. Wishes he could be loved in ways that he thought weren’t meant for men like him. He was always too ugly, too cruel, too repulsive. Even before turning into a demon, he never would have imagined having something akin to romance in his life. 

“Fine,” his voice cracks as he gives in, “But… I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry, Gyutaro,” Douma grins and puts a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

You curiously watch as the two demons approach you. Scared but also excited for what is to come next.

Ever since you accidentally walked in on Douma devouring a human corpse, he’s been trying to figure out what to do with you. Lucky for him, you are a devout member of the Eternal Paradise Cult. So even something as shocking as seeing your leader eating human flesh couldn’t sway you from your faith. Your loyalty was to Douma and the cult, first and foremost. 

At first Douma was going to dispose of you himself, but you were too beautiful to just kill like that. He had to come up with some way he could use you. And what better use for a cute human woman than to give some much needed affection to the demon that needs it most? And not just any demon, a demon that he takes great pride in teaching and guiding. 

He knew you would be perfect for Gyutaro. Hoping that having a beautiful woman by his side could boost his confidence. So much so that perhaps he wouldn’t let his insecurities hinder him in combat anymore. That was the hope at least.

Douma had already made you aware of what was supposed to take place tonight. He told you that you would be introduced to a dear friend of his, and that it would be your duty from now on to serve him.

Keeping his words in mind, you smile and bow politely as the demons approach you. 

Both men take a seat in front of you, surrounded by fine silks and embroidered pillows. 

“This is Y/N,” Douma says with a smile. “Pretty isn’t she?”

Gyutaro nods shyly, “Y-yeah… she is.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gyutaro,” your soft voice is like a melody to him. He almost chokes hearing such kind words directed towards him.

“See? She’s incredibly obedient!” Upper moon two says with glee, “Why don’t you try touching her?”

Gyutaro’s eyes go wide and a blush creeps onto his cheeks, “Touch her?” He gulps and looks at your sitting form. With a shaky hand he gently slides his hand under your robe and touches your thigh, “She’s so soft…”

“Try touching her here,” Douma suggests as he takes Gyutaro’s other hands and guides him to your chest. Softly cupping Gyutaro’s hand over your breast, “See? She likes it.” 

A soft whimper escapes your lips and your face heats up as Gyutaro touches you. 

“C-can you show me what else she likes?” Gyutaro says shyly, looking at Douma for guidance. 

Douma’s lips curl into a deceitful grin, “Oh but of course Gyutaro! It is my job to guide you after all.” He wastes no time slipping his clawed finger under your robe and slipping it off of your body. Leaving yourself bare, the lustful gaze of the upper moons fixated on your body. 

Gyutaro’s eyes are filled with nervousness and excitement, while Douma’s eyes are much more calm and calculating, though he looks just as eager. 

The rainbow eyed demon gently pushes you down to lay on your back and carefully parts your legs. Exposing your most sensitive area to their hungry eyes. Gyutaro stares in awe, his cock already rock hard and jutting out under his baggy pants.

“Right here,” Douma glides his finger down your slit, “she likes to be touched here.” He uses his fingers to part your slick lips, “Try touching her with your mouth.” 

“My mouth?” Gyutaro says in confusion.

“Yes! Go ahead and taste her, I assure you she’ll taste delicious.”

Gyutaro doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s so eager to play with his new toy that he acts without thinking. Moving to lay on his stomach, and position his head between your legs. He gets right into it and begins to sloppily lap at your pussy. 

“ Ah! ” you gasp at the suddenness of his actions. Your instincts tell you to close your legs but you fight off the urge, knowing that you must obey the orders from Douma no matter what.

But luckily for you he intervenes, “Slow down Gyutaro,” he chuckles, “try softly licking her here.” He gently tilts Gyutaro’s head upwards until his tongue hits your clit.

Gyutaro holds onto your thighs as he slowly licks your clit and rubs circles into it with his tongue. Looking up for your approval, he’s pleased to hear your soft moans and to feel your body relax under him. 

While Gyutaro is getting acquainted with your pussy, Douma figures he might as well have some fun too. Moving to lay beside you, he takes off his shirt and leans towards you. 

“Don’t worry Y/N,” he coos, “I’m going to teach Gyutaro how to take care of you.” 

“Thank you, Lord Douma,” you moan.

Douma hums to show he’s pleased with your obedience, then he moves closer to your chest and begins sucking on your pert nipples. Kissing and circling his tongue around one, while his hand plays with the other - gently pinching and tugging.

Gyutaro gains more confidence as he hears the sweet sounds you’re making for him, “She’s so wet,” he says between kisses and licks. 

Douma momentarily takes his attention away from your breasts to take a look at your wet cunt. “Wow Gyutaro! Look how wet you made her,” he cheers, “You’re learning so quickly!” 

“Does this mean…” he trails off, looking away - too embarrassed to say it out loud. 

“That she wants you to fuck her?” Douma verbalizes exactly what he had been thinking, “That’s exactly right!” 

Gyutaro moves his face away from your core and wipes his mouth with his hand, “B-but… I’ve never done anything like that before. What if I mess up? Or…” he trails off again but takes a deep breath to recompose himself, “Or break her?”

“There’s no reason to worry, Gyutaro, I am here with you,” Douma coos, “And I will guide you the entire time.” 

Gyutaro is a panting mess, staring at you with a lustful gaze as you can see his cock throbbing under his pants. While Douma gives you a look of reassurance, one that gives you a sense of tranquility. 

“Go on and get on top of her,” Douma instructs, holding Gyutaro by the shoulder and guiding him to position himself on top of you. Which he promptly does, crawling on top of you and caging you beneath him. He’s seen humans having sex in the district before, so he thinks he knows what to do next. 

He pulls down his pants and grabs the base of his cock, gliding his tip along your slick folds. “C-can I put it in, Y/N?”

You’re so surprised that he even bothered to ask that it takes you a moment to respond, “Of course you can.” You smile sweetly at him, cupping his cheek with your hand. 

Your gentle touch makes his head feel fuzzy and he’s unable to think about anything other than being inside of you. So he pushes his hips forward and tries to slide into you, but he can’t seem to find your entrance. Aimlessly pushing into you, resulting in whines of discomfort to leave your lips. 

“Be careful with her, she’s fragile. Let me show you.” Douma grabs Gyutaro by the hips and tilts his body until he is properly angled towards your entrance. Then he slowly pushes Gyutaro’s hips forward - his aching length finally sliding into your tight entrance. 

Gyutaro’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head as he lets out a moan of satisfaction, “ F-fuuuck! She-she feels so warm.” 

“The intimate embrace of a woman is truly unmatched, I knew you’d like her,” Douma grins, seemingly pleased to see Gyutaro enjoying his gift. “Start off slow, you don’t want to hurt her.” He keeps a hand on Gyutaro’s hip, guiding his thrusts to a slow pace. You can feel that Gyutaro is aching to just fuck you as hard as he can, but Douma is keeping him in line. Guiding his movements to ensure not only your comfort, but a better result in the end. 

“Pay attention to her, Gyutaro. Listen to her moans and look closely at her body, you can speed up once she’s ready.”

Gyutaro nods and continues at the steady pace Douma had set for him. Groans of pleasure escaping him as he plunges his cock into your velvety walls.

Watching you get fucked by his apprentice makes his cock twitch. He thought he would be able to ignore it, but the temptation is too much to bear. There’s no harm in indulging right? He might as well use you while he can. So, Douma pulls down the front of his pants and languidly strokes his length as the sound of your moans fills his ears. 

You’re so busy being pounded by Gyutaro that you don’t notice it at first. But when Douma’s cock suddenly appears hovering over your face, there’s no missing it. The size is similar to Gyutaro, long and girthy with large veins decorating the shaft. Though Douma’s looks more human than Gyutaro’s. 

“Hey!” Gyutaro growls, “She’s my present.”

“Come on Gyutaro, I’m just trying to show you how it’s done,” he lies through his teeth, “Don't you want to know how to receive oral sex? I’m doing this for you after all.”

Gyutaro scowls and looks up at him, momentarily putting his thrusts to a halt, “Fine.”

Douma smiles innocently before looking down at you - placing his cock against your lips, “Open wide, dear.” 

With a nod, you open your mouth wide and tilt your head back. Douma slides his thick length down your throat as Gyutaro goes back to abusing your pussy. 

“ Ahh that’s it, good girl,” Upper moon two moans as you take him into your mouth. He begins slowly thrusting into you, you now having to take double the abuse. 

Gyutaro picks up the pace as jealousy begins to rise within him. He wishes that was his cock inside of your mouth right now. But he’d never admit that watching you take a dick down your throat actually turns him on. He grabs your hips tightly, and thrusts into you more aggressively. The sound of skin slapping and the groans of pleasure from the two upper moons fill the room. 

Tears roll down your cheeks as you’re filled with an overwhelming pleasure. Gyutaro is ramming into your sweet spot while Douma is ramming into the back of your throat, only giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before he forces you to take him again. 

“You’ll be a good little pet for Gyutaro won’t you?” Douma teases.

“Mm mm hm,” you hum. The vibrations from your throat bring another wave of pleasure through Douma.

“ Ahh , you’ll pleasure him as good as you are to me right now, won’t you?”

“Mm hm!” you nod eagerly. At this point your legs are trembling and you fervently suck on him. One of your hands is holding onto Douma’s thigh, while the other is wrapped around Gyutaro’s wrist. Both men picking up their pace. But you are the first one to reach your peak.

Your gummy walls tighten around Gyutaro as you gush all over his pelvis. Moaning and gasping around Douma’s throbbing cock, that threatens to spill at any moment. 

The sensations of your orgasm quite literally milk Gyutaro dry. He’s quick to follow you, moaning and tilting his head back as he fills you full of hot sticky cum. His black nails digging into your flesh as he shoots rope after rope into you.

And finally, Douma cums down your throat. Moaning and grinning as he’s filled with a sense of satisfaction. His dick twitches as he empties his load into you, staying so deep down your throat that you have no other choice but to swallow. 

“Great job to both of you,” Douma says with an affirming smile as he slides his length out of your mouth. 

You’re barely able to process anything that he’s saying. All you can do is pant and tremble beneath the two demons. Drool rolling down your chin, and cum seeping out of your cunt. 

Gyutaro finally slides out of you and gently places you back down on the pillows. He tenderly runs his thumb along your hip.

“Still think you don’t need her?” Douma asks with a cocky grin.

“Fine… I guess I could find some use for her,” Gyutaro blushes, “Thanks for the present.”

[tyrantisterror]

The Fuck's Up With Mammon?

Ok, so, in the grand history of Christian folklore, there are dozens of different ways that the society of Hell and its various demons can be structured. One of the most popular is The Seven Princes of Hell, which divides Hell between seven ruling demons, each of which represents the seven deadly sins (and is opposed by saints who represent the seven heavenly virtues). It's fun because it's got a solid theological theme and not too many working parts - seven is a more digestible number than nine or, like, however the fuck your sort out all the demons in the Lesser Key of Solomon, each of which has some arbitrary number of legions of demon soldiers under their command, and the deadly sins theme gives you a clear way to make each prince's domain stand out.

(Obviously I'm a bit biased here, since I used a modified version of the Seven Princes of Hell for my own story about demons, but still, I think the point stands.)

Now, who the seven princes of Hell are can differ. Binsfield, the guy who coined the name, lists them as follows:

Lucifer, Prince of Pride

Mammon, Prince of Greed

Asmodeus, Prince of Lust

Leviathan, Prince of Envy

Beelzebub, Prince of Gluttony

Satan, Prince of Wrath

Belphegor, Prince of Sloth

However, there are earlier versions of the seven princes that rearrange things. Beelzebub has been given the sin of Envy at times, Belphegor has been given gluttony, and both Belial and Abaddon/Apollyon have taken the role of prince of Sloth. With me so far?

Right, ok, so here's the thing: ALL of these demons have shit going on in folklore outside of their role as potential princes of Hell. Well, all except one. To wit:

Lucifer, despite being a translation error, quickly became the front-runner in the grand race of "Who is THE Devil in the Bible, i.e. the leader of Hell itself?" It helps that said translation error was made by King James in his version of the Bible, which, while a terrible translation, is an amazing piece of poetry in its own right and beloved by many Christians because of it. Notably, Lucifer is The Devil of Paradise Lost, which is up there with Dante's The Divine Comedy in being one of the most important and influential depictions of Hell of all time.

Beelzebub is one of the oldest demons in all of demonology, predating Christianity itself, and is pretty close to Lucifer in the race for "Who is THE Devil," with arguably a better claim to the position despite Lucifer being the more popular candidate for the role.

Satan gets kudos for being one of the few devils that's ACTUALLY named in the Bible... even if it's less a name in context and more a title akin to "prosecuting attorney." Because of that, he's arguably got the greatest claim to being The Devil, and in most works where a different devil gets the title, Satan is treated as one of his alternate titles anyway.

Asmodeus was set up in folklore to be The Devil, and has a pretty strong claim to the title because of that. He's also clearly what Dante based his description of the devil's physical appearance on, with his three different colored heads and all, and that gives him some major props.

Leviathan is also a rare demon who gets mentioned in the Bible, although in the Bible it's pretty clear he's not a demon but rather a big sea monster, and a lot of Christian folklore treats him as such instead of as a demon. So that's a pretty big "other thing going on" for him - sometimes he's not even a demon, but more of a godzilla.

Belphegor was mentioned in a good number of texts predating the concept of arranging demons by the seven deadly sins, and while he was mostly a minor demon (akin to most of the other residents of the Lesser Key of Solomon, like Shax or Marchosias or what have you), that's still something. Becoming a Prince of Hell gave him a greater claim to fame, but still, he had a career before it.

Abaddon/Apollyon is one of those demons whose name is ALSO a synonym for Hell itself, which is a pretty big deal. He can be a demon, or he can be hell, or he can be BOTH, like in the takes where Hell has a literal mouth to swallow sinners and is portrayed as kind of a living monster in its own right. He also got to be The Devil in Pilgrim's Progress, and that's pretty cool.

Belial is one of the absolute earliest demons, having been cast as The Devil in the Book of Enoch, which is kind of the O.G. Abrahamic demon story (as much as any written story could be the source of it, anyway). Thus, while Belial may not have the most popular claim to being The Devil, he arguably has the best claim to it, or at least the earliest. Also, Belial is just as often depicted as a lady demon as he is a male demon, which means Belial is the best candidate for a Princess of Hell.

But that leaves... Mammon. And as far as I can tell in all my research, Mammon's claim to fame is and has always been being the Demon of Greed. Like Lucifer, his existence is owed to a translation of the Bible personifying something that was not originally a person - "mammon" was just supposed to mean money and other material wealth, but then it became, well, Mammon, the demonic personification of Greed.

He's the demon who was made for his sin, rather than being given it after his creation. The only demon whose existence purely hinges on needing a personification of a sin, the only one who has no other shit going on. Lucifer, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, they all have rich histories as demons in folklore, but Mammon? He's just greed.

And that's weird to me. Were there no other, more popular demons who could embody the concept? How does Mammon feel having nothing else to him beyond his sin? It's kinda weird, right?

I've got no greater point to this, I just thought it'd be fun to share.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #54] Surprises

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, car shag!!! bit of a mess really, starluvrs being starluvrs, degradation, praise, creampie, jumping days here and there, we've got places to be!! bad decisions to make!!

notes: leaving u with a lil cliff hanger hehehe

wc: 6K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"No, it's not funny. I'm actually gonna die," Jeongguk groans as your giggle vibrates against his throat. Hair tickling his skin, there's a clumsiness to you both. Are so familiar with one another that it shouldn't be a struggle - and yet neither of you can see to get this right.

"Shush," you laugh, hands desperately struggling with his belt. "It's the angle! Hips up."

"You're on me!" He protests, giggling as his head rests against the back of the chairs. It's dark, and it's cramped, and there's nothing sexy about this.

Or at least there isn't until Jeongguk lifts his hips. You gasp at the sudden movement, his arm wrapped around your back (or, more so, just above your arse) to keep you in place on top of him.

"Fuck-" you yelp in surprise, taken aback by the sudden jolt.

"I think you mean 'fuck, please' ," he quips as if your exclamation had been a request. "I'd really like to. You're the one butchering this."

"Hey!" You defend - and then you're giggling again, even if you are doing far better now that his body is a little straighter, quickly threading the leather through the buckle. His hips sink back down into the seat. The natural motion of your body of his realigns you. Gets your nose right where it belongs next to his. "See," you whisper against his lips. "Wasn't so hard now, was it?"

"Like I said," he flirts back, practically kissing you while brushing his lips against yours. Boundaries don't exist. Your air is his. Your space, body, and innermost desires are all shared willingly. Reciprocally. "I wasn't the one being difficult."

Lips sinking down into his just as an excuse to shut him up, you hum something incoherent.

"What was that?" He purrs. "I'm right?"

"Shut up."

Blazer left in the passenger seat, you're still in your jeans and Jeongguk's tank top.

"Fuck it," you groan, pulling yourself away into the seat next to his. Get the zipper of the jeans open, but before you can even tug the trousers down your legs, Jeongguk's all up in your business again - and who are you to turn away such a loyal customer?

"Gguk," you laugh as his lips find your neck, hand slipping down the front of your trousers. With a gasp, your head tilts back, the pressure of his fingers against the lace of your underwear akin to paradise.

"Yeah?" He teases, knowing the moan of his name was rhetorical.

"Shut up," you moan, as he presses down on your most sensitive of parts.

"Rude," he smirks, then trails his tongue up your neck. Flicks over the lobe of your ear. Sucks. Whispers, "Hips up, baby. Take them off."

You've done this dance with Jeongguk many times, in many precarious places, but none of them have ever been as cramped as his car. The leather of his seats is only lukewarm thanks to the aircon, and there's an acute awareness that anyone could see you right now - but it's late, and it's dark, and you don't really care for anything outside the confines of the steel can you're in.

"I'm trying," you giggle, awkwardly shimmying the materials down your legs. It's not like he's helping. Not when his fingers are toying with the lace of your underwear, lips pressing wet kisses beneath your jaw.

"Wanna fuck you so bad," he lazily admits, then realises maybe he needs to be a bit more proactive in order to get what he wants.

Pulling away from you, Jeongguk frantically pushes his own trousers down. Not off, not entirely - he's still wearing his shoes - but below his knees to give him a little wiggle room. Palms at himself, cock hard beneath his boxers, while his other hand strokes at the curve of your back as you lean down to pull your jeans off at the ankle. Wastes no time pulling you back onto his lap as soon as possible.

"Hi," you whisper, hair falling around his face, engulfing him in everything you are.

"Hey, baby," he whispers back, hands stroking at your waist. There's a warmth to his palms, a strength to the intention with which he touches you. He lets his thumb tuck beneath the material. Strokes against your skin, while his other hand dips to squeeze your ass. You can practically hear him internally whinging about being an ass guy, as if his lips don't start to trail down your neck and to somewhere else entirely . "Come here often?"

Your line of bantering has been well-nurtured by this point. The same jokes, same playful remarks are repeated like comedy specials. Reruns of your favourite shows. Binge-watched. Left to play in the background of menial tasks just to fill the space.

Your fingers weave into his hair as your hips begin to grind against his lap. Encouraging his exploration of your skin, you hum in satisfaction as his lips trail along the neckline of his tank top.

"Once or twice," you tease - which immediately has him pulling back.

"I'm sorry?!" He huffs in fake outrage. There's a grin on his pretty lips despite his furrowed brows. "Once or twice?!"

With a laugh that Jeongguk thinks could make even the coldest of hearts fall in love, you nod as you cup his jaw, resting your forehead to his. "Maybe three times."

"You come here all the time," he whines, the double meaning of your flirt so thinly veiled it may as well not exist.

"Well, I'm not right now, am I?" you challenge.

Hands cupping your ass, Jeongguk gives you a squeeze, then gently spanks your exposed skin. There's a slight jump to your reaction and an incredibly sultry gasp.

Pressing his lips up against yours, Jeongguk reaches between your legs and tugs your panties to the side. Already wet, he knows he could probably just fuck you right now - but he wants you choking on your words.

"Fuck," you whine into his lips. The movement lets his tongue slide against yours, gently stroking until it's all rather undignified. His tongue is in your mouth just like his middle finger is slowly pushing up into your cunt, your hips helping to create a rhythm.

"You wanna fuck me so bad," he smirks against you. Earns himself a pathetic nod from you as your hands tighten in his hair. The tension of your fingers forces his head to tip back, and then you're both gasping in a way that is far too personal for the back of a car. A second finger pushes into you, and the lopsided smirk on Jeongguk's face deepens as your face blossoms with unadulterated pleasure. "Say it, B. Tell me how much you want it."

Hips languidly grinding down as his fingers stroke up against your sweetest spots, all you can manage is a blatant, bratty lie. "Don't wanna fuck you."

"No?" He grins. "Say it, then. Call chess."

Provocative in his instigations, Jeongguk is all cocksure and confident in that boyish way that always makes you wanna rise to his challenge.

Trouble is, to play him at his own game is to lose. You do want to fuck him - and you know that if you try and pretend like you don't, he'll withhold himself from you until you're begging .

"No," you sweetly reply. "I'm doing charity , here. Taking one for the team. You're welcome."

"Charity?" he almost fucking snorts.

"Charity," you nod. "Can't take it back because I'll get bad karma, so it means I have to fuck you."

Jeongguk scoffs, brows furrowed, lips ajar.

"Well, maybe I don't wanna fuck you," he retorts, now.

There's something celestial about Jeongguk in moments like these.

What you're doing together is sordid. Seedy. Nasty, even. The way you want one another in the most immoral of ways is almost embarrassing. He's desperate, yet there's forbearance in the glitter that waltzes around in his dark eyes at the mere sight of you. A tenderness to his pretty pout as he fakes a lousy mood. A lightness to the giggle he hides as it desperately tries to escape.

Nudging your nose up against his, you let your hand sink beneath the waistband of his boxers. Excruciatingly hard, Jeongguk's cock is incapable of fibbing. Moaning ever so gently as you stroke his length, he doesn't object as you adjust your position, while your spare hand tugs at his underwear to free him.

He's really not had much foreplay at all. Just a little bit of grinding and, of course, the things he's done to you - which is enough to get him solid regardless. Part of you thinks it's cruel to skip over a blowjob, but you've got a point to prove.

"Don't lie, baby," you whisper against lips, lining yourself up with him.

The casualness of such an affectionate term makes him fucking twitch. Doesn't think he'll last long at all.

The tip of his thick cock kisses your entrance. Lips ajar, you breathe one another in as you sink down onto his shaft.

It's a slow acceptance of the way he feels inside of you. Something to savour. Something to appreciate. The tightness. The wetness. The warmth.

Eyes closed, Jeongguk is overwhelmed by the stars in his darkened mind.

"Not lying," he eventually husks, head tipping back as you sink down as far as you can - but it's when you drag back up that he really whines. "Oh, fuck ."

"That good?" you softly ask, deliberately sweet in your tone. If his eyes were to open, he'd see the teasing smirk on your lips. You really do revel in his weakness.

Jeongguk nods. Bites down on his bottom lip. Grunts as you push back down. Hands gripping your ass, Jungook leverages a slightly deeper fullness, his needy cock now buried in you. "Fuck. Yeah."

The sensation of him filling you is never new.

Still, it always somehow feels like the first time - and so as much as you wish you could pretend like you are unbothered, you know there's only one thing that will stop you from blurting out pathetic, desperate pleas for him to let you bounce.

So, you kiss him.

Again, this is familiar, but it still always startles him.

He's never liked a pair of lips more, and can't believe he gets to kiss them. Sometimes - much like now - his brain can't comprehend it. Makes him take half a second to actually respond, as if he's giving you a chance to stop. To reevaluate. Is so concerned with making sure you're in control that he forgets he doesn't need to anymore.

Neither of you are the same people you once were.

How could you be?

Your orbits have collided now, quite undeniably.

Life won't ever be the same. It's not like this is a new actualisation you're having as Jeongguk's grip on the soft flesh of your ass tightens, nor is it something you're only just considering as he does, in fact, begin to manipulate your body into moving at a faster pace.

Since the moment you met Jeongguk, all bleary-eyed and bright smiles, even despite the broken heart you were trying to mend, nothing has ever felt like it did before.

Lips strong against yours, he kisses you with such intent that it's almost as if he's making up for lost time. As if he's saying, what took us so long?

Truthfully, you wish you had a good answer for it. Know that you could explain it away with trauma, and indecision, and -fuck it- bad decisions.

It was always the right time, 'cause he's always been the right person. You were just stupid, and he was just scared. Sometimes you swapped roles. Often, you shared them.

"God," he whines into your mouth, his hips jerking up to really make sure you can feel how much he's been craving you. "This cunt - fuck . Your cunt. I fucking love it."

Slowing your hips, nails tight against his shoulders, your pouty lips rest ajar as you pull back to look at him.

His eyes fall on yours; dark, hedonistic, covetous.

You're fragile in comparison; benevolent, pretty, pristine. Chaste in the soft closing of your lips and subsequent widening of your eyes. You beg, "Say it again."

"What?" he smirks, rolling his hips up, revelling in the furrowing of your brows. Adores how dainty your mannerisms have become. Revels in how he knows your pussy is sinfully stretched because of his cock. He's defiling you. Besmirching.

Bringing one of his hands to your front, Jeongguk never loses contact with your body. Strokes up your stomach, over your chest and gently grips around your the base of your throat.

"Huh, baby?" He taunts. "What?"

Gasping, you don't even get a chance to respond before Jeongguk is tugging down the front of his vest, hooking it beneath your tits. Carelessly does the same thing with the lace cup of your bra. A crack of skin meets skin, and a whine from your dulcest lips echoes in the car; a short, sharp spank delivered to your tits.

"Gguk," you mumble as your body recoils from the impact, only for his lips to wrap around your hard nipple within the same breath. "Oh, fuck."

There's no denying Jeongguk has complete control over your body in moments like these.

Pulling on your waist, Jeongguk forces a division between your bodies. He's breathless. Just looks at you. Stares. Obsesses. Finally, he does as you ask of him, as he says, "What do you want me to say? How much I love this cunt? You know I do. You know I'd fuck you all day, every day if I could, B. Seven days a week." His hips gently begin to pulse as his grip on your waist encourages you to move in a similar, lazy fashion. "I want you all the time."

Hands to his cheeks, there's an impatience to the way you pull him for the deepest of kisses. Waste no time stroking your tongue against his, getting lost in everything he is. Losing yourself. Not caring to leave a trail. Never want to be found. Want to stay with him forever.

It's a long time.

But what else is there for a star to do, other than shine for an eternity for the sake of those who adore them?

The pace of your hips as you ride him, not caring for anything other than making him feel good has him close within minutes. He doesn't want to finish. Wants to last. Take his time. Make you feel good.

"Slow, baby," he husks, pulling you down and easing into the motion of a tepid grind. "You'll make me cum."

"Good," you pout, stealing a kiss.

"Bad," he laughs. Shakes his head. Lets his nose nudge against yours. Whispers, "You got any idea how fucking good you feel?"

With a small giggle that sends shockwaves through his body as your pussy tightens around his length, you claim that you don't. Ask, "Is it your favourite?"

"Hmm?"

"My pussy," you clarify - not asking for any reason more complex than an ego boost. "Is it your favourite?"

He rolls his eyes. Smiles. "You know it is, you little psycho."

And even though it shouldn't, the name-calling makes you giggle again.

He laughs, too. Teases you. Says shit like, "Why you asking dumb questions, baby? Am I fucking you so well you're forgetting how much I like you, huh? Forgetting that you're my girlfriend?"

"Might have to fuck me harder," you wickedly scheme. Know exactly how to get what you want. "Jog my memory. Remind me of it."

"Don't think it'll help," he simpers against your lips, tongue invasive before you're even really kissing him. There's a recklessness to the way he's toying with you, which is only further exacerbated when he says, "Think you're just a dumb slut when you sit on my dick, aren't you baby? So dumb. So pretty."

Nodding, your moans get muffled in the way he kisses you. There's a domineering quality to how he's handling your body, and absolutely zero resistance from you.

"What are you, huh?" He goads.

If you weren't currently pulsing around his cock, desperately trying to not to come undone, you'd give some kind of witty reply. Would be able to fucking think - but right now you can't. He's exactly what he says you are.

"Dumb slut," you willingly degrade yourself.

"And?"

You shrug. Really can't think of anything other than the way his thumb starts to toy with your clit.

"Pretty," he tells you. "So fucking gorgeous. Say it."

"Gguk," you whimper.

"Say it."

"Pretty."

"That's right," he nods. "My gorgeous, dumb slut, aren't you? So good ."

"So good," you echo. "Gguk, I'm close."

"I know," he assures you. "You're gonna cum all over me, aren't you? Gonna show me how much you like being mine?"

You're a pathetic, whimpery mess as you nod. Can barely string a sentence together. All you can do is let your body succumb to Jeongguk and everything that he is.

It's no secret that he gets you in a way that no other person ever has before, not even yourself. No one has even come close .

Yet he's effortless as he nods and says, "I've got you, B. C'mon. Let me feel you."

It doesn't take much. Just a few masterful flicks of his thumb. Your nails grip against the base of his throat, whining so pathetically that Jeongguk can't promise he won't come undone, too - and then you're shaking. Throbbing. Cumming.

"More," he grits. Picks up his pace. Steadies his hips. "Oh, fuck yeah."

Head tilting back, Jeongguk's euphoric in moments like these. Just inches away from his own finishing line, he doesn't care about winning. Will let you take home the trophy - but why compromise when you can just share?

"God, I'm gonna cum," he tells you. "Where-"

"Inside."

One day, you'll learn that being so careless is a terrible idea, but it is not today. For now, he nods. Knows you're on birth control, so gladly obliges. Focuses on you. Says, "I'm there. Oh, fuck, baby, I'm there."

His arrival is far more dignified than yours. Slower. Just as intense, with a far milder delivery, but it's only because he's trying to do three things at once: keep you feeling good, keep himself feeling good, and keep his eyes locked on yours.

He wants to watch you sparkle as he cums. Wants to see if your eyes will twinkle like Christmas come early. Wants to see if the physical manifestation of how he feels about you can be translated by your body; if you'll know how deeply he adores you.

"That's it," you nod. Tenderly let your thumbs stroke his cheeks, and despite his determination, he can't help but close his eyes. Leans into your touch. Lets you preen and perfect him as he unloads himself into you. Can't speak, 'cause you're tucking hair behind his ear and telling him how pretty he looks. Kissing his cheeks. Saying shit like, "All for me, isn't it Koo? It's mine."

Oh God, he thinks. It is.

Yours, yours, yours.

Stupid shit. His cock, his cum, and his unadulterated desire.

Sincere shit. His heart, his affections, and his unbridled adoration.

His body, his mind, his soul.

And then his lips are on yours, because they belong to you too - and if he doesn't do something with them, secret words and unspoken confessions would be yours, too.

If he were to think about it - which he won't 'cause he's still coming down from his post-orgasm high - he'd realise that maybe it would be okay for you to have those confessions. Maybe it's not as terrifying as it seems.

Instead, he just nods into the kiss. "You know it's yours, B. Fuck-" he laughs, resting his forehead against yours "- you're too fucking good."

"Yeah?" you giggle, so pleased with how worn out and weak he always seems to be after sex. It's vulnerable. You like that he feels safe enough to be so delicate.

"Yeah," he beams as you adjust, then groans a little as you pull back to separate the pair of you. Rolling off from your perch, you lazily lean into him, then smile when he passes you the jumper you'd taken off earlier that evening. "Careful. Mind the seats."

Letting him nut inside you probably wasn't the best idea. In fact, there's a whole host of reasons as to why it was a bad idea, but now, spilling onto his seats is the main worry.

"It's your cum," you tell him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, while you adjust to make sure his seats are protected. His other hand reached over to pull your bra back up. Vest too. Squeezes your tits for good measure, but is notably making sure you're not exposed.

It's not for any specific reason. Is just aware of the fact you've no real privacy in the back of his car, even if the windows are tinted.

"Don't care," he tells you with a smile, but also adds. "And it's both of ours. What's mine is yours."

"Such a generous lover," you laugh, and Jeongguk finds his heart swelling.

Still, he plays it cool. Pretends like the term 'lover' doesn't make him want to recite fuckin' poetry. Tucks himself away too, then smirks, "You're welcome."

His teasing is punctuated with a kiss to your hair. An acceptance of a new normal. Half naked in the back of his car, you both look out at the city that floods the basin of the mountain range. Lights sparkle in the abyss; evidence of lives being lived. Proof that perhaps you aren't the only stars that call the city 'home'.

Though, realistically, Jeongguk would argue that 'home' is curled up against him, her fingers toying with his as they settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the whisper of, "I'm so happy, Gguk."

A moment of silence lingers in the aftermath of such a devastating admission. You pay no mind to it. Would have said it regardless. Aren't expecting much, if anything, back. Just thought he should know.

Which is sweet, because he thinks you should know how he's feeling, too.

"Yeah?" he tenderly asks.

With a small hum, you nod. Keep playing with his hands. Look at them instead of the city.

"Good," he whispers. "Me, too. More than you could ever imagine."

Happiness is a curious thing.

For so long, it evaded you.

These days, you seem to find it everywhere.

It's in the silly giggles that echo around his car as you struggle to get your jeans on in such a cramped space. It's in the way Jeongguk playfully spanks your ass as you clamber through to the front seats, and it's also abundant in the soft hum of a song sung together on the drive home.

You admit all kinds of things, but are safe to feign innocence. After all, you were just singing along to a song you both like. So what? They're not your words, even if you meant every single one of them.

The happiness you find in the roads that lead you to Jeongguk place is akin to contentment. Peace. They understand that life can be easy.

From his parking lot to his elevator, and the way he never lets go of your hand, you know he meant what he said.

The smile on his lips as he presses devastatingly needy kisses against yours in the corner of an empty elevator only further proves this.

By his doorstep, stealing half a dozen more kisses before he has to behave himself in case Jimin is around, he is happy.

When he realises Jimin is out, God knows where, Jeongguk is happy.

When you go to the bathroom to get yourself sorted, only to end up scurrying back to him a few minutes later to drag him into the shower with you, you're both happy.

When he wraps you in the fluffy towel he bought especially for you, you're happy.

When sleep finally steals you away from one another, you know that nightmares aren't a possibility for the night head. How could they be?

Life is too good.

Something's gotta give - but for now, you'll revel in it.

Come the next morning, as you both begin to prepare for the day, you can't imagine anything ruining your current bliss.

The fabric of his shirt drapes over his defined chest like carved linen on an ancient Greek statue. Hangs so beautifully it's a wonder he's not a model. You understand exactly why there are so many bloody statues from that time period, 'cause you know damn well if cameras didn't exist, you'd want a reminder of his body, too.

"Can I help?" He asks, raising a brow in your direction.

You'd been so distracted by his titties that you hadn't realised you'd been drooling like a dog for the last minute or so.

Nodding, you sigh. "Never wear that shirt around me in public."

He furrows his brows. "Huh?" He asks, then quickly realises what you mean. Laughs. Shakes his head, and tweaks his now restored brows. "You're like a dog in heat, B. Control yourself."

"Not possible," you assure him, then gasp. "Oh! Actually-"

You cut yourself off, reaching for your phone to check the date, then swipe through to one of your apps.

Ever since the potential spawn scare, you've been making a point to track your cycle, just to be extra careful. The app also doubles as a horoscope prompt, which is the main reason you check it, but you'll never admit that to anyone except Danbi. And probably Jeongguk, too. But they're also the only people you'd ever speak about your cycle with, so what difference does it make.

"That explains it," you grimace, observing the scheduled peak in your hormones right about now.

"What does?" He questions, unhooking two glass mugs from the holder next to the coffee machine, before grabbing the ice he'd gotten out a minute or so prior.

"Ovulating," you state all rather plainly.

Jeongguk probably knows more about the menstrual cycle than you do thanks to his WebMD deep dives a few months ago - the theoretical science, at least. Not what they're like in practice.

"Ah," he just nods. "So that's why you're a randy mare."

"I'm always a randy mare," you correct him, which earns a hearty laugh from Jeongguk. "Just explains why you look so..."

"Handsome? Sexy? God-like?" He teases. "Thanks."

"Not what I was gonna say," you laugh, tossing your phone down on the sofa's cushion before joining him at the kitchen island. Perching up on one of the stools, you smile as he silently passes over an iced coffee for you. "But..."

"But?"

"Well, you're not wrong," you flirt, instantly sipping on your coffee, but keeping your eyes on him. Jeongguk laughs. Thinks you're lovely.

Also thinks he'll be late for work if he keeps this up, but he can't bear to drag himself away from you.

On the late shift, you've less pressure to start your day than Jeongguk does. He's in early to do work on bar refurbs, which only makes you wanna whine about how hot he is again whenever you remember it. Think he'd look delightful in a tool belt.

The thought consumes you for a good twenty minutes or so. It's only when you're back in his room as he gets ready for work that you're able to have a fully-present conversation.

"The rest of the week?" you frown as Jeongguk reveals his schedule.

"Afraid so," he nods. "I've got the evenings free, though? I can come to yours, instead. Make things easier. Or you're welcome to crash here on the days you're working a late shift."

"We can figure it out from day to day," you offer, knowing that solid plans aren't needed. You really are attached at the hip. His mother was right. "Are you working Saturday?"

With a regretful hum of confirmation, he adds, "I'm busy around lunchtime on Sunday, but I'm free in the evening."

"Oh?" you chirp. "What's happening on Sunday?"

Jeongguk pauses. Realises he's said too much. Stammers a little. "Erm, I, uh- no. Sorry. No. I have a meeting."

"Meeting?" You question, brows furrowing. "For the rest-"

"No," he shakes his head before you even finish. He didn't mean to do so. Skin prickly, body warm, he's nervous. You can tell. Lips pursing, Jeongguk sort of looks into the void. Isn't sure how to articulate himself. Just kinda blurts out, "Therapy."

You're silent for a second.

Jeongguk wants to shrivel up and just die.

"Oh," you eventually say. "I didn't realise."

He shakes his head. Feel so embarrassed.

"First session," he quickly says, as if he's trying to defend himself for some reason you don't quite understand. "Wasn't gonna tell you till... I don't know. Just wanted to make sure it was the right thing for me, first."

Often joked about between you and Danbi, therapy has always been something you've considered. Are highly aware of the lingering impact of a shitbag ex and what it did to your self-esteem - but to share such vulnerabilities feels so embarrassing.

You'd found a happy medium with Jeongguk. Overcame so much. Not everything, of course, and there are certain behaviours and traits that you think will always reside within you, but nothing debilitating.

With a soft smile, you nod. "Of course. It's a big thing."

Jeongguk knows you well enough by now to know when you're holding back.

"Go on," he laughs. "Ask whatever it is that you wanna ask."

"I don't wanna ask anything!" You protest. He lets silence fill the space. Raises his brows. Waits for you to fold - of which you very quickly do, proving just how well he knows you. "Why?"

Jeongguk sighs. Isn't really sure how to answer, so asks for clarity. "Why therapy?"

Nodding, you hum confirmation. It's a broad question, and one that you realistically know the answer to. It's something you could both really benefit from. Part of you hates that the impact of another person is still so potent that he needs help to get over it - but you know him just as well as he knows you. Are fully aware that it's not her he needs to get over, but rather the patterns of behaviour he spent years nursing into his subconscious.

Avoiding eye contact, he shrugs. Begins to tinker around his room. Refolds clothes, straightens chess pieces. Does anything to avoid your gaze. Is a little shameful in his vulnerability. "Dunno. Just thought it could be good for me."

"Good for you?"

"Good for me," he confirms. "I just..."

You don't say it, and nor does he, but you know you're both thinking about the same thing—the same person.

"... Got a pattern of ruining the things I care about," he pathetically admits. Is holding onto a small stress ball, but doesn't squeeze it. Taps it against his wall instead. Once, twice. Finally looks over to you, then tosses it your way. There's an ease to the way you catch it, but you think it's thanks to the gentle nature with which Jeongguk threw it. "Meant it when I said I want us -this- to work."

For all of Hayun's terrible behaviours, Jeongguk wasn't blameless during their mess of a situation. He enabled. Encouraged. Made his fair share of bad decisions. Would cause fights and pick them too, just as often as she did.

He remembers, on one occasion, kissing some girls he hardly remembers at a party just to piss Hayun off - and it did. Might've even been the straw that broke the camel's back.

Had been a night of heavy drinking, and Jeongguk had been reminded on more than one occasion of how they were simply just friends - which is funny, 'cause the way Hayun reacted to the news of him kissing someone else was akin to that of a betrayed partner.

He doesn't ever want to be that toxic again. Hated the way it made him feel. Is scared, though. Worries that he's a little too damaged for all of this. For you.

With a gentle pout you're trying not to let show, you hold your hand out for him.

He takes it without hesitation. Clambers onto his bed with you and sinks into a natural state of ease once more. Pressing a delicate kiss against his sternum, you snuggle into his chest and quietly praise his choices.

"I think it's a really courageous thing to do, Gguk," you say. Hope he knows how sincere you're being. "Not to sound weird or anything, but I'm really proud of you."

His heart thuds so profoundly in his chest that you can feel it.

"Shut up," he dismisses with a tender laugh. "It's not a big deal."

But it is for him, and you damn well know it.

"Maybe not," you choose not to argue against him. "Still proud."

"Really?"

"Really."

By the time Sunday rolls around, you're so busy with preparations for Taehyung's upcoming show, that you barely have a chance to check in with Jungook. You do make the time to quickly call him before his appointment. Reassure him that he'll be fine, even if it does scare you a little.

You want him to be happy more than anything. Fear that reorganising his brain will somehow make him realise that he doesn't need you anymore. You also think it'd be selfish ever to voice those fears. Choose against it.

"You should really tell him," Taehyung says, stealing your focus from your thoughts and to the situation at hand, instead. "Surprises really aren't his thing."

You're in The Ryu, helping Tae with gallery configuration and optimisation. This next show is all about stats and sales, not art.

Furrowing your brows, you're not sure Taehyung is right.

After all, Jeongguk surprised you with a birthday celebration, and he took his post-exam party in his stride, too.

You forget that he left early to come and see you. That he said he would have rather just slept, but also know that it was less about not enjoying the party, but moreso because you weren't there.

"It's not like a surprise surprise," you insist, trying to be reasonable about your decision to keep Jeongguk in the dark about this upcoming show. "Plus, he's gonna get here a little earlier than the event opens. Told him I need his help for last minute things. Will tell him then"

"Even then," Taehyung hisses a little air between his teeth, "I dunno, DB. It's your funeral."

"So wear your finest attire," you simply joke, as if Taehyung's words aren't making you second guess yourself.

"You wear yours," he half-snorts. There's a lightness to his remark, humour in his tone. He knows that even if Jeongguk reacts badly, it won't be detrimental. Or at least, he doesn't think it will be. "Distract him with all your glitter, or something."

"Oh, trust me," you flash him a grin, pleased that the heaviness of Taehyung's tone seems to have lifted. "I always do."

Or at least, his tone is lifted until he notices another minor component of the show.

He always knew there was going to be a guest list. It heightens the notion of exclusivity and will encourage those with money to spend to open their purse strings further.

As he glances over the list, Taehyung raises a brow. "Hayun?"

Even hearing her name makes your blood boil - but you simply say, "What of her?"

"You're asking for trouble."

"I'm not asking for anything."

Taehyung frows. Knows it's the exact kind of thing Danbi would say. Reckons you must have already discussed the list with her. Looks at it again. Sighs. "And the investors?"

"Necessary," You chirp as if you haven't given it a second thought. "We need people with deep pockets, Tae."

"But they work with your ex, don't they?" He cautiously asks. Has learned far more about you through Danbi than he really should have done.

"They work with money," you correct him with an innocent smile. "And lots of it, which is what we need."

You're not wrong, as such, but Taehyung still feels uneasy. He's too concerned with thinking about the near future to realise the impact it could have on the distant future. You're too busy thinking about the distant future to care for how awful the near future could be. You're two sides of the same coin. No matter which way up it lands, someone is going to be unhappy.

"Just... remember who you're doing all this for," he gently warns. "That's all."

Part of you takes offence.

Though Jeongguk doesn't know it yet, you're putting together an event that will hopefully right the wrongs of his bad luck in recent weeks.

It's all for him.

Yet when Jeongguk arrives home from his therapy session and finds the art show flyer with Jimin's bag on the kitchen counter, he frowns. Calls you immediately. Figures you're still at the gallery when you don't pick up. Has to leave a voicemail, instead.

Still frowning as he speaks, Jeongguk seems to have lost some of that happiness he found a few days previously.

"Hey, B?" He quickly says after the dial tone beeps. Eyes focused on the wooden chopping board up by his sink, Jeongguk is so terribly conflicted. Doesn't know what to do. Eventually composes himself. "Call me back when you get this. We need to talk."

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Lost in Paradise || Buddha

A/n: this is my first time writing for this character, so I hope he's not too OOC. I started watching ROR when the first season came out, so of course I was going to watch the second season. Then Buddha came on screen and immediately I was hooked. So, this OS is the product of that.

On another note, while I was writing this a story idea came to mind. I sort of want to toy more with the red cord aspect and have the reader come to the realm of the Gods and live with their significant other. It's a basic idea, but I like it.

Please pay attention to the warning tags and please enjoy it.

Warning(s): red cord/soulmate (via Yue-Lao), mentions/implications of death, fear of the unknown, make-outs, intense sex, fainting (via overstimulation), oral (m), female reader, 4,444 words.

No Minors Allowed!!

How did it come to this? Mankind's last stand against the Gods. The moment you heard about Ragnarok, a tournament pitting the Humans against the Gods, you knew mankind didn't stand a chance. For a soul, this also meant that you too would perish; it honestly is a shame.

Sitting in the stands in the area, you stare in dismay at a large screen that displays the matches. So far, no human can best the Gods. Two rounds in, things are looking grim for mankind. Things could honestly not get any worse in your opinion.

"Oh wow! You have a soulmate cord!" A voice beside you exclaims.

You raise a curious brow.

"Pardon me?"

What does he mean by cord? The man points down and upon looking, you notice a silken cord around your finger. When did this get there? Following it with your eyes, you see that it fades in and out through the crowd, heading up to the terrace at the top of the stadium.

"This is the first time I've ever seen it," you mention in confusion.

The man beside you hums.

"How strange. You aren't meant to see the cord. I was a scholar in my former life and I have to wonder if Yue-Lao put this on you."

Yue-Lao? Is this the name of a God?

"Who is Yue-Lao?" You ask.

"He's a God of marriage and love in Chinese mythology. He often appears as an old man under the moon and unites with a silken cord all predestined couples, after which nothing can prevent their union," the scholar answers.

There's no way.

"I don't understand. I never saw this until today and when my soul came here, I'm sure I didn't have it," you mention.

"Could it be that you are destined to be with a God," the man utters, almost as though he's speaking more to himself.

What sense did this make?

"The Gods want to end humanity. Why would I be a match for a God?" You ask.

The man beside you hums.

"It's probable but I have no idea why. Have you heard the story of Eros and Psyche?"

You have. But this is a different story. Something is strange about it. You shouldn't be able to see the cord. Perhaps it is a God you are tethered to. But now isn't the time to care.

There is no way you can focus on the round, however. Curiosity is eating you alive. You take a deep breath and stand, walking toward the stairs. It's a terrible idea but you want to know who you are connected to and why. You pass humans and gods alike on your way down the terrace. The cord leads you to a gorgeous garden room with glass panels; one with an enormous fountain. You stare at it in awe for a moment until the cord tightens with a snap. A moment later the soft sound of footsteps echoes around the room.

Unsure of what to do, you dart behind a marble column as the footsteps grow louder, soon coming to a stop. Your heart pounds in your chest as an air of nervousness surrounds you. Slowly you peek around the marble column and see a muscular man standing near the fountain. His back is to you but you can see that he is wearing a tank top with robes tied around his waist, wrapping back to his hands. Who is this man? The cord seems to connect to him as it does you, so you know he is bonded to you, but he doesn't look familiar at all. The clothes he is wearing are akin to the ones seen in South Asia, but that is all you can tell.

For a moment you stare at him, until to your horror, he peeks over his shoulder in your direction. You dart behind the column and stand there, hoping that he didn't see you. Once a minute passes, you peek back around to see that he is gone. A sigh of relief pours from your mouth, but strangely the cord is still tight; it seems to wrap around the column to the other side. You raise a curious brow, turning to notice that the god in question is leaning his arm against the column staring at you with curious blue eyes hidden behind rectangle-shaped glasses. His hair, which you had thought before was blond is light green; the sides are black.

"Hmm. I thought someone was staring at me," he utters as he removes a light blue lollipop from his mouth.

Your face heats up in embarrassment and you avert your eyes to the cute bunny with the eyepatch printed on his tank top.

"I'm sorry. I just... was looking for someone."

To emphasize your point, not sure what sort of god he is, you raise your hand showing him the red cord. It takes him a moment to understand but once he does he snorts and raises his hand.

"Look at that." He pauses to toy with the cord. "The old man has a sense of humor."

Who is he referring to? Yue-Lao? You've never met the Chinese Love God; you have no idea what he's like or why he'd tether you to someone let alone another God.

If this was his idea of a joke, it wasn't funny.

"Do you know how to remove these? Or where Yue-Lao is? Perhaps he can remove them."

"You want to have them removed?" The God asks.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously and nod in agreement to his question.

"Do you not?"

"Hmm. I mean... We don't know one another. And unless the old man did this as a joke, we're tethered for a reason," he replies.

He wants to know you. Is he serious?

"I'm a human," you state in an obvious tone.

"I hadn't noticed," the god retorts with a grin.

He has a sense of humor. At least he isn't like some gods you have read about. You hum in thought, staring at the cord.

"I reckon we should find Yue-Lao and see about these before Ragnarok is over."

The God tossed up his hands in defense.

"Yes, boss."

Fearing that you might have insulted him, you frown.

"I'm sorry. I just... Don't know what else to do. I never asked for your name and that's rude of me."

The man in question knits his brows.

"You don't know me? I'm Buddha."

Your eyes widen.

"T-there's no way."

"Pretty sure I am," Buddha utters with a hum.

You shake your head.

"That's not it."

This has to be a joke. You've always compared the gods to celebrities; there are A-listers and B-listers; the major gods and the minors.

"You're an A-lister," you utter.

Why are you tethered to an A-lister? Let alone a God. You're not even someone important. Or at least you don't feel like you are.

A hand on your shoulder brings you into reality, sending a pleasant warmth throughout your body. You've never felt such an intense sensation. Is it because of Buddha? Or the bond you have with me? Your tense shoulders relax and you turn your attention to him.

"You have a name, don't you?" The God asks.

You nod and utter it.

Buddha grins in response; his sharp canines make your heart thump faster for some reason.

"Now, while I agree we should look for the old man, the 3rd round of Ragnarok began a moment ago, so--" He pauses to slide his arm around your shoulders. "Why not take the time to get to know one another? I'll even share a lollipop with you."

"Um... Okay," you retort.

So long as this doesn't get awkward.

He leads you over to the fountain and motions for you to sit, resting on the basin beside you. For a moment neither of you speaks; you watch the silken cord around his finger bob as he messes with it. The brief touch he had allowed you lingers on your skin; you hate to admit it, but you miss it.

"Any idea how we came to be tethered, my Lord?" You ask.

Buddha snorts and then laughs.

"My Lord?"

"How should I address you then?" You ask, narrowing your eyes in annoyance. It's not like you've ever spoken to a God; you don't know how to address one. "Because honestly, calling you Buddha is a bit uncomfortable."

The said man raises a brow.

"Is it? I suppose for a human it might be. Hmm. I've been known for a lot of things. Gautama, Gotama, Buddha Shakyamuni. You can call me whatever you like."

Does he honestly not mind?

"Is Shaka OK?" You ask.

He glances at you and grins.

"So, you do know me."

"A little here and there," you admit. "Your name is widely known throughout mankind. But to be honest, you aren't what I expected."

As soon as this leaves your lips, you immediately regret it.

"I'm sorry. I­­––"

"What were you expecting?" Buddha asks. He doesn't seem annoyed or angry, just curious.

Your face heats up in embarrassment. There's no point in lying to him, you reckon.

"I've always heard that the Buddha looked like a typical shaved man and in your old age, you are described as having a stooped body."

"Are you upset?"

You shake your head no and avert your eyes.

"I think you're extremely handsome, hot even."

It's silent for a moment, then the lollipop he had been sucking on appears in your line of sight. You widen your eyes in shock, peering over at the blue-eyed god.

"Want a lick?"

Your face heats up.

"You... had that in your mouth."

Buddha grunts.

"I don't have anything, and besides... we're tethered, remember?"

"No offense, but that doesn't mean I want to swap spit with you. It was a generous offer though," you state.

He hums and slides the lollipop back into his mouth; the sound of it clicking against his canines makes you snort. It almost seems like he's pouting for some reason.

"I'll try one you haven't licked on," you mention.

"No way. Not after you insulted me," Buddha states.

The grin on his face indicates that he's not serious however; you are relieved. For a God, he isn't bad. You are thankful that if it had to be a God, it is him.

An echo of cheers erupts from the stadium and you hear Heimdall announce the victor of the 3rd round. Is it over already? Your eyes widen in shock.

"He did it... He won."

Kojiro Sasaki beat a God. Perhaps there is some hope for humanity.

The loud crunch of a lollipop draws your attention to Buddha. He spits the stick onto the ground and stands having a serious look on his face. You frown. Is there something wrong? Perhaps it is because a God had died.

"Zeus isn't gonna take this lightly," he utters.

You imagine not. Poseidon is his brother. And now he is dead. It's a double whammy of a situation.

"Well... It's about time we got you back to the stadium." Buddha pauses to fake a yawn. "I'll search for Yue-Lao."

This is a shame; you want to know what reason he had to tether you to Buddha. You agree with a nod despite the frown on your face. A hand appears in your line of sight and you raise a brow, turning your eyes to Buddha; an easy-going grin appears on his face.

"I'll walk you back."

"I appreciate it," you mention with a smile, taking his hand.

For some reason, this feels right.

You hardly know what to think about the 4th match or who to root for. The representative for the Humans is a well-known murderer, Jack the Ripper, whilst the Gods have Hercules on their side. It strikes you as odd that a man known for killing humans is representing them, but if his win gives the Humans a chance then there isn't much you can argue about.

It's a strange match is all.

Feeling the cord around your finger jerk, you glance down at it, curious as to what Buddha is doing. Perhaps he's looking for Yue-Lao himself. He had parted ways with you at the top of the stadium, haven took you to your section unbeknownst to the Humans around you.

The 4th match started soon after.

You sigh and lean back in your chair, watching the screen in front of you. So much is happening at once but your thoughts are on the attractive God that you are tethered to. You never got to ask him what he plans to do with you should Yue-Lao choose to leave the silken cord around your finger. It's a lot to consider, honestly; a lot you're not sure you are ready for.

A motion from the corner of your eye draws your attention to the scholar beside you, his name you are still unsure of. He looks shocked almost, pointing his finger toward something or someone past you. Raising a brow, you peek over your shoulder and notice a familiar God standing at the end of the aisle watching the screen.

You stand and quickly saunter over to him.

"Shaka?" His eyes turn to you as you call his name. "What are you doing here?"

Buddha grins.

"I came to get you. Are you ready?"

Did he find Yue-Lao?

"Of course."

Leading you away from the stadium, you silently walk beside him to a nearby hill outside the arena. The scenery is stunning, the most captivating thing you have ever seen. But where is Yue-Lao?

"Are we meeting him here?" You ask in confusion.

Buddha sits at the base of a large Bodhi tree and hums.

"Meeting who?"

Did he already forget?

"Yue-Lao," you answer with a sigh.

"I haven't looked for him," Buddha mentions with a yawn.

Is he serious? Your jaw tightens.

"Are you not even a little curious?"

"Hmm. No. Even as a joke we're bound for a reason. Besides... I'm not bothered by it," Buddha answers.

Your eyes widen in shock. How can he not be bothered? You are a human. He may have been at one time too, but the era of mankind is at an end. With an uneasy sigh, you sit beside him, looking out at the arena in the distance. The warm gentle breeze sways your hair and little by little you relax.

"I'm sorry about Poseidon. Hearing that a God was struck down by a human can't be easy," you utter.

Or lifting for that matter. It must have struck--

A boisterous laugh rings out from the God beside you as he tosses his head back.

"You're hilarious."

"I was being sincere," you argue.

Buddha hums and tilts his head toward you.

"There's no reason to apologize. He knew what he was signing up for... And honestly, he underestimated the Humans."

Reaching between the robes tied at his waist, he pulled out a lollipop.

"The same may happen to me when it's my turn," he continues, popping the sweet candy in his mouth. "Though I doubt it."

He's battling in the tournament too? Your jaw tightens in uncertainty. This isn't a good sign for the humans or you for that matter. Why is he telling you this? You narrow your eyes.

"If we lose... What do you plan to do with me?"

Buddha snorts and presses the lollipop between his cheek and teeth.

"You can come back to Nirvana with me if you chose to."

Your face heats up. Perhaps it's the cord, but his proposal sounds lovely. Forever with an easygoing and attractive God like him is tempting.

"May I have my lollipop now?"

With a grin, Buddha takes the one from his mouth and offers it to you. Maybe he didn't expect you to take it, because the moment you do, sliding the treat into your mouth, his blue eyes widen. The taste of blue raspberry coats your tongue as you eagerly lick it, feeling the small indentations from his canines.

"I thought you didn't want to swap spit with me," he reminds you.

"We're tethered, remember." You retort.

Shifting the lollipop between your teeth, you press down until the shell cracks. The wide-eyed expression on the God beside you makes you snort."

"Hold on! That's the last one," Buddha mentions with a whine, reaching for the stick.

You lean back out of his reach.

"You said you'd give me one."

"I said we'd share," he clarifies.

Perhaps he did, however, he ate the last one without sharing. You grin teasingly at him.

"I'll take my share then.

As your teeth crunch down on the candy, the God lunges at you, knocking you onto your back; you don't mean to, but the sudden movement causes your mouth to snap closed, crushing the lollipop to pieces. Buddha stares down at you, mouth slightly agape as he removes the barren stick from your lips. Oops. He shouldn't have lunged at you. The fact he is nestled between your thighs forces an embarrassed heat to your face. It also doesn't help that he looks stunning in this position; with wisps of light green hair dangling around his face.

You reach up and curl a lock around your finger, admiring the way it springs back into place.

"I'm sorry about––"

Pressure on your thighs makes you shiver as the God leans down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. For a moment, your head begins to spin; a pleasant warmth erupts in your stomach and your eyes tear up. Is this a product of the tether? A simple kiss shouldn't be this intense. It's too tempting not to want more. You return the kiss, groaning softly as Buddha adds more pressure. Why is he kissing you? It's not like you are arguing, but there has to be a reason.

No way! Is he wanting the candy? You part from him, ignoring the light tug of your bottom lip between his, and narrow your eyes.

"That's a mean trick."

"I'm just taking my share," Buddha utters. A grin spreads across his face. "Or maybe I just want an excuse to taste you."

Goosebumps rise across your skin in response.

"It's unfair how insanely attractive you are," you mention. Sliding your legs around his waist, you shoot him a glare. "Take your share if you want it."

Pressing his thumb against your bottom lip as he leans down, Buddha gently ushers you to slightly open your mouth, giving you a brief kiss before his tongue meets yours. A low moan tickles your throat, relishing in the sensation of the God intimately sucking on your tongue. The sweet and fruity taste of blue raspberry nearly drives you mad; the aroma is everywhere.

Parting from you, a thin lead of blue-tented saliva connects his tongue to yours until he breaks it, chewing on the candy he swiped from your mouth. Honestly, you feel like a complete mess. You are aware that your face is heated, and that your pussy is humming in arousal. Staring pleadingly into your eyes, you notice the unusual lily pattern in his own. Were those always there?

"Your eyes are gorgeous."

With a grin, Buddha lifts you from the ground and into his lap; your legs remain securely around his waist. He quickly turns his attention to your ear, running his warm tongue along the shell before he drops to your neck, tasting your skin. This is unreal; the sensation is almost too much to bear. He's slowly driving you mad with want.

Guiding his hand down, you grin as Buddha catches on, sinking his fingers into the waistband of your pants, yanking them down a bit. You sit up on your knees to help him remove them. With them gone, he slides his hand between your thighs and sinks a finger into your warm pussy. As he spreads your walls, preparing you for what is to come, you lean in and kiss his candy-coated lips. It takes everything you can not to break the kiss and moan; another finger slides in, pumping into you. For someone rumored to be so peaceful, he is brutal on your pussy. But what will his cock feel like inside you?

Sucking on his tongue, you yank on his robes urging him to remove them or pull them up; the latter he soon does, pulling them over his knees. It doesn't surprise you to feel that he isn't wearing anything beneath them; his hard cock rests against your thigh. You groan as his fingers retreat, leaving you feeling empty. And no sooner a tight pressure feels you as he eases you down onto him to the base. You break the kiss with a sigh; you've honestly never felt so full in your life.

"Shaka," you utter almost anxiously.

Buddha grins and buries his short nails into your hips.

"Hold on to me."

You do as told, not able to contain the gleeful smile on your face as the God begins to rock you on his cock. It hurts a bit, but honestly, you don't care; the pain combined feels divine with the pleasure Buddha is giving you. A soft moan escapes his mouth, sending warm breath against your neck; it's the hottest thing you have ever heard. Your walls tighten in response.

There isn't much you can do but try to match his quick and rough pace, arching your back. You honestly feel like you are just along for the ride at this point. It feels so damn good. There's no way you can last like this; your entire body is already tensing up. It doesn't help that the God wrecking you is giving you the most sinful and possessive look; lily patterns decorate his gorgeous blue eyes.

A warm pressure in your stomach quickly consumes you, pushing you over the edge and into an intense orgasm. It's too much; you've never felt this satisfied before almost like you can't breathe. For a minute you forget to, clutching onto the God as you ride out your high. A cold sweat washes over you and strangely a low static-like noise permeates your ears. What is this? The world around you suddenly goes dark.

A moment later, you snap to, leaning up. The God beneath you is still but remains inside you.

"Welcome back. Are you OK?" Buddha asks.

"I... What just happened?"

Your head is light and your body feels completely worn out.

"You fainted, he answers.

What? There's no way. Your face heats up in embarrassment as you avert your attention from him. Is this even possible? Did your orgasm make you faint? You've never fainted from overstimulation before, but you've also never fucked a God before either.

"I'm sorry I––"

Buddha snorts, interrupting you.

"You fainted because you stopped breathing... though I'm flattered you thought it was because of me."

Is this what caused it? You are unsure of whether you should feel relieved or not. Regardless, it's a bit embarrassing. The feeling of his cock stretching your walls reminds you that he didn't finish. You'd feel terrible if you left him like this.

"Let me take care of you."

Buddha raises a brow.

You ease off him, humming as this action leaves your walls empty and sore. Resting your knees on the ground, you reach down, wrapping your hand around him. His shaft is slick with your arousal so at least you won't have a hard time going down on him. Licking your eager lips, you lean down and press a kiss against him. This almost feels wrong, sucking off a God, but at the moment, you don't care. Sliding open your mouth, you sink onto him, taking as much in as you can; oddly enough, you don't taste half bad.

Slowly at first, you bob your head. Your tongue presses tight against the underside of his shaft, not able to move much due to limited space, but you do your best to make this good for him. It's a shame you can't see his expression; a soft grunt is the only indication you have to go on. The idea that you can make a God come surrounds you with pride and you tilt your head a bit, taking him from another angle.

A hand in your hair urges you to take a quick look at Buddha. He is staring in the distance, mouth slightly open. As expected of a God, he's gorgeous like this. You hum, bobbing your head a bit fast; the grip on your hair tightens in response. At this pace, it isn't long before you hear him groan softly. His cock twitches as warm ropes of cum coats your tongue. You continue to slowly bob your head until he is done, then you lean up, resting on your legs with a pleased yet worn-out expression on your heated face.

Swallowing the mess in your mouth, you hum.

"Even as a soul, I feel exhausted."

Buddha grins.

"We'll rest after we find Yue-Lao." He pauses to raise his finger; the one with the cord attached to it. "You wanted to ask how to remove this, didn't you?"

You do. But maybe this arrangement isn't so bad. Buddha straightens himself out and makes a move to stand, but you quickly stop him, gripping his robes.

"Can we maybe wait? I just... want to see how this pans out."

"Having second thoughts?" Buddha asks.

Is it that obvious? You nod to clarify.

"You're not that bad, I suppose, for a God."

Buddha laughs and sits back down, leaning onto his side with his hand propping him up; the other pats the ground beside him. You accept his offer, laying on your side facing him; you honestly don't care that you're bare from the waist down. The light breeze and warm sun dancing across your skin are delightful.

"Shaka," you call, resting your eyes. "If the Humans win, may I still go with you to Nirvana?"

"It's your decision... with me changing sides, the chance of the Humans losing is slim," Buddha answers.

Is he serious? You open your eyes briefly to glance at him. He's not doing this for you, is he?

"Are you––"

Interrupting you with a yawn, he shuts his eyes.

"Rest. It won't be long before I go on."

There isn't a way to convince him otherwise once his mind is made up, it seems. No matter. A God on the side of the Humans is a big leap. Either way, whichever wins, you can't wait to see what this soulmate business is all about.

[rabbitenn]

Can I ask for a kissing headcannons with Sogo, Tenn, Momo and Toma please? Also if it's not too much can it be slightly suggestive too? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) but if 4 characters are a lot then Sogo and Toma only

Also, don't forget to take care of yourself author! Please eat at least 3 meals a day and hydrate yourself frequently. Lately, people around me are getting sick because of the cold weather so make sure to stay warm too alright? (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

TASTE YOU, TASTE YOU.

“Come over here beside me. My restraint crumbles.”

— HYDE, Kiss Of Death.

ft. Osaka Sogo, Kujo Tenn, Sunohara Momose, Inumaru Toma x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, suggestive (a lil spicy, still sfw), mentions of alcohol.

Thank you for requesting, nonnie ! I’m very sorry this took so long, I hope you still like it <3 Remember to take care of yourself too and stay hydrated, plus get enough sleep, dear ! Winter is approaching, so stay warm too !

♡ OSAKA SOGO

— Osaka Sogo, the epitome of a proper young man, calm and composed, always respectful and following the rules.

— Except when someone messes with his friends, and especially when you tempted him.

— If you add a few drops of alcohol to that last situation, well, you are in for a heated night.

— In any other occasion, you knew your boyfriend wouldn’t be this bold. Not that you are complaining in the slightest, no. He looks so dashing with that dark glint in his violet eyes, face flushed as he desperately chases after your lips.

— And you know, you know he is going to regret it if the state he’s in were to be witnessed by every guest in this gala.

— So you pull him aside, the cold hour making the rose garden outside the venue the perfect deserted scenario.

— The lights from the party cast him in shades of golden, moonbeams refracting from his intense gaze. The night breeze carries the scent of thorny blooms, not unlike his cheeks in their carmine hue.

— “[Y/n]…” He breathes, nose brushing against yours. And you have to admit, the desperation, bordering on hunger in his voice, is a nice change.

— For a moment, you hesitate. Is it really okay, to let him go on when he’s like this? When you know he most likely won’t be able to remember anything by next morning?

— And yet, caution is thrown to the wind the moment his hands reach your waist.

— Pulling you down on a stone bench half concealed by the rose bushes, Sogo hovers above you, arms on either side of your head.

— “So…” You breathe, heart racing, pounding in your ears, the tell-tale sound of warning signs, of ‘you shouldn’t be doing this, not here, not now.’ Alarms blare inside your head, and yet, they’re all silenced by the searing caress of his intoxicated kiss.

— You can taste sake in the sweetness of his tongue begging for access into your mouth.

— And, helplessly, irrevocably, you succumb to it. Akin to the bubbles of sparkling champagne at midnight, euphoria runs through your veins like white-hot liquid flames.

— Your arms wrap around his neck, messing with his already half undone tie. He’s burning up, the dawn lit strands at his nape, sweaty, but you don’t care.

— Despite everything, you want more of this feeling; the sweet prohibition of a love that’s always kept behind closed doors; the thrill of getting caught, and Sogo’s drive… Are enough for you to dive headfirst into danger.

— The night is still young, after all, and everyone seems to be too distracted with their own business at the party.

— So you’ll indulge a little more in this forbidden moonlit paradise.

♡ KUJO TENN

— Tenn, the modern day angel, who is devilish as they come underneath that charming smile he offers his fans.

— That’s not to say his mischievous side isn’t charming, oh no, he is too magnetizing for you to resist him.

— And he loves it.

— To see you struggling to form coherent words, as you try to keep yourself from stuttering (and fail), as your cheeks heat up at the teasing tone he uses to get what he wants from you.

— Your boyfriend’s lips brush the shell of your ear, his face is millimeters away from yours, when he whispers to you how he could give you a secret night you are sure to never forget.

— “Tenn! Stop teasing me!” You pout, covering your face with a pillow you then use to softly swat him away.

— He responds with a chuckle, as he takes your wrists in his.

— “You know you love it, my [Y/n].” He tells you, eyes of sunset clouds lined in starlight staring into yours.

— You swallow, letting out incoherent sounds.

— And you can’t take your eyes off of your angel the moment stardust caresses his cheekbones when his eyes close and his lips seal his words with a kiss to your inner wrist.

— “Did you like that, my love?” Tenn asks, at the same time his fingertips sneak beneath your shirt, his hands warm and soft against your body.

— You can just nod, too flustered to trust yourself with your voice while he is like this.

— Then, his angel halo hovers above the two of you when his forehead comes to rest against yours. And despite his perfect face, and soft voice, the words he utters next couldn’t be more devilish.

— “I could do more things you’d like, if you let me.” He whispers, bringing your fingertips to his lips.

— “I- I let you, Tenn… I want you to-“ Is all you can reply before his lips are enveloping yours in a kiss that’s equal parts tender as it is burning passion.

— And in his proximity, you melt. Falling back against the silky covers of your bed, you let your lover take the air away from your lungs. You don’t hesitate to kiss him back, the frenzied pace of your unruly heart propelling you towards the only right path: Tenn.

— One of his hands cups the side of your face, as the other finds your own over the softness of pale rosy blankets.

— Your fingers slot between his, squeezing his hand lovingly.

— ‘I love you.’ The gesture spells, as your lips are entangled with his, rising you up on angel wings towards dawny pink skies.

— In your own made dream, only you two exist. Tenn, all the light you need, his allure akin to the celestial shine of distant constellations you can feel warm at the tip of your fingers.

— But alas, no matter how sweet and perfect his kisses taste, it seems you both need to pull away for air, if only for a few instants.

— When he looks at you, your boyfriend’s pupils are blown wide, hair sticking away from his forehead. Somehow, the first buttons of his shirt have come undone.

— Smiling softly, your lips trace the path from his chest to his temple, cherry blossom pink blooming in your wake as the angelic idol’s cheeks flush in vibrant shades of rose.

♡ SUNOHARA MOMOSE

— Your boyfriend was usually the paragon of cute and cheerful.

— Read, usually.

— Because there were moments in which his wide-eyed fuchsia gaze turned dark with desire, camellias at midnight, longing to lure you into a trap of never ending romance with their vivid petals.

— And, naturally, who were you to resist this intense side of your partner? You simply can’t, not when you find yourself between him and the wall, one of his arms resting near your head as he inches closer towards you.

— The curtains to his home are drawn, the warm lamp light surrounding you in a haze of anticipation and longing for him, in the same way he aches for you.

— “Darling…” He lets out, two-toned strands tickling your forehead with how close to you he is right now.

— “Yes, Momo?” You ask him, voice almost breaking as you attempt to hold your breath, afraid that the slightest sound may disturb this moment, popping the bubble of intimacy surrounding you.

— His answer comes in the form of his hands cupping your face and him leaning in.

— He tilts his face to the side, as he deepens the kiss, his sharper canines slightly grazing your lower lip.

— You don’t mind at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

— The sensation just serves to spur you on, your hands tangling in his frosted tips, as you drink in his biting kiss.

— It’s a little sloppy on both parts, but neither of you care.

— Especially not when you tug on his lip using your teeth, an indication to go further, that you want more of him.

— He loves you like this, desperate and unrestrained, just the two of you and your unbound feelings driving your every action.

— “There’s no way I’m letting you leave here tonight, my darling.” Momo breathes, in between heated kisses.

— You level him with a sensuous gaze.

— “I just want to be with you tonight.” You utter, lips parted, as you lean in for a brief kiss. “I’m yours, Momo.”

— He lets out a light chuckle, lips trailing your jaw, your skin hot in every place his kisses touch you.

— “And you know I couldn’t be happier about that.” He replies to your statement.

— You both lean in again, stumbling to the couch, where he pulls you on top of him, never once separating his lips from yours.

— And when your glances meet next, both of you know you’re in for an intense night, in the best of ways.

♡ INUMARU TOMA

— Toma wears his feelings on his sleeve, and obviously (even more so than usual) that applies to you as well.

— You are so sweet and loving to him, how is he supposed to hold back his impulses?

— Your smile… the way your eyes shine a little brighter when you talk to him, the way you stand close to him…

— Everything makes it so hard for him to exert self restraint.

— Oh, he knows how much his group mates would tease him for it, but at this moment, he doesn’t have it in him to care.

— He has more important matters to attend to.

— That being you.

— And if you keep smiling at him like that he might end up pinning you against the wall.

— “Why don’t you, then, pretty boy?” You incite him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, towering over him in his sitting position.

— “Did I say that out loud?!” Toma exclaims, garnet hued eyes widening in horror at his impulses being revealed in front of you, of all people.

— “Oh, you certainly did.” You smirk, sitting in front of him over the table, legs crossed, as you lean forward, a finger tugging him closer by his choker.

— Perhaps to prevent you from seeing his flustered expression, or maybe because he can’t hold back anymore, your boyfriend picks you up by the waist, leaning you against the wall.

— “I will certainly do more than say it, then.” He warns, his voice close to a growl, as his little fangs sink on your lower lip, tugging on it, hands roaming from your waist to your hips, bringing you closer to him by the small of your back.

— “I look forward to it.” You rasp, breathing coming in short, hands cradling his jawline.

— ZOOL’s leader leans back in, your fingers fumbling with his jacket, finally discarded to the floor, as his bare arms wrap around you, your hands resting over the fabric of his black tank top.

— Perhaps he was the one that couldn’t hold back, but you’re the one that can’t get enough of him.

— For when Toma slightly pulls away for air, your hands tangle in his maroon locks, as you smash your lips against his again.

— You can feel his smile into the kiss.

— Guess neither of you really could be without the other for another minute.

[savagewildnerness]

The Witches' Place

Let’s discuss the meaning of The Witches’ Place to the overall Vampire Chronicles. 

When Lestat listens to Nicolas play the violin, he says:

"…As the song deepened, it became the very essence of despair as if its beauty were a horrid coincidence, grotesquery without a particle of truth.

Was this what he believed, what he had always believed when I talked on and on about goodness? Was he making the violin say it? Was he deliberately creating those long, pure liquid notes to say that beauty meant nothing because it came from the despair inside him, and it had nothing to do with the despair finally, because the despair wasn't beautiful, and beauty then was a horrid irony?

I didn't know the answer. But the sound went beyond him as it always had. It grew bigger than the despair. It fell effortlessly into a slow melody, like water seeking its own downward mountain path. It grew richer and darker still and there seemed something undisciplined and chastening in it, and heartbreaking and vast. I lay on my back on the roof now with my eyes on the stars.

Pinpoints of light mortals could not have seen. Phantom clouds. And the raw, piercing sound of the violin coming slowly with exquisite tension to a close.

I didn't move.

I was in some silent understanding of the language the violin spoke to me. Nicki, if we could talk again ... If "our conversation" could only continue.`

Beauty wasn't the treachery he imagined it to be, rather it was an uncharted land where one could make a thousand fatal errors, a wild and indifferent paradise without signposts of evil or good.

In spite of all the refinements of civilization that conspired to make art -- the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard's canvases -- beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.

So why must it wound him that the most despairing music is full of beauty? Why must it hurt him and make him cynical and sad and untrusting?

Good and evil, those are concepts man has made. And man is better, really, than the Savage Garden.

But maybe deep inside Nicki had always dreamed of a harmony among all things that I had always known was impossible. Nicki had dreamed not of goodness, but of justice."

Re-reading The Vampire Lestat for book club, I notice how often The Witches' Place is brought up again and again to indicate a feeling akin to being in Hell-On-Earth. Lestat laments that he is in The Witches' Place after his turning. Nicolas, in terror screams that it is The Witches' Place when Lestat has him locked up, his mind and soul already broken before he is turned.

And reading this part of the book, where Lestat wonders whether Nicki dreams of justice, where Lestat dreams of goodness - I wonder: might this not be the crux of everything? The crux of Lestat and Nicolas' conversation; the crux of their fundamental differences?

I think Lestat desperately craves to understand goodness and to be good, while he fundamentally believes there *is* no justice... but he cannot cope if there is no goodness. Thankfully for Lestat, there is always potential for goodness...

Whereas Nicolas desperately craves some fundamental harmony or justice to existence and believes goodness could only truly be found in the self-denial that would serve such justice, as such goodness cannot mean to Nicolas what it does to Lestat. And sadly for Nicolas, my personal opinion is Lestat is right - there is no fundamental harmony or justice to existence or humanity, and this truth is why Nicolas, in the end is unable to continue existing - just as Lestat could not continue if goodness did not exist... Nicki in the end knows justice does not exist and he cannot live with it. (Ah, I wonder, had Lestat and Nicki had more time as mortals, so Lestat understood Nicki more, could Lestat have helped Nicolas here? Alas, alas. I imagine not... yet still alas.)

Anyway, I wonder whether in The Witches' Place there is a commonality of horror in a thing which is clearly abhorrent in terms of both justice and goodness? The Witches' Place isn't only representing the awful, senseless death of innocent humans. When Lestat and Nicolas' say they are *there* it is about far more, as I see it than what literally happened there and how horrific that is to think upon. It represents the utter chaos that is the absence of justice or goodness in humanity. We could call it Hell on Earth, except it has less meaning.

Are The Witches' Place and The Savage Garden simply two sides of the exact same thing, except The Savage Garden is perceiving the view from the point of a possibility of aesthetic goodness despite the absence of justice, whereas The Witches' Place is perceiving the full horror of the wilderness with neither justice nor goodness?

In any case, if goodness is what matters to Lestat and justice to Nicolas, I feel we can say that in The Witches' Place - a place where both are absent, perhaps Lestat and Nicolas' ideologies or beliefs and truths most fully coincide and they both feel the same way and understand each other?

Well, these are quite incoherent thoughts. Yet, I feel we all know The Witches' Place is SO important to the entire Vampire Chronicles in what it represents, so I find it kind of interesting to try to dig down into not only the events that happened there for Lestat and the feelings and existential crises and breakdowns he experienced there... but what lies behind and beyond all of that - for Lestat, for Nicolas and even on a more general level - for us all.

I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts on The Witches' Place! This is just me typing as I think it, without having fully reasoned it out. Anyway, I must leave now so for now - over to you all!?

And while I post this, what do you think about Lestat's summation of Nicolas at this point?

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

The Sacrifice Douma x reader pt 1

Pairing: Douma x reader

Warnings: Mentions of injury

Summary: You wake up to your new surroundings

****************************************************Don’t forget to read the prologue!

“She’s been sleeping all day, you sure she’s ok..?”

Hush Yuta, stop asking me that and go finish your chores”

“But-”

“No buts! Go now”

“Ugh fine”

“*sigh* honestly that boy will be the death of me..”

“Mmm”

“Oh are you awake?”

Huh? Slowly your senses regain. You twitch your fingers and they smooth over something soft like cotton. You smell something…lavender oils and for the first time in many many years you’re…comfortable?

You start to piece together your wits and then it strikes all at once like a bolt of lightning.

Your master, the freezing rain, the pain, the demo-

You shoot up from your laying position, your body protests instantly but you push that aside.

You take in your surroundings, 4 walls, a simple clothing chest, a screen divider, a smoking oil diffusing pot, and a woman sat folding linens. Her chocolate brown eyes trained on you. A look of shock and worry on her features.

“Oh you should be careful, you’re still recovering” the woman shoved the basket aside and rushed to assist you although out of habit you flinched at her touch.

“You had some nasty cuts, some required stitches, we wouldn’t want those to tear open”

“W-who are you?” I asked warily. I’m not one to shy away help, considering getting any up till this point was a rare occurrence, but considering my situation I couldn’t help but be cautious.

“My name is Hanako, I’m a maid, Lord Douma asked me to watch over you.”

“Lord Douma?” You had a feeling you already knew who that was.

“He’s the founder of the Eternal Paradise cult. Although we don’t really refer to it as a cult” she lets out a little laugh.

She’s so carefree… maybe she’s a demon too? But she doesn’t really look like one.. not that I’ve seen many demons in my life. But she doesn’t feel threatening.

“Everyone here is apart of it, we are all striving for eternal paradise.”

“Everyone?”

“Oh yes, there are many people who follow lord Douma. You’ll get a chance to get acquainted with them soon. But for now, you must eat and rest a bit, Lord Douma will be expecting you soon.”

“W-why… what will he do to me..” you dread the answer but ask anyway.

The maid tilts her head a bit. “There’s no need to worry, Lord Douma is fair and just. As long as you don’t step out of line, you have no reason to fear”.

No need to fear? Just what is going on?! I’m about to blurt out something akin to, “I’m a sacrifice why would I not be afraid, also he’s a demon?” But I shut my mouth. Better to understand the situation more than say things to people I don’t even know.

You simply nod.

“I’ll go get you something to eat alright? You just rest until then ok?” The woman smiles gently and leaves sliding the door shut. She was older than me but not by that much.

You sighed, against your body’s pleading you didn’t lay down. Maybe this was a sick game where you were lulled into a sense of comfort and as soon as you let down your guard the demon would swoop in and devour you.

Or maybe he was plumping you up like a chicken before having you.

Oh this was torture.

Several minutes later Hanako re enters the room balancing a tray.

“Here you are, drink this soup slowly alright? You wouldn’t want to make yourself sick dear.”

You eye the soup in front of you carefully. It smells divine, with clumps of vegetables floating around and pieces of what looks like chicken. You can’t remember the last time you were allowed meat.

“Can I really eat this?” You murmur to myself.

Hanako urges you on. It could be poisoned but then again why would the demon poison you if he wanted to eat you afterwards.

Slowly you lift the spoon, dipping it into the creamy liquid and back up to your parched lips.

You’re not exaggerating when you say this was the best soup you’ve ever had.

Your fears quickly push aside in favor of shoveling more delicious soup into your mouth.

Within minutes the bowl is empty and you feel the rumbling in your stomach pleasantly cease.

“It’s getting late, we should get you ready to see Lord Douma before the sunsets.” The woman removes the tray from your lap and helps you stand. You wobble a bit but steady with her help.

She leads you behind the screen where a tub with steaming water is emitting the most sweet floral fragrance.

She helps you into the tub then goes to grab something from another room.

You sigh out of pure relaxation. Maybe this is the demons mercy before killing you. Or maybe he wants you clean before he has his meal. Either way you can’t help but enjoy how relaxed you feel. The aches are slowly receding.

Soon Hanako returns and helps wash your hair. The clear water soon became murky with all the dirt and grime from you.

After making sure you were all clean she helped you out and brought forth a gorgeous kimono.

Pearly colored material with beautiful vibrant flowers on it. You noticed that they were the same color as your eyes.

She helped you in it and clasped her hands together. “My my what a gem you are, under all that muck who knew such a beauty was there”

“Beauty?” I scoffed at her joke. Alright this pre eating pampering act was really something.

“It’s a shame that horrible man bruised up your face like that, the healer was able to make most of them disappear although the biggest one on your cheek was stubborn. He said it would heal within a week or two however.”

“Now let me just fix up your hair and you’ll be all set” her gentle hands ran through my locks slowly and removed all the knots.

She squeezed something thick onto her palms, rubbed them together then ran it through my hair. It smelled like jasmine and when she pulled the mirror I couldn’t believe it.

I looked… so so… clean and put together. No mud or dirt like always and my hair looked soft like silk. Even with the big bruise marring half my face I looked better than I ever have.

I never really got to take baths before. Sometimes I had time to quickly wash in the stream but not more than a quick few minutes because there were many pervs in the household.

“Alright dear let’s not keep Lord Douma waiting any longer” you nodded and she gave you her arm for support.

Patiently she led you out the door, you looked around, nothing looked out of the ordinary. It looked like a normal nobles residence with lined up rooms and beautiful garden work here and there.

Sigh you were so tired and confused and tired of being confused ughh.

You stopped in front of big wooden doors, they were carved brilliantly with lotus flowers.

Hanako knocked twice. “Lord Douma, I’ve brought the girl..” only a moment of silence before the melodic voice rang out again.

“You may enter”

*gulp* here goes nothing..

Hanako pushed the doors open then helped you inside.

You squinted to make out the figure sitting by the candle light.

“Welcome little flower.”

“I’ve been so eager to meet you..”

***************************************************

Please lemme know what you guys thought:)

Previous next

[cherubispunk]

ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part ii // blood.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

a note from lucy: this was meant to be posted earlier and it was also meant to be longer but ive been through so much these past few weeks i couldnt bring myself to write much more. for those waiting on dealer!Joel, its coming. it might just take me a little while. thank you all for your patience. i love you all, look after yourselves.

playlist

wc: 1692 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to , cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eatin, oral sex - m receiving, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

series m.list | m.list

You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite.  — Madeline Miller ‘Circe’

‘Strangle me with Aphrodite’s very pearls. What a beautiful creation. Funny how we will all die but seek love for a pitiful salvation.’ Words engraved, etched into the gravestone of…this. This creation of torture. Of serpents’ forked tongues and gnashing lions teeth. Silence so large and gaping it made your heart dare to beat only in the ricochet of the shiver down your spine. He was the sharp blade of a knife, you were the wetstone he used to perfect its slide of slice. Bleed ichor from your veins while he grazes blunt teeth over the shallow skin upon your collarbone. 

You didn't care. ��Give me that pointed, glimmering blade’, you thought, its vermillion stain now smeared too with gold. ‘Give me that blade. Some things are worth bloodshed.’ 

He was a killer. And his bounty was set on your spirit. Your calm. Your superiority over him. In his field, he was a master of his art. His armour gleamed as a trophy for his succession of rank. His clan– Here…he was a novice once again. Knew not a drop of knowledge of your craft, nor the whispering properties of each flower bud, fruit pit and herb stem in your garden. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme were nothing but cooking materials to him. And even that was a stretch to his mind. 

You wished to be Anothny’s Cleopatra to him. Not a wicked witch of the western tides. Toughened beauty, once black coals under pressure, now gleaming in diamond and its own giant covalent structure. Him swooning over your flesh for months and his tongue speaking within your mouth. There was no turquoise over your eyes, nor the stain of the madder root over your lips to paint him with. His face was still an image that belonged to your mind. Not the reality you lived now with him tangled in your sheets. Rippled muscled under a tapestry of scars and skin. 

He did some things. Mainly doted care to the child whom you sense properties in. A magic akin to your own, yet not all the same. His was one of energy, a flowing combination of entities, living a breathing through you, him, the mandalorian and each living being on this island. Mauve further. It was a balance that even you did not know the tipping point of nor the origin of its birth. It was shaking. It crumbled under the erosion of water to salt pillars until its foundations skimmed to their very bare bones. 

It took with it the light of your sanctuary and morphed into Tartarus, so your soul may burn in forged cast iron chains. They were white hot in the black soot tinders. Glowing violently in your corneas while they singed sight. Scorched touch. Seared taste. The battle of yours and the child's power. 

You watched in awe one night, the lights out, but a single sliver of silver from Artemis’s glow caught the sharpened tip of a knife you know strapped to your thigh under the skirts of your dress. Would his blood sizzle when it touched the blade, as you only imagined it ran hot and thick with the brazen burn of his anger. Ichor? No. He was no god. But his touch was of divinity. And left a tingle of power in its bone cramping wake. Wailing for more. 

Only just the night before you had dropped to your knees in the doorframe of your chambers. Took off his armour beforehand in wordless undoing. Your tragic hero ending. And then gave him your mouth. Not words. Nor cunt. Just the mouth. Tip of the tongue, the lips and teeth. The stretch of his cock still wrung out your throat. Slick and wanting while it mimicked the way your cunt hugged the tip so well. Tased of salt and something more. Something forbidden or taboo. And he took his time with slow shallow thrusts at first, a large gloved hand cradling the curve of the jaw that went slack to let him buck deeper. 

This morning was one of the first times you lamented over the now restricted motion in your jaw. The ache still nagged into the later hours, when The Mandalorian returned from your gardens, the bloody and mangled caracas of a rabbit thumping down on the table. He sat at the head of the table opposite you, cleaning the blood from his knife on his cape. You thought if you saw his eyes — be it hickory, azure, or pine — you would have crystallised in that very moment and that very form. Cured oak table under your fingertips, feet planted into the terracotta floor. His irises setting your thrumming heart dead still.

This was the man you let into your bed.

He remained there, sat still in his chair while the child babbled in the kitchen with you. You took that rabbit. Skinned it. Dressed it. And roasted the meat in a marinade of white wine and spices from the edge of your fenced garden. Later you would hang the pelt and let it air — make something for the child. Mittens maybe. 

For now, you took your time circling the table to place each plate down: cheese, seasoned greens, a cup for the vessel of wine to his side. The silverware gleamed menacing in dim candlelight while he awaited each plate, unmoving in his armour while each delicacy was gifted to him upon his high table. And when you retired to your seat, the child had taken his too and started his feast, sticky plum jam smeared over his lips as he dribbled innocently and unaware over his rabbit leg.

But upon your silver plate was a single strip of black cloth, folded over twice on itself. 

Your eyes lifted to meet him, wide in wondering question. Only to hit a barrier of beskar when you see his visor still covers his face. Not a scrap of food had been helped onto his plate by his still gloved hands. His boots that traipsed dirt through your door were still on his feet, caked in mud on the soles.

“What’s this?” Nothing. Not a word past his lips. “Am I to figure it out for myself?” He cleared his throat, raising his head so his chin jutted out towards you. “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?” 

“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.” 

You pouted, pressing your tongue to the flesh on the inside of your cheek, then kissed your teeth. 

“You mean to dictate my freedom in my own home.” You scoffed and slung your arms across your chest, crossing them. “At my own table? You are sick in your own head, Mandalorian, if you think I am one to bend my will to the whims of others. Especially in my own house.” And he repeated,

while his shoulders drew taught under his pauldrons with the armour gleaming in the silver glare of Selene’s chariot. And he planted a seed in your stomach, turned in it, and made you feel sick. You preferred him between your legs, his name between your teeth and tongue. 

“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.” 

Eyes fell to the plate, that cloth once more. Would it be poisoned? The fabric snared with nettle to sting your eyes. Here you had two choices. Stay, blind yourself, yield to him somewhere other than your chambers. Or stand and leave. Either way, it was an act of submission. 

You did neither. Instead, you stood, kicking your chair back behind you before swanning over to the seat next to him, taking the other leg of rabbit and sinking your teeth into its cooked flesh, all the while your eyes on him. To tartarus with xenia, he outstayed his welcome long after he passed the threshold of your home. Helios could come and smite you for all you cared, the fates could snip your golden immortal line of yarn. No horror could compare to the satisfaction you had as you stuffed your face with food you'd slaved over for him. His refusal was your gain and soon you moved onto the plumbs, sticky sweet juice dribbling down your demented smile. 

You wafted the half chewn and mangled fleshy bone in his face, smirking with your mouth full. 

“Go on, Madalorian.” You crooned, “have a bite. Give in a little.” 

His hand snatched your wrist the moment the words left your stained lips, gloved fingertips making something click in your bones. You bit down the pain with a swallow, smirk remaining triumphant across your features. 

“Put it down.” He grimaced, curling his helmet covered lip at the state of you. Unkempt and wild, shrewish in your dignity. 

“Or what?” 

He let go. Sat back, pushed out a huff through his nostrils. 

Then he stood. You watched unphased and delighted with yourself as he took the child who cooed up at him. And listened out for his heavy footsteps as he climbed the stairs to his and the child’s room. Then silence. All the while you tossed the stripped bone to his plate and licked your fingers. 

You didn’t know what you would rather prefer. Him to come back down. Or stay and retire to bed. Regardless, he’d take you eventually. Here or up in your bed chambers. Unlace your corset or nightgown. Use you as his nightcap before slipping off. Without getting a look upon him. Not a sliver of his visage to hold to in sleep. 

He did come down. And with a heavy hand bent you over the head of the table, a gloved palm pressing your face into the wood. 

Physically you were here. Mentally, you were back against the silver birch. His cock splitting you in two once again while you smiled sadistically in candlelight. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. 

Between your thighs where he belonged. 

[randomvarious]

Today's mix:

Pure Garage Presents: Bass, Breaks & Beats by EZ 2001 UK Garage

There are *plenty* of times where you might find me lamenting over the unfortunate repeated failures of most British electronic and dance music to make significant impacts in the US, but when it comes to the genre of UK garage, know that I am super grateful that almost none of this shit managed to succeed Stateside, because the vast majority of this stuff is dumber than your own kitchen table 😵.

Cultivated in a country that's known for its own melting pot approach to music, UK garage naturally culminated in a confluence of things from a whole bunch of different genres, including drum n bass/jungle, breakbeat, dancehall, and house. Its own name had been derived from garage house, one of the earliest forms of house music as we know it, which is more rooted in elements of disco, R&B, gospel, and soul. And garage house itself was named after the venue where it was originally most famously spun at: New York's Paradise Garage, by the legendary DJ Larry Levan, which operated from the late 70s to late 80s.

But between garage house and UK garage was the indispensable link of speed garage. This music took the shuffled-snare house rhythms that'd been a hallmark of garage house, paired them with breakbeats, and then sped the whole thing up. A very inventive guy from New Jersey named Todd Edwards was a pioneer of this music, and became especially known for creating nicely textured melodies that were made of patched together strings of millisecond-long samples too. One of the only good tracks that happens to appear on this 2001 double-disc mix from UK garage stalwart DJ EZ (pronounced E-Zed) is Edwards' own "Show Me a Sign," which itself is, again, not a UK garage track, but speed garage instead—a sonic predecessor.

But what then followed speed garage was a British dance phenomenon of utter mindlessness 🚫🧠. UK garage took the speed garage idea of using those breakbeats and snares and then the only other additional things that people did with them was seep or ladle in fat and squelchy basslines—which were reminiscent of how the famous Reese bass had proved a worthy addition to drum n bass—and then peppered in vocal samples too. The music's only real unique versatility was that it could sound more akin to either house or breakbeat depending on the drum patterns that were chosen, but other than that, every track that leaned towards one or the other genre sounded very similar, because there's only so much that a person can do with a strictly percussive breakbeat and a bassline that seems to require a specifically fat and squelchy quality to it. People liked rapping over these beats too, which contributed a good level of energy to them, but to contrast it with hip hop—imagine that genre's beats being limited to only those specific combinations of breakbeat-and-bassline? I really don't think that it'd be the world's single-most popular genre of music right now if that'd ever been the case!

So, basically, UK garage sucked so much because of how overly simple its formula was, and because of that, how limited its sonic possibilities were too. You can scrub to pretty much any point on either of the discs for this mix here on YouTube and get a good idea of what both of them are entirely made of, because almost every single song utilizes a similar recipe of breakbeat-and-specific-bassline.

Not all UK garage turned out to be totally awful, though. When filtered through a contemporary R&B/pop kind of lens, it gave us essential early 2000s hits like Craig David's "Fill Me In" and Daniel Bedingfield's "Gotta Get Thru This"—two of the only UK garage tunes to achieve major success in the US.

But without any sort of pop sensibility lent to it, UK garage mostly just languishes in obscenely boring levels of formulaic unoriginality, as can be heard throughout the near entirety of this mix. I really don't understand how anyone could've ever enjoyed listening to this music for more than five minutes, but somehow, despite how totally reductive, devolutionary, and lobotomized it all felt, it still managed to flourish majorly on a commercial level in its home country, defining a piece of the UK's late 90s-to-early 2000s dance music landscape.

The only other track on here that I dig is "Firin' Times" by Swoopes (aka DJ Zinc), which isn't even a garage track of any sort—it's pure breakbeat! And it happens to make for a nice and unexpected spell from all the other gar(b)age that lines the rest of this whole mix.

So, ultimately, as an American, I'm really glad that 99.9% of this stuff didn't end up hitting our own airwaves. Besides those couple hits that I mentioned above, I've only ever really been exposed to UK garage in a similar way to how every year I'm made aware of the current fall season lineup of bad network TV shows—through all those ridiculous promo ad reads during football games 😂. In a sense, UK garage is like the BOB❤️ABISHOLA of dance music; you can just tell from the outset that it's gonna be dreadful, but the fact that it's managed to stick around for as long as it has indicates how popular it's been too, which then inevitably leads you to wonder, who on earth actually genuinely enjoys all of this terrible, terrible shit?!?

Listen to CD1 here. Listen to CD2 here.

Highlights:

CD1:

Swoopes - "Firin' Times"

CD2:

Todd Edwards - "Show Me a Sign"

[maxwell-grant]

🔥 X-men/Krakoa?

Allright let me swing at the hornet's nest here a bit: Krakoa was wasted on the X-Men, not the other way around.

Krakoa was, however problematic and shitty and complicated it might have been even from day one, was onto something enough to generate the intense interest and instant fandom it did, and it's biggest problem wasn't with the forgiving of unrepentant monstrous villains (because that door got blown open forever ago), or the no-humans-allowed policy, or the genocide in Latin America, or the pod people resurrection that took the bite out of every mutant genocide and death past and future, or that the entire premise was built around them trusting the funi haha eugenicist Nazi to build their paradise and let himself be stopped later, or that it kept revolving around the petty courtly intrigues of the arch assholes in charge with only like, two writers capable of propping up this to make it worth reading about. The central problem didn't have as much to do with the fact that the newfound central focus on shadowy detached superhumans huffing their supremacist royalist fumes 24/7 is precisely why nobody likes the Inhumans and especially why nobody liked them as a replacement to the X-Men, and you can't cobble a story out of Magneto/Emma Frost/Mr Sinister mean girl one-liners and hot takes even if that's all the fans want (yes, the X-Men are bastards and so is everyone in the MU, how cutting and insightful and powerful they are yes very impressed, but an Epic Bastard Moments compilation is still not a story). I don't even think it can be entirely blamed on the fact that they had the X-Men speedrun through the 14 rules of fascism as the opening act to a larger story only to decide that actually, we don't need that larger story after all, thanks Hickster but we can just take it from here and keep Stage One as is, everyone's gonna be cool with the cult shit if it still feels like it's going anywhere other than back to the school, we can keep this up forever now! This isn't even a bit, I don't think these things were the biggest cause of death for Krakoa even if they all were there.

I think the biggest problem is that, no matter how many cool or great characters they add to their ranks or what turns into epic pulp sci-fi bombast they take, the X-Men might just be foundationally, irreperably broken as a concept, smothered under the weight of the selling metaphor that just gets more dated and problematic and easier to tear holes into with every passing year, and Krakoa ultimately just elevated all these problems to center stage. There was never going to be a world where Magneto says something as full of shit as "There has never been a mutant war and we've never conquered or stolen land or made slaves and that's why we're better, by the way we're going to be your new gods now" with a straight-face and didn't have that proven immediately wrong (not counting all the people in the Council who absolutely did do all of those things). Krakoa couldn't be both the terra nullius dream clubhouse and the "queer separatist utopia" people desperately craved and a cult backed up by genocide run by self-destructive warmongering hypocrites and a next step in evolution and the headquarters to a superhero team you need to tell monthly exploding punchy stories about and a place that was going to live forever and lead us into the better future and a house of cards waiting to be toppled. It didn't have a future because quite frankly, the mutants don't have a future.

The mutants are, even after all this time, still a half-baked idea of people entirely defined by their oppression, by their death and torture and the hollow space where you're expected to insert your own marginalized traits to identify with instead of much of anything akin to how real marginalized identities are formed and developed and solidified over time. Pretending that the mutants can subsist forever on past shoddy worldbuilding and dated, vague parallels just gets more embarassing over time. It's not an issue individually cool comics or characters are going to fundamentally fix. Krakoa, to it's credit, was some way towards trying to define the mutants past their oppression, but they barely had a language or a flag, and even these attempts were smothered under the Claremontian shadow that's been choking this franchise forever and by the inability of The Big Two to truly hand the reins to anyone other than the same stables of white dudes who always get the final say in everything. Krakoa was Going Somewhere up until it wasn't, and the promise alone breathed a whole new life into the X-books, we really did get some very good comics out of this era, but it was always going to end the way it ended.

Actually scrap all of that, my hot take is, not for racist reasons or anything, but we should destroy the X-Men and replace them with big cool robots that can make us safe forever. Has anyone tried that already?

[why-raven]

quiz: tragic play character — yiuno.

Misunderstood Villain.

Prepare for an onslaught of both the most dehumanizing and hateful takes, and flood of thirst comments. You’re chronically misunderstood; whether or not you’re actually evil is debatable. You may be acting out for revenge, to defend someone you love, or even just to protect yourself—you’re a pretty jaded person. You don’t trust or even really like most people—perhaps you did, at one point, but that part of you is gone, and you don’t go a single day without grieving it. You think a lot about what your life could have been. You’re stuck in the past—you’re angry and maybe you don’t even want to be, but this is the only way you can see to survive. You’re open, but less in a trusting way and more like a wound. You don’t like to let people see you, but the hurt spills out of you before you can stop it. You’re impulsive, even as you try hard to plan and prepare. Maybe someday your side of the story will finally be heard. Until then, you can convince yourself that being hated is safer anyway.

link to quiz.

Oh, wow. What an eerily accurate result.

Yiuno embodies many aspects of an anti-hero: be it common tropes (ex. Dark and Troubled Past), or tip the scales further into extremity (ex. Psycho for Hire and Femme Fatale), it’s really fun working on his characterization… as much as I struggle to comprehend his complex, multilayered nature.

I dunno if people see him as a misunderstood villain—guaranteed, this guy literally kills for a living, and he was a war criminal at one point (as a major participant during the Magi War in the Fifth Astral Era). His unique physical condition has twisted his perception of time, like he’s stuck in a psychological limbo akin to a living hell, for eternity. While the idea of eternal life has been explored many times in the game (both the MSQ and mostly the ARR side-quests), to an immortal like Yiuno, only death can bring him true peace.

Oh wait, sounds like Emet-Selch much? Not really—for one, Yiuno does not crave for the past (in fact, he wished he could erase it and start over again), and he doesn’t believe in utopia. While Emet tried to justify his genocidal acts as a “necessary ritual” to reclaim his lost paradise, Yiuno doesn’t even bother to sugar coat the war crimes he’d committed. Though Emet (in Shadowbringers, not Endwalker) did humor the idea of giving the current world a chance as he observed how WoL and the Scions tried to save the First, he never stopped to show outright contempt for the Sundered, calling them lesser beings unworthy of existing. Yiuno, however, never harbors any form of racism or social prejudice towards anyone—on one hand, he sees people as, well, just people; on the other hand, he may appear to be rather apathetic and detached (and hence why he could kill people as willingly as Emet, but for different reasons).

It also didn’t help that his childhood was equally fucked up. Born into a clan with an unconventional (and controversial) family system and societal rules, Yiuno grew up pretending to be a girl for many years just so that he could stay together with his twin sister for as long as possible. This twisted upbringing gave him a rather unique outlook to gender and sexuality—while he identify himself as biologically male and is very much aroace, mentally he feels disconnected and sees them as mere labels. It’s hard for me to explain in a way that people can understand, without radical folks jumping the gun and dissing me about “misrepresentation” and stuff, so I won’t go into details here. (If you want to know more, feel free to ask me in DMs!)

I guess the last line rings true—perhaps it’s easier to hate him for no reason at all. I mean, unless it’s his soulmate Y’shtola or the energetic curious child Sora, very few people have the patience and time to learn more about a walking history like Yiuno.

[harleyquilt]

The Colour of Love (PMMM/HomuMado Fic)

Summary: A small, post-Rebellion fic from the perspective of Homura as she waits for Madoka to arrive at school.

Words: 2,107~

Notes: I like toxic dynamics, more so if they're GAY, so I just wanted to write a piece exploring some of Homura's thoughts, very much based on the ending of Rebellion.

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

What do they know of love? Of the fiery passion that burns within, and of the despair that follows when that flame is reduced to dying embers? What do they know of my deep-seated desire to capture you with my watchful eyes, and to hold you close, relishing your comforting warmth? How could they possibly know, or even comprehend the depth of my love for you, that continues to torment me each and every day. It is a love that is purely my own - a blessing and a curse that you have gifted me. I treasure it, I really do. 

No, they don't understand. They can't possibly understand! I can see them watching me with suspicious eyes, their discontent bubbling to the surface – Sayaka's accusatory glare, Mami's uneasiness, and Kyoko's growing confusion. It's insulting how they scrutinise this paradise that I have given them, though I shouldn't be surprised. Time and time and time again, they disappoint me with their irrational carelessness and impulsivity. All I can do now is watch and wait until they make their next blunder. I refuse to let them ruin this world I have created, dragging you away from my grasp. I have given up too much to allow it. 

The sun hangs low in the sky and a river of bodies moves uphill towards the school, where they'll spend the day mindlessly consuming meaningless knowledge from their teachers and textbooks. I lean back in my seat, bringing an ornate teacup to my lips. It is black tea today – sweetened with sugar, but still bitter against my tongue. While I watch the passing students, I consider joining them, and looking down, I find myself dressed in the school's uniform. I suppose there's no harm in entertaining these small whims of mine. I smile and place the teacup down, humming to myself a familiar tune. Rising from my seat, I press down my skirt and take my corrupted soul gem from the table, watching it dissipate into my ring. 

With a hop and skip, I land lightly by the school's entrance. I brush back my long, dark hair, my fingers running through the silky strands, and watch nearby students walk past, seemingly unaware of my presence. Glancing down the uphill pathway, I notice a few familiar faces, though none catch my interest; none of them capture my attention the way you do. That said, it appears that you're lagging behind the rest. No matter, I'll wait here until you arrive. I can be remarkably patient when necessary. 

Leaning against the entranceway gate, I cross my arms and continue to wait, glancing over the many, indiscernible faces of young students. They're all smiling. They're always smiling. It's then that I notice Sayaka walking towards me with a look of deep contemplation. Detecting my presence, she lifts her eyes and they meet mine. They widen with some alarm before her expression settles into something more akin to disgust. I smirk, lifting my chin, and she narrows her eyes, her lips pursed together. 

“Good morning.” I say, twisting the ring on my finger. Her eyes dart between my ring and my face. “It's a beautiful morning, wouldn't you say?” 

“It's always like this.” She speaks with a low voice, a sharp edge to her tone. 

I grin. “Are you not satisfied?” I raise my hands, gesturing to the clear sky and pleasantly warm sun. “What is there not to like?” 

She scowls, her jaw clenched. “It's unnatural! It's wrong.” She shakes her head. “Everything about this world is wrong.” 

I giggle, and my familiars, emerging from their shadows, echo my laughter. Round-headed crows gather on the nearby tree branches, their feathers fluttering down with the darkening cherry blossoms. Sayaka, noticing these changes, takes a step back, her body stiff and rigid. 

“Is that so?” I say, playing with a strand of my hair. I repeatedly twist it around my finger before letting it fall back to my side. “But you forgot one small detail, Miki-chan.” With a blink of an eye, I fall rapidly into a dark puddle and reappear behind her, whispering my next words into her ear. “I decide the rules of this world now.” 

She flinches and turns around, stumbling back, only to find that I have vanished once again. I seamlessly balance on top of the school gate, leaning forward with an unnatural balance. 

“I suggest you hurry along to school before you're late for class.” I miss my next step and burst into a flurry of dark feathers. With a giggle, I reappear on a nearby tree branch, sitting and swinging my legs back and forth. “Or is there someone you're waiting for?” 

She watches me from the corner of her eye, her lips twisting into a snarl and her hands clenched into fists. It's so easy to tease her, I think with a hum, narrowing my eyes. I consider tormenting her further, but in that moment, we hear a familiar voice call out for Sayaka. 

Kyoko runs up to her, wearing a hoodie over her uniform, her hair untidy, and a few crumbs clinging to the corner of her mouth. It is hard to imagine her attending school, and at first, she didn't; she instead spent her days wandering around the city, playing in the arcade and sharing food with my familiars, who, I can only assume, appeared to her as nothing more than delinquent school children. Besides Sayaka, Kyoko, Mami, and even Bebe, (that is to say, Nagisa), readily accepted the twisted perceptions that now clouds their minds, replacing their nonexistent memories with this new reality – a reality I have spun with the thread of my untamed desires. It's easy to see that, for the most part, they prefer this world over the previous one. As they should. 

Except for Sayaka, who continues to see through the shimmering facade I work hard to maintain. She questions me, taunts me, disregarding this universe as something unnatural. Her ingratitude is meaningless, pointless, powerless, but even so, her words bury themselves under my skin, irritating me incessantly. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to ignore her grating voice. Maybe I should make an effort to exert my authority onto her, show her the consequences of her blasphemy. It's something worth considering, at least. After all, I can't have her dragging you down along with her, all for the sake of what is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. Honestly, her ridiculous sense of justice only ever gets her into trouble. You would think that she would learn by now.

“Hey, why're you just standing there?” Kyoko dumps her arm across Sayaka's shoulders, knocking her forward slightly. “Something bothering you? Wanna ditch school?” She smirks, giving Sayaka a small shake. 

“No.” Sayaka pushes off Kyoko's arm, but is unable to hide the small smile creeping onto her lips, her eyes lowered. “No, it's nothing. Let's go.” 

She takes Kyoko's wrist and walks past the school gates, throwing one last glare towards me. Kyoko tries to follow the direction of her eyes, but is unable to comprehend my presence, and she, confused, looks back to Sayaka, telling her to slow down. I grin, feeling the crows peck at my skin, pinching and pulling my flesh between their sharp beaks. More crows begin to gather, a group of familiars dancing around the foot of the tree, singing an indiscernible song. 

I look back down the hill, and just beyond the crowd of other students, I catch sight of you. It's almost as if a halo of pure light surrounds you, the wings of the crows beating against my body as I take a moment to admire your beautiful purity. You keep your head down, shoulders hunched, and a look of discomfort on your face. I reach forward, a pang of worry in my chest, and the wings of the crows beat harder against me, bruising my skin. 

In an instant, the crows vanish, their black feathers falling alongside the cherry blossoms. In their place, my familiars sit along the overhanging branches, watching me below, where I now stand on the ground. The crowd of students naturally part around me – an unnoticed disruption. The familiars giggle and whisper amongst one another, the sound burrowing into my ears, and with a beckoning finger, I move the ground forward, shifting it smoothly towards me, like it is nothing more than a sheet of paper. I, alone, remain in place, and you, still downcast, are now directly in front of me, a few inches between us. You pause before bumping into me, looking up with an apologetic expression. 

“Ah,” she gasps, taking a step back. “I'm sorry! I should've been looking where I was walking. Homura-san, right?” 

I don't answer immediately, taking a moment to appreciate the innocence and sincerity in your eyes. They reflect the shine of the morning sun, glimmering like starlight. They almost look as they did back when you were a goddess, capturing the light of your soul in its golden hue. I smile and nod, my hands behind my back. 

“That's right.” I say. I can't stop myself from smiling, the voices of my familiars growing louder. “It makes me really happy knowing that you remember my name.” 

“O-Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, averting your eyes. The tree branch above cracks, the noise cutting through the air like thunder, though you, of course, hear nothing of the sort. “Of course I remember. It'd be rude if I didn't.” 

“I see.” I nod again, a crease in my eyes. “Would you like to walk to the classroom together?” 

“Sure.” You're smiling now, it's radiance almost painful. “We're in the same class, right?” 

“Yes.” I step aside, allowing you to walk ahead. You bow your head and begin to walk forward, a notable lightness in your expression. 

I want to reach forward and hold you in my hands, hiding your perfection from the eyes of all others. It would be easy to do so, to keep you caged between my fingers, admiring you like a bird in a cage. All day and all night. I would take care of you, Madoka. I would give you all that you ask for. You would want for nothing.

I pause, then, my chest clenching as my own thoughts continue to swarm my mind, the impossibly loud sound of quickening footsteps surrounding me, cornering me. What am I doing, trailing Madoka like this? I want to laugh, my hand covering my grinning face, and my eyes wide as dread continues to wrap around my throat, squeezing gently. Nooses hang around me, the familiars joyfully tucking their heads through the loop. Yes, I have already decided long ago that this is not what I am here for.

And as soon as Madoka takes a step forward, her eyes momentarily widen before she looks around, confused, unable to remember who she had been talking to. I, meanwhile, stand on top of the cracked tree branch, watching her from above. She can no longer remember me, and shaking her head, all memories of this encounter vanish from her mind. Like a gust of wind has blown them away. The branch bends under my weight, the crack edging up the wooden arm, and I watch Madoka head into the school, never sparing me a second glance. The branch snaps and I fall into the river that lines the walkway, the water thick and dark, like blood. 

This is for the best, I know. The love I feel for you, it would be unfair to place that weight onto your shoulders. To make you stare into the nauseating, inhumane swirling of colours that makes up the love I feel for you. I made this world for you so that you do not have to suffer. It would be wrong to spend anything longer than a passing encounter with you, threatening all that I have tried to maintain. I'm more than willing to make this sacrifice for you. I have and will sacrifice much more, if it means making you happy. I hope you know that. I hope you always know that, Madoka. Because even if this love of mine is disgusting, it is love, nonetheless. And nothing will ever change that. 

I continue to drown, the water filling my lungs, tasting like sweet honey, and I imagine Madoka's dull, peaceful day – participating in her lessons, eating her homemade lunch, talking to all of her friends – and I smile, content. 

Yes, the love I feel will never, ever change. The colour deepens, and I drift away, far, far away. From you. From Madoka. It's for the best.

[lyxvija]

Part II of III Oneshot for 🪐

Okay... I may have forgotten that this was actually really sad. Whoops. It MAY have gotten longer than expected, too... So yeah. Sorry bout that. There is no fluff.... :´)

I gotta warn you... or anyone who read part one:

Tags: cheating, possible break-up and ANGST

(I sometimes forget that my stories tend to be rather dark and filled with Angst. I swear I forgot it was angsty! SO read with caution. : D)

ALSO: If I would proofread that, I´d waste so much time I would rather use for the other Mammon fics in AO3, so you get what Google Docs checked for errors.

PS: OH F---- I saw I cut the One shot off at the "softest" part. (Maybe I drama-lama too much, but part one is tamer)

ANYWAY: Here it is! PART 2

"Yeah! Go home!! Like I need you here! You are nothing without me!! Don't even think you´d find anybody better than me!"

Mammon´s booming voice followed you all the way out. Back in your home you broke down as soon as you closed the door. Never had he screamed at you like this, talked like that to you, insult you like this! Why?!

The voices of your friends telling you Mammon was a toxic ignorant ticking time bomb now all flooded your mind. You were too hurt to even think about calling anybody. The last thing you needed was to hear “I told you so!”

For the rest of the day you curled into your blanket in bed, watched comfort movies and fell asleep with a bag of chips in your hand.

…………………………

The next day you felt miserable. Miserably was an understatement, you felt like trash. No, you did not feel better. Your confidence to face Mammon was zero. In fact, you didn't even want to see him. Maybe you could manage to avoid him for the whole day. The mere thought that he would go on like always, not even miss you, not even think about you made your heart ache.

How you wished that he would come and fetch you, say sorry to you, hug you tight and promise this was a one time thing… but deep down you knew this was just a stupid fantasy.

Work had gone by without any troubles. Mammon was nowhere to be seen, though you heard he will be in the office later. The twins made a remark, asking if there's trouble in paradise. You snapped at them and hushed away, instantly hating yourself for secretly following Mammon's order and to avoid them.

Somewhere around noon a coworker had given you a whole stack of papers, telling you to bring them up to Mammon´s office. You tried to protest, but they were already off. You cursed under your breath and dragged yourself up to his grand office, hoping he´d be away or too busy, so you can just put them somewhere in plain sight.

In front of the massive golden double doors you halted. After a deep breath you quietly knocked on the door. No answer.

You stepped inside and just before you could place the sheets on a nearby cupboard, you heard shuffling from somewhere around the room. You assumed the office was empty after you didn't see him in his chair, but apparently he was around the corner on his sofa, where he sometimes took a nap.

Not wanting to alert him of your presence, you tiptoed back to the exit, but then you heard another sound. Something akin to a groan. When you noticed more loud noises like shuffling, you noticed something was off.

Without thinking, you rounded the corner to investigate.

However what you saw was not what you had expected. Your eyes widened in disbelief. It was as if the air was knocked straight out of your lungs.

Instead of your boyfriend sleeping on the couch, you were faced with something else.

Right in front of you, layed Mammon half naked. Pants halfway down, brown locks between his thighs. His fingers dug into the scalp, as he moaned.

The world was spinning around you. You clasped your hands around your mouth.

Mammons eyes opened slightly, lost in pleasure, when suddenly-

“FACK!” He jolted upright. The shark between his legs letting go of his erected member to look behind.

Tears started to stream down your face, as your heart just shattered in a thousand pieces. Mammon didn't do anything but look at you in shock at getting caught red handed. WIthout wasting another second in this horrid scenario, you took off and dashed out of the office. Away from the two double doors, away from the offices below, away from the facility and away from him.You didn't even hold back. You simply couldn't. Bursting through the crowd, your coworkers and other employees, you screamed and cried.

When you reached home, your heart felt like it was on the verge of breaking. Sliding down the door you had trouble breathing. Everything spun. Your throat hurt as you wailed in pain. The buzzing of your phone made you jolt. When you saw who called you, you threw your phone against the wall. Then you crawled into the dark bathroom, hiding in a corner, hoping…wishing this was all a bad dream.

After what felt like hours, your mental breakdown had died down. On shaky legs you stepped back outside of the dark place granting you cover and comfort. Your phone´s screen lit up. You picked it up and saw five calls and twenty three new messages.

It was him. Some texts and audios. If you thought seeing him like this wasn't like a punch in the guts, the messages truly were. Each one another slap, punishing you for your naivety and ignorance.

“SO WHAT?? CAN´T HAVE SOME FUN ONLY BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T AROUND????????

BITCH YOU DON'T OWN ME

I CAN DO WHAT I WANT DO YOU REALLY THINK I NEED YOU?????

🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 👌 👌 👌 👌 👌”

The tears were back in an instant. Your legs failed to support you. In horror you listened to the audios. Mammon switched between screaming, cussing at you and laughing. Repeatedly mentioning how he didnt need you and who you think you were for owning him. His laughter was hysterical and cut so deep you didn't know was possible.

Every moment, every passionate night, every tender and living embrace.

It was all a lie. What were you thinking?? What? That YOU really were something special for him? How foolish and naive can someone be?? To think he would really have fallen for you. You refused to play his game so he kicked you out of it. The time he needed to find a substitute for you was another kick in the teeth.

You couldn't breathe and you couldn't think. You threw up and tried to regain your breath.

Dialing a friend's number, you broke down again when you told them everything. In an instant he drove to your place and held you in his arms as you cried and sobbed into their chest. When he said this wasn't your fault, you knew it was a lie. How did you not see the warning signs? Where did you miss them?? You had really thought that this: A relationship with the Sin of Greed, Mammon for fucks sake, could work out?

Needless to say, you didnt attend work after that. You just couldn't. Mammon made sure to send you some dismissive and hurtful texts the day after, then suddenly he stopped. Nobody called you nor stopped by. You knew if he really wanted he could have simply teleported to your place, but now you knew he never would. If you had been worth it, he would have teleported to you after the big fight… but he didn't. How come after the harsh drop into reality, you still hoped he would come back… that he would call? You knew it was idiotic, but you couldn't help thinking about a scenario where things have been different for the two of you…but maybe there never was an us to begin with. Wishful thinking.

Without a job and weeks of fighting with yourself to get out of bed, your friend decided that it was best to have you live with him. One day, he was just there, snatched you, and dragged you to his apartment. You didn't even complain. Your situation felt way less worse after you moved in. One day, when you whined about that, he didn't even message you again. Since he probably has forgotten you already, your friend said they had blocked his number on your phone and in socials. To your surprise, you didn't even bother. It was true… it was the best for you…after all, if he really would have cared for you, he would have shown up, and after all the horrible things he sent, you had your answer….