#but it fucking aches all the time and i feel so gross for wanting attention

[deepfriedseagullfeet]

not to keep hammering on this point or sound like an incel or anything but im so touch starved that if a girl kissed me on the cheek right now i would meltdown like a nuclear power plant, causing radiation damage for miles

[lipglossanon]

Got No Human Grace

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

Las Plagas!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

it’s finally here 😬

Anon asked: Leon coming back form a mission but he’s still infected knowing its the last of its kind it sort of takes over to breed with the reader

I’m unsure of this one! 😅 I hope it makes sense; I tried something a little different to sort of convey Leon changing. Let me know what you think!! 💜 las plagas!Leon came out more of a soft boi than the intense version I was aiming for 🤔

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, infected Leon, body alterations, biting, marking, scenting, masturbation, dirty talk/thoughts, breeding kink times ten, big dick Leon supremacy, unprotected sex, creampie, monster fucking kink

Kinda looked over so sorry about mistakes lmao

Title from Eyes Without A Face by Bill Idol 😌

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

Leon ached from head to toe, muscles he didn’t even know existed making his body scream out in pain and exhaustion. He dropped Ashley off at the rendezvous point days ago and he’s just now getting home. After flying nonstop for hours on end, he just wants to take a shower and collapse into bed. 

Unlocking his door, he pauses at the threshold, head cocked and listening. His chest aches, a prickly sting beginning to irritate him before it sweeps from his chest up to his head making his eyes water. He doesn’t hear or sense anything so he slowly relaxes, entering his house and shutting the door. 

A small sound off to the side has him reacting without even thinking. His knife is embedded in the roach, pinning the insect to the base board, feet away from him, before Leon even realizes he has moved.  He shakes his head as he walks over to the dead bug, pulling his knife out with a frown. 

He’s definitely more on edge than he thought, grimacing at the gross slime on his blade. Tossing it down on the rug as he passes the living room (making a mental note to clean it later), he makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. 

Taking one of the fastest showers in recorded history, Leon barely tugs on a pair of clean briefs before he’s collapsing into bed and passing the fuck out for sixteen hours of dead-to-the-world sleep. 

He’s dreaming he thinks. He must be. 

He’s sinking 

                    down..

                              down..

                                         down..

Landing on something soft. 

Silky. 

Warm. 

His chest feels likes it’s blooming open. 

Like an exotic flower. 

a Venus fly trap

Silky warmth like a cocoon envelops his thoughts making them cotton soft. He luxuriates in the softness, rubbing himself against it like a cat in heat. He feels his cock stiffen as the softness keeps pressing in all around him. 

His chest cracks open more, heat blooming outward as he pants in the dark, rutting against the soft feeling encompassing his body. God, it feels so good. So nice. He hasn’t felt this comforted in ages. He wants more. 

He’s sinking down again, a soft suction pulling him further into the warm dark silk, wrapping him tighter in its embrace. 

Down

Down

Down

        ..until..

                         settling on the

b o t t o m

 

His chest feels fully cracked open. Heat and want pooling out like tendrils in the breeze. Long, writhing tentacles reaching for Leon. Touching, caressing, stroking. 

He frowns in the dark, the warm slick feeling of a

cracked open head the insides spilling out the lovely red making him excitedthrobbingneedy

a wet tendril curling around his thoughts along with his body coaxing him back into that silky bliss. The tendrils wrap around his cock drawing his attention back to that wanton feeling, still hard and dripping from earlier. 

A sliver of thought seeps into the warm gooey heat of his brain. He needs to cum. Needs it desperately. What he wouldn’t give to bury himself in some warm body, let them work him over til he’s spilling inside, gifting them with his seed, sharing his bloodline so he’s not the last. 

That draws him up short, brain sludgy as the slick tentacles stroke his dick, teasing across his balls. Bloodline? He thinks dizzily, cock weeping precum as he writhes against the slow hand job he’s getting from the tendrils wrapped around him. 

He whines as the motion picks up, making him fuck into the slick tunnel surrounding his dick. He needs to cum so bad. Fill up some pretty girl. Ohhh like that neighbor next door. Leon’s cock kicks and drools more precum thinking of you. 

You’re so pretty and sweet. You don’t know each other that well but Leon’s eager to change that. He’s rocking his hips even faster, picturing your shy smile the last time you ran into him followed by the thought of how pretty your cunt will be when he fucks you. 

With a low groan, he’s cumming all over the slick tentacles as they stroke his cock. His balls draw up as the tendrils milk him for every drop of cum in his body. As soon as it teeters on too much, they slip away leaving Leon to bask in his pleasurable silence. Something snaps into place in his mind and

¡₲ⱠØⱤł₳₴ Ⱡ₳₴ ₱Ⱡ₳₲₳₴!

he 

wakes 

up 

His mind feels slow, disoriented, not even sure where he’s at, as he raises up from his tangled sheets. His boxers are soaked, sticking to his half hard cock as he shifts to sit on the edge of his bed. His lip curls in disgust. He must’ve had a pretty damn good dream to make such a mess. 

An image of you zings in his brain making his cock chub up in his briefs. 

“Fuck,” he hisses out, leaning back on his palms as his dick quickly thickens, pressing obscenely against his underwear. 

He slips the band down to press underneath his balls, cock slapping against his stomach and dripping cum everywhere. 

He lays completely flat against his bed, reaching down to run his fingers across the tip before gently tugging the foreskin down to swipe a thumb over his slit. 

He pants as he tugs on his cock, letting himself relax into the sheets and spreading his thighs. He’s so sensitive that it leaves him groaning loudly as he grips himself tightly to hump his hips into his fist.  

Wonder if you’re home, he thinks sluggishly, hand picking up speed. He’d love to see you today, maybe see if you want to get dinner. Maybe even see if you’d like to come back here and let him take you apart over his sheets. 

He moans and pumps himself harder, precum dripping over his knuckles making it sound wet as he beats off. He thinks of you begging for him, begging to breed your cute pussy, please Leon just give it to me I need it please Leon please need you to cream my pussy til it takes knock me up need you—

He’s growling out a moan as he cums all over his fist and twitching abs. It seems never ending as spurt after hot spurt of jizz spills across his fingers to drip down his balls. Once he’s completely spent, he heaves a sigh trying to regulate his heartbeat. 

He slowly sits up, mindful to not make any more of a mess. Slipping his briefs off, he haphazardly wipes what cum he can on them then tosses them in the hamper. He heads to the bathroom to take another quick shower which ends up being a long one as he jerks off again to thoughts of you. 

As he spills his cum down the drain, he groans in frustration at feeling like a teenager all over again. It’s kind of insane how horny he feels and how it seems to be all centered around you. Maybe he just needs to shoot his shot and see if he can get you in his bed. Worry about semantics later. 

Feeling more settled, he finally finishes his shower and gets dressed. He knows you’re off today since it’s the weekend so he’s just going to bide his time until he can bump into you this afternoon. You always go out for a quick stroll around the block, not that he’s memorized it by now, but you seem to be a creature of habit. 

And Leon is right. As soon as he settles on his porch steps, just starting to enjoy the sunny day, he sees you out of the corner of his eye. You’re heading back to your house from the end of the street so you’ll have to pass by him. 

He watches you under his lashes until you slow your pace down right outside his house. 

“Leon! Hi, did you get back last night!”

He looks up and sees you shuffling your feet next to the pathway up to his front porch. His eyes drift from your tennis shoes up to your bare legs (wrapped around his waist, over his shoulders, thighs pressed—) to your shorts and simple t-shirt, up to your neck (so empty and bare) and finally your face. You’re smiling at him but it’s slowly morphing into concern until he smiles at you in return making you smile even brighter. 

He wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go, wants to pin you down and make you cry on his cock, begging for him to breed your needy pussy, he wants—

“Sorry, I’m a little tired today,” he laughs, standing up to walk toward you. 

“Oh no worries, if I’m bothering you I can—“

“No,” his words rush out, “no bother, I was actually hoping to see you.”

He pauses an arms length in front of you, realizing how much smaller you are compared to him. It sparks another wave of want, knowing he could manhandle you how he wants. 

While distracted, your hand moves up to his jaw but holds just shy of touching him, a question hovering around your eyes that makes him smile at you again. 

“You seem tired,” you drop your hand back down, concern making your brows pinch, “your eyes looked..”

He watches as you search his face again but then rub your neck, a sheepish grin ticking your lips up. 

“Nevermind, must’ve been a trick of the light or a shadow or something,” you sigh and roll your neck, “heck maybe I’m just too tired.”

His eyes catalogue everything about you, his chest feeling tight, 

breed her pretty perfect the perfect mate to fill over and over breed her mate her mark her sink teeth deep spill hot red blood-

making him rub a hand over the center until the ache slips away into nothing. 

“Uh, so I was wondering if you were free tonight?” he grins at you, flirty and sweet, “nothing fancy, I was just going to order out and we could watch a movie?”

You duck your head but Leon can see the smile on your face making the  plagasbutterflies in his chest flutter. 

“Sure,” you look back up at him, hands clasped in front of you, “would seven tonight be okay?”

“Perfect,” his smile widens, making his cheeks hurt, “any kinda food you prefer? Any allergies?”

You giggle and touch his arm, “I’m good with whatever and luckily no allergies.“

“Good, that’s good.”

perfect perfect mate good strong genetics breeding  compatible

“I’ll see you tonight then!”

He waves as you walk the half block down to your house and watches as you slip inside your home. Once he can’t see you anymore, he goes back inside and cleans. He needs to look presentable. He grabs his knife from last night and cleans it thoroughly before slipping it into his bedside drawer. Then, he goes over the entire house making sure it’s suitable for a mate date. 

Once that’s finished, he orders pizza. It’s nothing fancy, like promised, just something quick and easy. The doorbell rings just as he finishes changing into something more appealing. He knows you’re on the other side of the door, can sense it; his chest tingles when he pulls open the door and sees you standing there, soft and pretty just for him. 

You smile and hold up a Tupperware box. 

“Thought I’d make cookies,” he takes the box from you, gesturing for you to come inside. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, the warm fluttery feeling in his chest coming back full force. 

“It’s no problem,” you wring your hands, head ducked down shyly, “thank you for inviting me over.”

Leon steps up to gently take your elbow, guiding you into his living room. The pizza sits on the coffee table surrounded by plates and napkins. He has you sit down on the couch, skirt hem rucking up as you shift to get comfortable. 

His eyes catalog everything about you an incessant need to memorize itching inside of him. Setting the cookies down onto the table, he sits next to you, knees nearly touching. 

“I’m glad you came,” his voice is low and quiet. 

A shy smile steals over your face, “I’m glad I did too.”

Your mouth opens then closes before you set your shoulders determinedly and speak, “I’ve been meaning to ask you out for awhile but I’ve just chickened out every time.”

“Really?”

You nod with a grin. Suddenly, a sharp stinging pain lances through his chest. His wince doesn’t go unnoticed and your hand reaches out to rest on his knee. The sting ramps up into a searing burn. 

“Leon, are you okay?”

He tries to nod, but the pain expands out through his chest cavity and rushes up his neck to his head. Standing up quickly, he lurches toward the bathroom. 

“J-just a headache,” he finally gasps out, a pulsing wave of pain filling his mouth so quick that it makes his teeth ache. 

His legs buckle, knees coming down hard onto the floor but he doesn’t even feel it as the molten lava flow of pain races down his arms. 

“Leon?” he hears your fear laced tone as your hand touches his shoulder, “oh my god, Leon—“

He can taste your confusion on his tongue with hints of fear and curiosity as he folds in on himself, trying to push the pain away. A sharp stinging rip stretches across his mouth, a poor facsimile of a jokers grin. Sharp tipped claws replace his hands, black inky skin stretching up from his fingertips to slowly fade back into his regular tan colored skin except for the black veins racing up his arm to disappear under his shirt. 

He senses that you’re now kneeling in front of him, can hear your heart rabbiting in your chest to see him so changed. 

“Leon, should I call someone?”

“No,” he finally gasps, head coming up making you flinch at what you see. 

He knows how scared you are, hates that you’re so afraid of him but it doesn’t stop him from reaching out. You hesitate but take his hand, being mindful to miss the sharp edged claw tips.

“This isn’t what I’d consider first date material,” you try to joke, but tears bead your eye line. 

Warmth blooms in his chest but this time it’s a welcome reprieve compared to the hot overflow of pain that changed him. 

“I’d have to agree, third date for sure,” he tries to smile but his mouth is too wide now, new teeth pressing in making his tongue stumble. 

Your hand squeezes his, heart rate increasing as you really take in his face. 

“Is it bad?” he whispers. 

Your mouth trembles but your eyes are firm, “Not really, kinda looks like Halloween makeup.”

He snorts at that making you laugh softly. 

“How do you feel?”

His brows pinch together.

“It feels like there’s an undercurrent of thought,” he goes to tap his temple but sees the claw out of the corner of his eye so drops his hand back down, “like a second thought process.”

“What’s it thinking?”

Frowning at him, you shuffle closer and his eyes catch the motion of your skirt. Hunger like he’s never had before shoots through his body like an electric current. 

breed her fill her up mark her claim her bite her mate her

He sways toward you, mouth salivating. 

“Leon?”

“I’ll scare you off,” he finally mutters pulling himself together, pressing that other voice away. 

“I think we’re well past that,” you tease, “just tell me.”

His chest flutters, giddiness from letting it sink in that you’re really still here, that you didn’t run. 

perfect mate perfect breeder mark her claim her

“Fuck, okay, I’ll—,” he lets his head slump forward into your neck. 

He feels as you tense under him but slowly relax as he just breathes you in; you tense again when his clawed hands wrap around your waist as he snuffles into your neck harder. 

“Wanna mate you,” he whispers into your skin, being careful to not catch his teeth, “wanna keep you. Breed you again and again. Keep you stuffed with my cock. Perfect, never had someone so lovely before.”

He presses his lips to your pulse, tasting your fear with hints of arousal. 

“Mark your pretty neck, bury myself between your thighs and fuck your pussy,” he rumbles, tongue lapping at your neck, hands tightening around your waist, “need to make you my breeder, mate you permanently.”

He scrapes his newly formed fangs against your skin, “Been so lonely, for so long, never found a mate til now. Gonna keep you all to myself. Never let you go.”

That undercurrent of thought Leon spoke of feels like it’s finally waking up inside of him, parasitically merging with his higher thoughts. The fluttering in his chest that had fallen into the background finally sinks into him, completing its final stage of amalgamation. 

“Mine, all mine,” he promises, both lines of thought syncing together and making his tenor sound strange. 

“Leon,” you whimper, hands shakily reaching up to his hair to tug him away from your neck.

He blinks at you almost sleepily, reminiscent of a feline. Tugging one of your hands from his hair, he presses a kiss to the palm as well as he can with teeth crowding his mouth. 

“My pretty girl,” he coos at you, tugging you closer until you have to straddle his thigh or lose your balance and fall into his chest.

Leon noses along your hairline and chuffs happily, “Perfect, smell so good, want you so bad.”

His nose trails down your jaw, tongue licking your skin, “Can I have you? Please? Need you so much.”

You shiver in his arms and he knows that you’re slowly conceding, can feel your arousal ramping up with his soft touches. 

“My mate is so pretty,” he purrs in your ear, tongue flicking the shell making you gasp quietly, “so pretty and so perfect. Wanna fill you up with my seed, show you how bad I want you.”

“Leon,” you whimper, rocking your hips down on his thigh.

The motion has him trilling in the back of his throat, nosing your jaw to lick across your cheek and lips. 

“Perfect mate to breed,” he rumbles, “keep you pinned on my cock so I can fill that perfect pussy.”

Your hands are tangled in his hair, using it as an anchor so you can rock down on him. He can feel your damp panties and smell how much you like this. 

“Can I?” he’s murmuring in your ear again, “can I fuck your pretty pussy? Please?” he sighs and nuzzles your hair, “need to breed my mate’s perfect little pussy.”

A whispering moan slips past your lips. 

“Yes, Leon.”

◥✥◤

It’s a literal blur from the living room to Leon’s bed. He must’ve picked you up and carried you here, but it seems like between one blink to the next you’re in a new space. 

You don’t really get much of a chance to take in the new setting as Leon crowds into your personal space, blue eyes wide and contemplating. 

“Okay?”

You smile up at this wildly different man, if he’s even still considered one, and stroke his cheek. His eyes droop and he purrs at the motion. 

“I’m okay, Leon. Can I just touch you for now?”

He nods eagerly. You run your fingers from his black clawed hands up the inky black stain, to his toned forearms where it fades back into peach colored skin.  You trace the black veins that travel up his biceps. He stays still, watching you the entire time, eyes never blinking. 

“Can you take your shirt off?” you ask shyly, feeling hot all over at thinking of where this is all headed, clit pulsing with excitement.

Leon quickly takes his shirt off and then without prompting, slips his jeans and boxers off. You bite your lip to stifle the noise that almost escaped. Those inky black veins cover his entire torso before slowly disappearing down his abs to his dick. His thighs are normal but the dark veins picks up near the bend of his knee and you can only assume travel down the length of his legs. 

Your eyes can’t help but focus on his dripping cock. It’s flushed and hard, head peaking through his foreskin, weeping precum down the shaft. He’s so big that it has your walls fluttering already. You’re not sure it’s even going to fit, but you really really want it to. It’s not every day you get fucked by a monster cock.  

“Okay?” 

Leon’s hesitant voice pulls your attention back to his face. Your hands stalled out on his biceps and you squeeze the muscle at the same time as you press your thighs together. 

“Okay,” you smile up at him and he tries to return it, mouth too strange now to truly smile. 

Your pussy throbs seeing those teeth of his. Even his monstrous traits are making you aroused, feeling hot all over from seeing his black claws settle on the bed near your hips—picturing as he grabs onto you with them, scratching you up. 

Shivering, you part your thighs, slick leaking from your cunt. Leon groans and presses his face into your neck. 

“Smell so good,” he mumbles.

“Can you,” you take in a shaky breath, “can you smell how turned on I am?”

“Uh huh,” he whines, tongue swiping across your skin, “taste it too.”

“Oh,” you breathily sigh, hands digging into his shoulders.

You let your eyes fall back to his cock, “Don’t know if you’ll fit, Leon.”

“Can fit,” he pants, humping the air for a split second as the tip drools more precum, “made to fit.”

“Is it?” you tease, running your hands down his arms, “I’ve got a pretty small pussy compared to that.”

He snarls against you neck making your heart race in fearful excitement. 

“Make it fit,” he grunts, dropping his hips down to grind his bare cock against your covered pussy, “pretty mate will take it, breed her deep.”

Whining, you tug Leon close and press a soft kiss against his teeth. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” you gasp out and Leon listens, lolling his tongue out past those sharp fangs. 

You slowly lap at it then suck his tongue into your mouth. His eyes narrow in delight and he plunges his tongue deep into your mouth, making you choke.

He pulls away, worry crossing his features, but you tug him back, “Again.”

Moaning, you open your mouth as wide as you can and let Leon fuck his tongue in and out, gagging you when he slips in too far. Your nipples are so hard they hurt and your pussy aches with emptiness. 

You have to push Leon away but he keeps licking your cheek and jaw, the closest thing to a kiss he can give you right now. 

Giggling, you slip off your skirt and panties and when that draws his attention, you take off your blouse and bra dropping it all into the floor. 

Leon’s eyes rake over your body. Feeling a little self conscious, you try to close your legs but Leon shoves his way in between them. 

“So pretty, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tongue lathing across your clavicle, “want to lick you all over.”

Shivering, you relax against the bed, “Okay, Leon.”

“Really?” he groans, tongue dragging across the swell of your breasts, “wanna eat you up.”

Your breath hitches, pussy getting wetter at the thought of Leon biting you with those teeth. 

“You can,” you whisper, eyes watching as he nips at your chest. 

You both moan when he sucks at your nipples, swapping back and forth between each hard bud. He loves to latch onto one, framing it with his teeth as his tongue flicks your nipple over and over and over until you’re squirming; then he gently suckles on it until your hips buck. Moving over to the other nipple, he repeats the process. 

Soon, your nipples are puffy and swollen and Leon still concentrates on them, pinch them gently between his claws until you’re whining. 

“Please, please, please,” you push your hips up until his cock drags along your slit, smearing slick and precum across your pussy lips. 

A shaky exhale, “Want you to breed me, Leon.”

An inhuman sound rumbles in his chest as his sharp claws grab your hips, shoving you down onto the bed with him following after. He drops his weight on you making you moan, legs spread wide around his hips. 

“Mate,” he growls looking down as he starts to press the fat tip of his cock into your dripping hole, “so wet for me, pussy wants it so bad.”

You whine as he stretches your pussy around his cock; he’s so big it’s making your eyes water while your cunt spasms and clenches down. 

“Open up for me,” he licks across your neck, “open up that pretty pussy so I can fill her up.”

“Trying,” you mewl, relaxing your muscles so he slips in another few inches. 

“There we go, such a pretty girl,” he purrs and nuzzles your cheek, “wants me to breed her full.”

Moaning, you raise your hips up shoving more of his cock into your too tight hole. A pained hiss comes from your lips but you tighten your legs around his body. 

“Help me, Leon,” you pant, tears shimmering in your eyes, “you’re gonna have to make it fit.”

He groans and it echoes oddly in his chest.

“Make it fit, make it fit this pussy, mate needs my cock to fit,” he’s mumbling to himself. 

He pulls his hips back making you whine which becomes a choked off moan when he bullies his thick cock all the way into your cunt until he’s bottoming out. You feel split in two, pussy fluttering and twitching around his dick. 

Your eyes slip shut, tears slipping free, “God Leon, it’s too much.”

“Perfect fit,” he nips at your neck making you clench on him, “perfect pussy.”

You’re milking his cock and nothing has even happened yet. 

“I can’t,” you whimper, eyes opening to look down at him mouthing across your breasts, “it’s too much.”

“Mmm,” he suckles at a hard nipple making your pussy throb, “feels so good.”

You lay there under his heavy body as he sucks and lathes his tongue across your puffy nipples until you’re squirming, grinding down into his dick. 

“Feel better?” 

Your eyes are hazy when you finally meet his gaze, “Yeah, s’good. You’re just so deep.”

He raises up and you both can see a small bump in your lower belly.

“Perfect pussy,” he strokes a clawed hand over it making you keen high in your throat, “taking me so good.”

Your hands have been tangled in the sheets this whole time, but now come up to grab onto his shoulders.

“You’re gonna ruin my pussy for anyone else,” you whimper eyes watching him pet bulge in your belly. 

Snarling, he pulls his cock halfway out and bullies it back into your cunt making you squeal. 

“My pussy,” he grunts, teeth gnashing, “my mate.”

“Ohh,” a breathy moan slips past your lips as Leon starts fucking harder and harder into your pussy. 

“Say it,” his clawed hands dig into the skin of your hips, piercing the skin and making him even more frenzied. 

“Y-your m-mate,” you finally spit out, slick leaking from your pussy as his claws dig into your hips, “your mate, Leon.”

“That’s right.”

“Fuck,” you gasp out, Leon folding your knees up to your shoulders, “Leon, I can’t.”

“Y’can,” he grits out, mouth feeling full of too many teeth, too many hungry thoughts, “gotta, for me, please.”

You whine but go slack in his arms allowing him to push you further, letting him sink his cock back into your soaked hole. His body feels like it’s on fire, his chest feels so full of liquid heat that he’s surprised it’s not spilling past his lips. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he chants around the fangs now taking up space in his mouth, “so good.”

“Leon,” you mewl, head hanging off of his bed from his thrusting, “m getting dizzy.”

He grabs your hips and without pulling out of your cunt, yanks your body back along the bed. Your eyes finally meet his and he feels your pussy flutter around his cock as fear strikes your features. The black veins have gotten worse around his temples traveling down to his jaw as a single black mass.

“Leon, are you okay?” your hand hesitates at your side but you lift it up to cup his face making him whine and nuzzle your palm. 

“Hot, can’t think,” he stumbles over his words. 

“You look worse..” your voice trails off as your eyes really take in his appearance, “maybe we should stop.”

He snarls and snaps his hips harder into your squelching cunt, a mewling cry escaping your mouth. 

“No,” he bears his teeth at you, so sharp now, no longer his blunted human teeth but something more savage—feral.

Whining, your cunt milks his cock as he grinds his fat tip against the opening to your womb. 

“Leon,” you gasp out as he starts pinching and rubbing your clit softly with those claws as he grinds deep into your clenching heat, “Leon, you’re—.”

Black veins race across his skin and pulse along with his heartbeat; his eyes seem to get the worst of it, making the sea dark color stand out even more almost like they’re glowing. His hands are gripping your hips so tightly they’re bruising. 

“Breed, gotta cum in you,” he finally grits out, drool slipping from his mouth as he still isn’t used to his teeth, “pretty pretty girl. Gonna mate you, mark you. Mine. All mine.”

“Leon,” you whine, hands reaching out to brush his hair away from his face, watching the veins wiggle and squirm under his skin. 

Your pussy clamps down on his dick to hear his husky voice mutter, “Bite you deep, mate you, breed you, all mine.”

Arousal floods your body at the thought of him sinking those needle sharp teeth into your skin, the stinging bite of having him mark you like that. Subconsciously, you’re arching your neck to him, baring the soft unmarked skin for his perusal. 

He growls, fucking you in long slow thrusts, cock stretching you so open it makes your eyes water. You feel as his hands grip you even tighter, nails pricking your skin and making you bleed. 

He scents the air and pants like a dog down at you, drool dripping all over your chest and neck.

“Smell so pretty,” he licks a trail from your jaw down to your clavicle, “wanna taste, w’nna taste, please.” 

You’re nodding before you can think better of it, “Yes, yes, Leon.”

His sharp teeth pierce the junction where you neck and shoulder meet making your eyes roll back in your head, crying out loudly while your pussy gushes slick as you cum around Leon’s dick. 

He growls and fucks you through your orgasm. 

“Never had something so good before,” he’s lapping at the bloody mark on your neck, “god, never felt anything this good ever. So wet, so good, pussy’s so good. Never give you up, never. Kill anyone who touches you. Mine all mine. My mate, my breeder.”

The pain in your neck slowly radiates into syrupy pleasure; it drips down into your body, nipples tightening in pleasure and clit throbbing with want. 

“Leon,” you slur, “what, what..”

“Poison,” he sounds apologetic but his eyes watch you hungrily, “make you feel good, aphrodisiac,” he stumbles over the word like it’s new to his vocabulary. 

Your cunt aches when Leon pulls completely out and you moan loudly when he bottoms out into you again. 

“Full, gotta keep mate nice and full,” his teeth still has flecks of your blood, making your cunt pulse with want again. 

“Leon,” you mewl pitifully, hands cupping his face, “s’too much.”

He blinks and his eyes seem to clear for a second, “Sorry, sorry sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me.”

“Yeah?” you whine. 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want anyone else but you,” he pants, eyes darkening again, “knew you’d be perfect and you are.”

His voice drops, the low timbre giving you goosebumps, “Perfect mate for me. Never need anyone else.”

Everything goes a little fuzzy on the edges, like you’ve had a little too much to drink; your thoughts are cotton soft and candy sweet. 

Leon is smiling at you now, or it looks like a smile, teeth bared at you but with gentle eyes. 

“Leon,” you giggle up at him, endorphins running rampant in your blood, bubbling like fresh champagne in a glass.

“Pretty,” he licks at the mark on your neck, “keep you, breed you over and over and over.”

You rock your hips up and moan, body on fire craving for him to cum inside you. 

“Leon, want it so bad, cum in me please,” you beg up at him, eyes wet with tears.

He bites you again this time on the shoulder and you scream as another orgasm washes over your body. 

“Mate feels so good,” he drools against your neck, licking at the bite.

Your eyes roll back in your head, hips rocking down to press Leon deeper into your cunt somehow. His pelvis grinds against your pudgy clit making your pussy clench repeatedly around his throbbing dick. 

You’re both panting and moaning, rutting against each other like animals. Leon keeps biting at your unmarked skin which has you gushing slick around his cock. 

“Breed me, Leon, need it,” your tongue is swollen and heavy in your mouth. 

You can’t even think past the haze of needy arousal taking over you body. Leon’s sharp claws move up to your ribs, sinking into your skin to draw more blood making you toss your head back with a moan. 

“Mark me up,” you scratch at his shoulders, a poor imitation of his own dangerous nails, “feels good.”

Leon’s snarling again, hips picking up a rough pace as he fucks his weeping cock into your squelching cunt. 

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” your spine arches as his cock drags against your g spot and knocks against your cervix. 

The lizard part of your brain promises you that’s where he belongs, buried deep in your womb. 

Leon watches you with sharp blue eyes, mouth panting as drool drips down onto your chest. He starts a slow, rolling grind to capitalize on rubbing against that spongy spot as well as press against the opening to your cervix. 

“Perfect,” his voice is deep and gravelly making your clit throb, “breed this pussy good and deep.”

“Yes, Leon, please,” you hump down on him, trying to get him to go faster but he doesn’t budge, “need it so bad, breed me. Want your cum.”

He grunts, eyes lit up with excitement as he just watches you get more and more desperate. You feel like you’re going crazy you’re so turned on. 

“Please,” your voice cracks, “it hurts Leon ‘m so empty.”

He finally relents but moves to put you in a mating press, holding your legs up and open, clawed hands pressing against your thighs so he can fuck down into your soaked cunt. 

“Need it, need it, please Leon,” you hiccup a whine, “my pussy’s ruined for anyone else, need you to keep me full.”

He growls and snaps his teeth at you, hips thrusting even rougher into your hole making you moan happily.  

“Mate you,” he grunts, grinding down into your spasming pussy.

“There,” you gasp, eyes crossing as his cock rubs against your g-spot and grinds against your cervix just right. 

Your body’s tightening, orgasm ratcheting up. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans.

“Uh huh,” you slur, “fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Leon, fuck!”

Thighs shaking when his pelvis catches your clit, your body locks up as you scream out your climax. He keeps grinding against your cervix and g-spot prolonging the pleasure overloading your body. Your mind is wiped of any thoughts, only the feeling of Leon inside your pussy. 

“Mine,” his hips buck and stutter, “all mine.”

His mouth opens and he sinks his sharp teeth in your neck again as he pumps your cunt full of hot jizz. Eyes rolling back at the dual sensations, another weak orgasm has your pussy clamping down on his cock. He hisses as you milk him over and over while he spills sticky cum deep into your womb, fat tip pressed right against the opening. 

“Leon,” you whimper, hands slipping into his hair to guide him to face you, “kiss please.”

His tongue plunges into your open mouth making you moan as you taste hints of your own blood. Your pussy walls flutter as his cock kicks and throbs, spurting the last of his cum into your cunt. 

He slowly slips his tongue out of your mouth at the same time he eases his dick out of your pussy with a wet suctioning noise. Whimpering, your legs lay against the bed as he quickly moves down the length of your body. 

He grabs your ass and tilts you up. 

“Gotta keep it all inside,” he murmurs, eyes zeroed in on your puffy cunt. 

Your body still pulses with aftershocks, but you slowly realize in your soupy brain that the black veins are slowly disappearing. Leon’s mouth is also reforming itself until he only has sharp incisors left.  The claws are last to change, but his fingertips still have pointier nails that look like they can still slice you open. 

“Leon,” you murmur to grab his attention. 

Humming, he looks up at you. His eyes drop down to the bite marks all across your neck and shoulders and his pupils dilate. Gently, he lets go of your hips to move back up your body. He kisses you heatedly, tongue dipping into your mouth with a groan. 

“God, I want to do it again,” he drags his lips down to the bites and sucks on them; a mewling cry slipping from your mouth. 

He shifts up and kisses you again, nipping your bottom lip until blood fills your kiss. 

“Taste so good,” he whispers into your mouth before sucking on your lip, “pretty little mate.”

You finally pull away, exhaustion making your eyes droop.

“Leon, I can’t, at least not right now,” you stroke his jaw, admiring his flushed face. 

“Sorry,” he turns and kisses your wrist, placing a small bite on the skin, “you’re just driving me crazy right now. You look and smell so good.”

You giggle, still feeling a little loopy from the mind blowing sex, “Well that’s all your fault, mister.”

He sheepishly grins at you, “Yeah. I really am sorry you know.”

You pull him down to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t be. I’ve been kinda hoping we’d fuck,” you boop his nose with a laugh at his scandalous expression. 

“I just meant—“

“I know,” you cut him off with a smile, “and as insane as that was, definitely the best I’ve ever had.”

You gently touch the first bite with your hand and feel a zing of pleasure all the way down to your pussy. 

“A girl could get addicted to this,” you murmur, running your other hand through his hair. 

He nuzzles into your neck, dropping kisses all over the marks. Sighing, you let him kiss your neck until you feel his teeth scraping the skin. 

“No more of that,” he whines at you, “m tired, Leon. Need to sleep.”

Placing one last kiss on the first bite mark, he drops down beside you and tugs you into his chest. You sigh and snuggle into him. He runs his fingernails down your back making you shiver, body going lax in his hold. 

As you drift off to sleep you hear him whisper into your hair, “All mine.”

[teojira]

hay :"3 i just found your blog and i am so sooo in love with your pota content 😭♥️ would you maybe feel comfortable with writing some romantic headcanons about caesar and a female human s/o about him taking care of her because she suffers heavy period pains? like just a lot of fluff and cute moments please 👉👈

[Caesar caring for you on your period] [headcanons]

Summary: Your mate taking care of you when it's that time of the month.

Warnings: Romance between you and Caesar, reader has periods but no gender is specified!

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long!! I hope this is even vaguely worth the wait, I hope you enjoy it! And thank you so much for the lovely words <33

Caesar is no stranger to dealing with periods, despite what people may think. He had a human mother, Caroline who expressed monthly how bad they were, curling up in a ball in her and Will's bed from the aches and pains.

He couldn't do much then, not having any knowledge on how to comfort her the first few months until he realized he ran warm, and that helps, resting a hand on her lower stomach to soothe.

It worked more often than not, so he knows it'll help with you too.

- Apes have their periods too, so it doesn't gross him out, he sees it as 100% normal ans while other apes may not experience the same pain as you do, he doesn't look down on you for it.

- Caesar can smell your period coming before you do, noting the difference in your scent easily. So he prepares in advance to take care of you.

- Tries to confine you to the nest, especially if there's nothing that urgently needs your attention, wraps you up in a bear pelt, tucking you in as tight as possible.

- It breaks his heart when you whimper and ask him to stay, he can't, you both know there are things to be done. He'll run his fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp in the way he knows you enjoy as he murmurs that he loves you and it'll be okay.

- While he's gone, he makes sure to ask Blue eyes to check on you periodically, so that you're not alone. Baby Blue isn't clueless when it comes to periods either, so he usually just crouches in close and occasionally wakes you up with some fresh food and water, his head tilted ever so slightly at you.

- He is HUGE on going out to look for your comfort foods, human foods are scarce at this point in time but he searches nonetheless, sometimes he comes back with trinkets, or sometimes he's actually able to find pads/tampons to replenish your supply.

- Whenever he isn't busy with duties, he lets you cling onto him all you want, one hand warm against your lower belly as you sleep against him, the other rubbing small circles into the small of your back as well, just watching you.

- If you're more emotional on your period, Caesar has learned to not take what you say to heart, he's a good man Savannah he is NOT arguing with you when your insides are literally shreading into pieces, he'll usually just open his arms for a hug and you fumble and forget why you're so mad.

-Koba ate your favorite berries and it sent you into a spiral, Caesar kept trying to tell you that there's a bush right outside the gates, but you tell him PRINCPLE-

- He knows, it's okay, he'll talk to Koba about it later (tells him to stop fucking with you or else they're gonna fight and Caesar WILL win.)

[t-r99]

Soaked

Shidou Ryusei x reader

warning: smut

wc: 917

Shidou is such a needy, whiny, pouty fucking bitch, but he's your needy bitch.

"Pay attention to meee!" He whines childishly and rocks you back and forth. "Come on, I've been training all day but all I could think about was you so pleeease." He leans against your back and puts his arms around you, kissing the side of your neck.

"Did you shower when you came home?"

"Oh, I took a quick shower after training then came home." He says, not thinking much about it.

You scrunch your nose in disgust. "Gross." You mutter and stand up, grabbing his wrists and tugging in order for him to follow.

Shidou, confused, blinks in question. "Huh? What did I do?" He asks, letting you drag him with you.

"You're taking a shower."

"I am?"

You offer a sly little smile, eyes darkening with desire. "We are taking a shower."

Oh, fuck yes.

Shidou's eyes widen for a moment before he smiles wide and quickly yanks his wrists out of your grasp so he can lift you up instead. "Well why didn't you say that to begin with?" His strong hands squeeze your thighs hard as you lock your legs around his waist and he smirks. "You little minx."

He's quick to carry you to the shower and too eager to bother with clothes. "Ryu, wait a sec-"

Nope.

Shidou smushes his lips against yours and pushes you against the shower wall. A hand reaches out blindly and he feels around for a moment until he finds what he's looking for, and it makes you break the kiss and exclaim in surprise. "Ryusei, we're still dressed!" You laugh out.

"And?" He grins wide. "Makes you look hotter, you know." Shidou's eyes trail down to take in the sight of your soaked shirt clinging to your body like a layer of skin. You look delicious, he wants to devour you.

His sweatpants feel much too tight like this, soaked in water on top of straining to keep his cock in.

It feels like his entire body is throbbing, unbearably so. "Been thinkin' 'bout you all day," Shidou groans. "'bout how I'll fuck you today, and how I'll do it next time, and the next and the next."

You can feel him against you. Damn clothes. "You here to fuck me or just talk about it?" You ask.

"Oh," He smirks. "don't you worry your pretty head," Shidou lets go of your legs and lets you put your feet down. "I'll fuck you real good."

He doesn't care about being clothed or naked. The only thing that matters to Shidou is having you turn around so he can pull your pants down just enough to get a perfect view of his favourite thing in the world.

He teases you, much to your disappointment, by putting his cock between your thighs and telling you to press them together. "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you."

"Th- Then do it already." You whine with need. It's not fair that he's fucking your thighs and ignoring everything else.

Shidou is too busy grabbing handfuls of your ass to process your words. The tips of his fingers dig into the soft flesh and he spreads your cheeks and takes a sharp breath. "But it feels so good," His face feels warm. "they're so soft." He moves his hands down to the sides of your thighs and squeezes tight.

He could fuck your pretty, plush thighs and paint your skin white all day long.

Shidou leans down and brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. "You want my cum, don't you? You want it so bad you can't take it, huh?" He whispers and moves a hand between your soaked bodies and pushes two fingers inside you but it's not enough.

"'nside," You're desperate. "I want it inside."

Those words are almost enough to make him burst.

Shidou pulls his fingers out. His cock aches with need as he leaves the warmth of your thighs. "Inside . . . right here, yeah?" He's being an asshole about it, barely even prodding your hole. "Want my cum deep, deep inside, don'tcha?"

"Ryu,"

"Yeah, baby?" He kisses your shoulder. "Tell me."

"Please . . . Please, give it to me."

Fuck, he can't take it anymore.

"Oh, fuck," You almost choke as he fills you up inch by inch. "yes, yes, yes!"

Shidou throws his head back and moans shamelessly at how tight you are around him. He's throbbing, and painfully so. "I'm so close." He groans. Cumming, cumming, I'm cumming.

The sound of the rushing water can barely be heard over how loud his skin slaps against yours.

With your forearms pressed against the shower wall you can barely keep yourself up, legs shaking from the pressure building in the pit of your belly as he fucks you with fervour. Shidou's cock rubs against all the perfect spots, it feels so good, you can't stop begging him to cum inside and fill you for days to come.

It's hot. It's so hot it almost burns and makes you cry his name.

"That's it, take it all." Shidou looks down at you and smiles wide in euphoria. "My pretty baby," He pushes your soaked shirt up to expose your back. "always so good," You look absolutely delicious this way, he can't keep himself from leaning down to you while pushing your shirt further up to drag his hot tongue up your spine. "so good for me, only me."

[sixlane]

Laney!!!!!!!! trick or treat ✨

hi kay <33 so i may have gone a bit insane and written you a full jarty microfic so…. here’s that

the alley | jarty microfic | 1.1k | nsfw | fighting, fucking, blood, spit, general grossness

It’s because of the hole at the bottom of Barty’s stomach that he keeps coming back. An insatiable need to consume. A relentless ache. And he’s never been one to deny himself anything, even when saying no would be so much easier.

James Potter sits across the dingy, low-lit bar, pint glass half empty and dripping condensation in front of him. It’s his fifth if Barty’s counting correctly. James glances at him, huffs a laugh and looks back at his beer. He knows what Barty’s planning, and he won’t stop it. He’ll play along like he always does, and they’ll both leave bloody and sore, covered in the indents of each other’s teeth.

Barty nurses his own drink until James drains his glass, then finishes the rest in one gulp. He’s already decided who’s paying for his next.

He’s been making eyes at some guy a few seats over from James the whole night, making sure James has noticed, and it’s time to go in for the kill. He raises his glass, catching the man’s attention, asking him sickly sweet with his eyes, buy me one?

The man moves down the bar next to Barty, asks the bartender to get him another, and Barty runs a hand up his arm.

“Sorry about this,” Barty whispers, leaning in to say the words directly into his ear.

The man pulls back, confused, only for a second before he’s being yanked back by his shirt and thrown to the ground. James is on him in a second with a fist to his jaw.

The man tries to protect his face, buck James off him, but it’s no use. When James gets like this, all you can do is take it. Barty would know.

After a few more strikes and the unmistakable sound of cracking bone, Barty intervenes. He wraps his arm around James’ neck from behind and pulls him off, cutting off his oxygen flow.

“You broke his fucking nose,” Barty says gruffly into James’ ear before pushing him toward the door.

James stumbles back, taking a few gulps of air before responding. “Whose fault is that?”

Barty shrugs, bares his teeth in a crude imitation of a smile. “Aw come on now, Jamie. Let’s not play the blame game.” He punctuates it with a wild punch to James’ cheek. He feels the skin split on impact, registers the trickle of blood down his fist only a second before James returns with a punch of his own straight to Barty’s gut. He doubles over, clutching at his stomach.

It’s grounding, the feeling of having all the air forced out of his lungs. He craves this over and over again. That blissful emptiness before his body forces him to suck the air back in. He can barely manage it before James’ knee connects with his nose, knocking him back and on his ass.

He tastes metallic as he runs his tongue along his teeth, smiles through the pain.

Glancing up, he can see James is being dragged out by two huge guys, but he isn’t fighting. Barty waits his turn, until he, too, is being hauled up and out the door.

The cold air bites into Barty’s skin as soon as he’s thrown outside. He loses his balance with the force of the push, catching himself on the concrete with his hands. He’ll have nasty scratches for days.

“Jesus fucking christ,” James says from above him, yanking him up and pushing him against the nearest brick wall. “You’re sick, you know that?”

Barty’s vision blurs, he can’t tell left from right, but he can tell James is mad mad. The kind of mad only Barty can make him.

“If I'm sick, what does that make you?” he taunts.

James lets out a noise of aggravation, deep and low in his throat, before he smashes their lips together.

It’s hungry and gross and bloody, a combination of want and disgust that equals out to some perverse replica of relief.

James breaks the kiss, dragging Barty behind him to the alley beside the bar. It already smells rotten and wet; they don’t even have to try.

It’s quick and disorienting, the way James shoves his hand down Barty’s pants, palming at his cock a little too harshly.

“Fuck,” Barty grunts, surprised by the sudden pressure. It’s riding that perfect line of too much and not enough.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” James growls. “Get me into a fight and now you want to complain?”

“My only complaint is that you’re not on your knees already,” Barty bites back, raking his teeth down James’ neck, breaking skin when he bites into the soft skin connecting it to his shoulder.

James honest to god whines, busying his hands with unzipping Barty’s pants. “Fuck, B.”

Barty pushes his thumb into the fresh wound, smearing the blood, mixing it with his own before licking a stripe up James’ neck. They always taste so good together like this. He hates how much he likes it.

James doesn’t waste time after that, sinking down and pulling Barty’s cock out. He takes him down to the base quickly, and Barty can feel his throat relaxing around him, struggling to take it all.

“That’s it, Jamie,” Barty coos, condescension dripping from his tongue. “So fucking eager.”

James pulls back, lightly scraping his teeth over Barty’s head in a way that makes him see stars. It’s a warning. This isn’t submission.

Barty grabs roughly at James’ hair, keeping him in place so he can fuck down his throat easily. He watches as James’ eyes stay defiant, never breaking contact. His fingers dig into the meat of Barty’s ass, no doubt leaving nail marks as he pulls Barty deeper with each thrust.

“I hate you so fucking much,” Barty spits with an exceptionally harsh thrust. James gags around him, eyes watering so pretty, tears streaking through smears of blood. Even still, he doesn’t break.

Barty knows James hates him too. It’s why he loves to say it when James can’t respond, can’t argue. He sees it in his eyes, though. That utter fucking disdain. It’s what ultimately has Barty pulling out and coming all over James’ face, painting him in an obscene mural of blood, spend, and tears.

James closes his eyes finally, but keeps his mouth open to catch what he can. Barty uses two fingers to swipe through the mess of fluids, bringing them to his own mouth to taste the sharp tang. He lets it sit on his tongue, mix with his own saliva before spitting it into James’ open mouth.

James swallows, always a little too eager to please, and sits back on his haunches. Barty can see where the dirty alley water has seeped into the knees of his jeans, but James doesn’t seem to care.

He looks up at Barty again, none of his rage extinguished. “When we get home, I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your name.”

Barty just smiles. “I’d like to see you try.”

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 7: Idle Hands

Bearblr Promptober Day 6: Carving Pumpkins

Summary: Carmy can't figure out what to do with his hands when he's not cooking. Fluff.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, mentions of Berzatto family trauma (minor), mention of Chef Winger (Chef David, for the uninitiated), swearing, written with fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described) in mind, she/her pronouns, minor aches and pains.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Reblogs appreciated. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

06 Oct 2024

I’m not used to letting a girl sit in my lap and get me drunk off kisses.

Like just chill there? And not do anything else? Not use my hands to do something, to make something? The kisses and pets are temporary distractions from the urge to use my hands—welcomed ones, even so.

Her lips are soft. Hands are always a little cold, feel good wandering over my scalp, trailing down my neck. She brushes her bent knuckles over my throat sometimes, yeah? It’s fucking addicting as all hell, sure, but 90% of the time, I can’t figure out what to do with my hands. Touching her doesn’t help, it doesn’t stop the buzzing, doesn’t stop that weird ache in my fingers. You know how if you’re sitting too long—plane, bus, car, whatever—or like you’re passed out, crammed on a couch that’s just a little too small for you, and you wake up feeling like your knees are cramping? And you need to walk around and shake them out until they work again? It’s that, but it’s in my hands. I wake up with it every fucking day, it's miserable.

So, much as I like having my tongue down my girl’s throat, my hands fucking scream at me the whole time.

“Have you ever carved pumpkins?” she murmured into my mouth.

It took me a few seconds to figure out she even spoke to me.

“I… have not. No.”

Her fingers trailed down my arms and curled around my wrists. I realized I had her sweater in a death grip and released it.

“Sorry. I-I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

She smiled. Kissed my forehead. Brought my scarred palm to her lips and then to her face to nuzzle it. “It’s spooky season. Do you want to carve pumpkins?” she asked.

“Do you want to carve pumpkins?”

“I asked first, silly.”

She’s so fucking cute, I can’t.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” I said. “Uh, why do you want to carve pumpkins?”

She shrugged, pressed her fingertips into my other palm. “Low stakes, low pressure, gives you something to do with your hands.”

Ah. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yeah. But I understand it. You’re so used to a go-go-go lifestyle that trying to turn it all off is kind of impossible. At least all at once. Pumpkin carving was always one of my favorite things about October. And, I guess, if all else fails, you could cook the pumpkins.”

“Pumpkin ravioli does sound nice.”

She giggled. Worked her hands into my hair, tipped my head back, and kissed my throat. Fuck, the heat of her mouth on my Adam's apple felt good. Murmured into my skin again, “I was almost thinking about doing a little party, but I don’t think you’ll like that.”

“No, I’d prefer the quiet.” Did my voice really just come out that strained?

She noticed. “Good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, really good.”

She rewarded me with a trail of wet kisses down my throat and then across my collarbone.

“Is it the volume levels themselves?” she asked between kisses. “I just want to understand.”

It took me even longer to figure out what she asked. My attention kept snapping back and forth between the warm, wet feeling on my neck and the ache setting into my hands. “Yeah, yeah, a bit? Uh… sometimes just keeping track of that many people is-is exhausting? You know, and people will... find something to be mad about. And then it gets louder.”

“You don’t know when someone’s going to explode.”

Yeah. Yeah, that was it. What was going to set ma off? What was going to set Mikey off? Richie and Fak might get into it again, and who the fuck would ever know when or why or how it was coming? I wouldn’t do anything—seemingly wouldn’t do anything, who fucking knows if I did, because it’s not like anyone would offer an explanation—and ma or Mikey or Richie or Lee or Cicero or sometimes even Sug would go off on me. The Devil would go off on me.

“Sweetheart?”

The thing with him is that I could truly never see it coming. Sometimes, he’d offer a correction—no, chef, pair that with a demi-glace—but other times, with the same voice and the same posture and the same fucking cadaverous look on his face, he’d tell me I’d amount to nothing. Wouldn’t tell me what I was doing wrong or why I earned it. You’re going so slow. Why are you going so slow? You have a short man’s complex.

“Carmen?”

Rapidly shifting pressure on my sternum from her rubbing the heel of her hand up and down my chest. Right. Couch. Chicago. Home.

“Hi,” she whispered. Hooked my chin to get me to look at her. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes wide. I tried summoning a response, but the longer I couldn’t formulate one, the deeper the wrinkle in her brow got. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to hunt for something to say. Anything. Literally anything would’ve been better than the deafening silence that smothered us. What were we talking about before? Parties? I didn’t like parties? No, there was something before that.

Her arms snaked around my shoulders and pulled me against her chest. Her heartbeat thundered, slow and routine in my ear. I dug my fingertips into the stitches of her sweater, crushed them into my palms, inhaled a lungful of her faded perfume and the scent of her.

“Will you teach me how to make pumpkin ravioli?”

Her voice came to me a muffled rumble through her chest louder than my other ear picked it up. Oddly soothing.

I nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think you’d find it fun.”

She stroked my cheek with her thumb.

“I hope it’s also fun for you, Carmy.”

That, I did, too.

[adiproseprose]

‘God, I can’t wait for you to explode’

‘Just imagine this helpless piggy too big to walk’

‘No doubt she’ll be immobile soon…’

The addicting tight rush of fullness settles in my bloated gut. My third straight pitcher of weight gain shake collapses to the floor, and I struggle to shake the numbness out of my toes. If I could see them I’d know they were swollen and startlingly red, but I can’t see shit past my massive tits, hanging low to the center of my belly. I sink back into the couch and rub myself off, sausage fingers snaking into my underwear. My chins serve as a resting place for my exhausted head. 

I’ve always been something of an extremist. There was a time where I would count the calories on a baggy of baby carrots. I was a whore in every sense of the word, skinny as a pencil and duller than an eraser. I didn’t need anybody, I had the attention of every boy I made eye contact with. Skipped college and became a model, traveled all over the world. If you want, you can get my before and after shots. 45 bucks a piece, 112 vrs. 675. 

Nobody pays attention to you when you’re fat. 

I kicked the ball down the hill when my agency fired me, parents claiming I was giving their kids bulimia or some bullshit. The ball began to collect years of sugar, fat, salt and grease, hardly able to get out of bed without a mouthful of fresh endorphins. My veins swelled with lard, stomach overstretched and doubled over onto my fat padded knees. 

It was all very discouraging at first. I heard the gossip as I toddled along to my convenience store for my nightly dinner of mars bars and oven fries, about how tiny I used to be, if I was really the same girl. ‘Nobody wants to rub out a fat girl’. 

I drank a lot. Partied a lot. Had a lot of shitty, desperate sex that ended after 4 minutes with a sigh and a cigarette. Then I met this guy. He grabbed my belly and afterwards told me I could make a killing if I kept gaining weight. I told him to fuck off but I looked into it. Feedism is a deep, dark, somewhat fucked up world. But money is green, so I did some analysis. What did they like about these women, big asses, big tits, double chins? These women are making thousands of dollars just to eat. 

I piled on fat like batter in a cake tin. I’m round up top, double belly and huge boobs. Thickness in my face that I don’t love, but my ass is rounder than the moon. 

“Ohhhh…fuck *HIC*...fuck me. I might’ve had too much, guys.” I whine to the camera. I rub and shake my belly. 

“BURRPPP!” 

I like to read the comments while I masturbate. I scroll, an endless stream of aroused fans. 

‘700 bucks if you do a fourth!!111’

‘7 HUNDO!!!!!’

Over and over again this bitch. I roll my eyes. “500 dollars for another one Mr…Pigfarmer?” 

‘YES!!!’

He donates. And I fix the shake on my coffee table, bringing it to my lips. I wince. I really do not wanna throw up. 

“Gonna do this for you, Pigfarmer. Whoooo boy..” 

I down the shake in maybe 2 minutes and let the empty pitcher land on the floor with the others. “So *huff* fucking…fat. Can barely get… off the couch anymore..ughhhh…” 

‘I will feed you until your fucking feet fall off’

‘I can help you off the couch!!!’

‘I’ll feed you and fuck you until you can’t move baby’

This isn’t enough. I need to be fat enough to where anything is monetizable. Walking out to the car. Going up stairs. I’ve made a few sets of my rolling out bed, when my joints are aching and my waddle is exaggerated the most. 

I don’t get much out of this besides the money. If anything, it makes me feel gross. But I blend in effortlessly, I’ve gone so deep. I’m not a feedee. I am a fat fucking whale who happens to be fat because it makes me ridiculous amounts of money. It makes it a lot easier to smile. 

“Alright, guys, I’m gonna hop off. See you guys next time!! Love you!” 

I click. 1700 dollars from an hour stream. Not too bad. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and drum my belly. I’m numb. I’m covered in grease, shake powder and cum. I can barely make it through my day without that tight fullness now. I wheeze deeply as I contemplate what to eat for dinner.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted. 

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night. 

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex. 

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard. 

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first. 

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south. 

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

 He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours. 

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night. 

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking. 

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves. 

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it. 

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow. 

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight. 

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you. 

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow. 

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose. 

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come. 

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process. 

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit. 

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes. 

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you. 

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat. 

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you. 

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs. 

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time. 

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock. 

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more? 

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him. 

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this? 

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off. 

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his. 

Like you want him. 

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that. 

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it. 

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.) 

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame. 

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make. 

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you. 

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow. 

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy. 

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy. 

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes  himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more. 

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job. 

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all. 

His hands 

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent. 

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands. 

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things. 

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all. 

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin. 

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you? 

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch. 

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you. 

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like. 

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.) 

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride. 

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.) 

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure. 

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops. 

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing. 

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced. 

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.) 

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck? 

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple. 

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back. 

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces. 

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything. 

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives. 

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow. 

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials. 

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right? 

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right? 

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch. 

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up. 

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.) 

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable. 

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?  

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle. 

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner. 

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him. 

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly. 

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it. 

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss. 

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about. 

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls. 

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy. 

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology. 

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release. 

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him. 

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms. 

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him. 

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth. 

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high. 

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight – 

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip. 

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.) 

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t! 

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor. 

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.) 

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to. 

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all. 

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.) 

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained. 

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you. 

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed. 

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe. 

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.) 

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you. 

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be. 

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job. 

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat. 

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do. 

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.) 

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.) 

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight. 

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name. 

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.) 

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket. 

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings. 

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection). 

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you. 

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants. 

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him. 

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto. 

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too. 

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath. 

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you. 

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything. 

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements. 

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom. 

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward. 

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly. 

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it. 

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again. 

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused. 

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky. 

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides. 

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months. 

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap? 

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him. 

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it? 

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use. 

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up. 

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him. 

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock. 

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward. 

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it. 

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut. 

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg. 

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you. 

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours. 

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck! 

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend. 

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control. 

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited. 

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away. 

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way. 

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at. 

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back. 

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close. 

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely. 

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next. 

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock? 

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath. 

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him. 

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two. 

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. 

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping. 

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name. 

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin. 

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.) 

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible. 

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow. 

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem. 

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space. 

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?” 

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually. 

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity. 

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass. 

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow. 

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole. 

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit. 

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent. 

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws. 

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem. 

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you. 

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple. 

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric. 

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago. 

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length. 

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice. 

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night. 

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

[igotanidea]

Fixed: Jason Todd x reader

@jasontoddsthickbabe asked me for a story when Jason's girl find out she is pregnant, and once @pinksirensong found it out, supported this idea, so they left me no choice in the matter.

This can be read as part 2 of my ff Broken, since it gives the origins of the problem.

MINORS DNI!

***

Ever since he realized what was bothering her so much to push him away, Jason was doing anything he could to prove that she was the most important person for him.

Sure, it was hard, but he could never insist on having kids or parting ways with his love just because of something she had zero influence on.  Obviously he supported her through the therapy and treatment which was a bitch. All those medicines and hormones made her mood swing, her weight go up and her hair fall. She hated herself. She hated what it was doing to her body and how unattractive she felt.

One night, when Jason came back from patrol, he found her in the bathroom, crying on the floor, squeezed in the corner between the toilet and the sink sobbing uncontrollably.

“Baby?” without second of hesitation he dropped down on his knees next to her, grabbing her face in his large, still gloved hands “Baby, look at me, what happened?”

“I’m hideous” she cried “I’m fat and ugly and I feel like crying all the time. Why isn’t is working Jace? It’s just so unfair, you know?” she hiccupped, looking as broken as his heart was becoming at the moment “there are so many people who don’t want kids. At all. And never care about them…..”

“Don’t I know that…” he muttered

“Oh my god! I’m sorry, Jace, I’m so sorry. I never should have brought that up. Stupid me, I’m so sorry!” she hid face in hands, unable to look him in the eyes after saying thing like that.

“Stop saying you’re sorry” he put an arm around her waist, pulling her in, so she wouldn’t lean on the cold tiles on the wall “You did not say a thing wrong. Just facts. And it is unfair. And I wish it wasn’t, cause if there’s anyone who deserves good things in life it’s you.” closing his eyes he kissed top of her head.

“You too….” She mumbled incoherently, still sobbing and shaking, just a little bit less “listen Jace, I won’t hold it against you if you want to back out….”

“We’ve been through this, babe. I already told you I only want you. ”

“I know, but I’m being a menace because of the treatment. A challenge. A torment. It’s ok if you don’t….”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He hissed and leaned in to kiss her.

To say it was fiery would be an understatement.

I mean, consider the fact he came back from patrolling, the adrenaline was still bubbling up in his veins and it seemed like putting all the energy and attention on her would be good for both Jason and his girl.

“Jason…..” she whined feeling how hard he was getting “not here…. Not like this…”

“Right.” Only now he realized he was about to fuck her on the bathroom floor next to the pot. It was definitely far from the good and romantic environment and not an efficient way to lift her mood up. Pushing her into the cold floor wouldn’t work for his benefit. So instead of laying her down, he did quite the opposite picking her up in his arms and carrying her towards the bed. “I’m gonna treat you right, Y/N.” his lips came back onto hers, slowly moving down, making her shudder in anticipation. “Fuck, you always make me want you. So bad, baby. So fucking bad….”

“Even with my gross look?”

“Shut up.” His voice became dark and that commanding tone made her pussy throb and ache for him. God, that was truly pathetic how needy and craving she was of his touch. Another side effect of all those pills. “You will shut up and do exactly what I tell you. Nod If you understand.” She nodded too overwhelmed with his body over hers. “Good. Now. You are way too overdressed for my liking, so how about we get rid of those layers?” one move of hand and her sleeping T-shit was gone “much better” he grinned, massaging those perfect, plump breast that came on full display “Mm, I love playing with your tits. All mine for the taking, aren’t they?“

“Jace….” She whined “more, please’ her back arched involuntarily, hips moving up, making it easier for him to pull down her pants. “tell me how you want me…. I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“That would be first, you tease.” He scoffed remembering all those times she acted like a brat during their lovemaking.

“I’m begging you. I want you too, baby. So bad. So, so bad.” She clawed on his back, getting irritated by the thick layer of his jacket and Red Hood suit “take it off.” Even that desperate tugging on the material did nothing to remove it, since his hands were still on her body, touching every inch of her skin. “I need to feel your skin on mine. Please, Jay….”

“I never said I’ll be good, hm? You pledged that, baby. So give me a reason to listen to you now.”

“Reason?” she moaned feeling his lips kissing under her breast, avoiding the most sensitive part of them, even if her nipples needed his attention as well. It was pure torture and all she could do was hope for the sweet release after. “I’ll give you a reason, damn it!” She wrapped legs around him, still in his clothes and pressed her whole body into him, grinding lightly to create any friction, hands on his face, kissing him with all the passion she had. Which was a lot.

Oh, he was getting hard due to her action, and his groans gave him away. Knowing his impatience and look of pleasure appearing on his face she knew it was a good way to convince him “Come on, baby.” She panted into his ear, hands running through his hair. “You said it yourself, you want me. You want to get home, right? Remember how good it feels? Warm and tight and nice and …..” she moved underneath him even more and finally pushed him past the last line of self-control.

“Ah! Fuck!” he hissed letting go of her body beneath him and tossing the jacket away. “You do act like a brat.” Piece by piece his body armor followed the jacket and more and more of his skin started to show. Fuck he was so perfect.

“But you like it, don’t you…” she smirked, finally able to get hands on his chest and abs, feeling the muscles and warmth of his body. It was so good and so familiar, tracing patterns there, causing his body to flex under her touch, leaving goosebumps everywhere she caressed him.

“Not tonight. I told you. Tonight, you will listen to me. I don’t care if you like it or not.”

“Show me who’s the boss then.” She whispered and fuck, did that turn him on, pants getting uncomfortably tight “someone’s excited?”

“Still talking?” he mocked “I’ll remedy that. I’ll make a mess out of you….” and with such words he dived between her tights finding that one spot that made her moan and writhe and scream his name with panted breath. He knew her body so well it was actually embarrassing. He could have her coming in minutes.

“Jason!” she cried, tears brimming in her eyes “Jace!”

“Keep saying my name” he commanded. “Just keep on doing that. This will remind you that you’re place in under me. Never dominating.”

“I don’t…..” she cried again but before she finished the sentence he pulled back, leaving her high and dry “Jason?” Y/n looked up at his slightly annoyed face.

“Why are you testing my patience, baby?” he grabbed her chin lightly and connected their foreheads. “I’m trying to make you feel good here and you just keep resisting. Do you want to be left high and dry?”

“I got toys, you know….”

“Are. Those. As. Good. As. Me?” he punctuated each word with another short brush of his hardness on her pussy “Can you look me in the eyes and say that?”

“No. No, no. I can’t. Those could never… ah, compare.”

“Than what do you want, love, huh?’ he moved closer and harder to tease her more.

“I want you inside me. I want you to take control. I want you to take me. Now.”

“And what do we say at the end of such sentence?”

“Please….”  

“That’s my good girl.” In a blink of an eye his pants were gone and with how wet she was for him he slid inside her in one fluent movement, bottoming out instantly, stretching her and filling fully. “Isn’t it good?”

“ Yes, Yes, Jason, so good.”

“It’s gonna get better.” He grabbed her legs and put them around his waist, changing the angle and going deeper inside her.

“Stop bragging and just move for fuck’s sake!”

At first he wanted to pull out and leave her. She did not listen to him, again. However, all his self-restraint and self-control started to leave him the second their bodies became one, joint, together. It was not about teasing her or being mean. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, it was just a tad harder to admit it, since he was let down by people in the past. Trust and love and being in need of someone was still something he was learning. But with her? With her, he felt safe. Safe enough to get himself lost in her.

“Fuck. I love you.” he pulled back slightly just to pull back in. And again and again. Each trust faster, harder, stronger, getting them both closer to orgasm. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.  Forever.”

“Yes! Yes!” her nails dig into his back. It was so good. He was so good with pleasuring her. “You are Jason. You are mine and I….ah! So close. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Let go for me babygirl. Now. Let me feel you.”

“Jason!” she screamed loud enough so that neighbors would judge her in the morning and came hard, with literal stars exploding in front of her eyes and he followed equally hard, right after. In fact  took a few minutes for them to ride those highs down and get their breathing and heartbeat back to normal.

“That was….” She started when he pulled out and hugged her close to his chest. “Wow. I don’t think we ever….So intense.”

“ You know I would give you everything, right?’ he looked straight at her. “All I’ve got. Everything.”

“If only I could say the same”  she thought to herself, tighter wrapping arms around him.

*** 

“What the fuck happened?” he almost kicked the door to the hospital reception room. Half an hour ago he received a very disturbing call from Tim, who with shaky voice informed him, that Y/N had some sort of faint-like accident and were taken to the hospital.

“Would you calm down, Jason?”

“How the fuck do you expect me to calm down?! I got questions that someone needs to answer right now or the head will roll and blood will be spilled…..”

“He’s joking.” Tim grinned at one of nurses, who were already picking up the phone, most probably to call security “Just worried about his girl and acting emotional.” The nurse just put it down and walked away as fast as she could have not saying a single word “Calm down, you idiot or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Ha! Good luck with that. It will be the other way round if you don’t tell me where is she? How is she? Why didn’t she call me? Why…. Why did she came with you?”

“ She did not. She actually came alone, but I was listening the police frequency again and they reported someone being taken from some accident.”

“She was in an accident?! I’m gonna kill…..”

“She was not in an accident.”

“….you, Drake. I’m gonna kill you. TALK!” Jason almost grabbed Tim by the collar and almost pressed him to wall, but stopped himself at the last second, his hands itching.

“They were talking about casualties and some of the officers mentioned something about it being the hard day not only for them, but also for the girl next door who was having a meat wagon outside her house. It was happening in Y/N’s area so I just connected the dots and came here. And then I called you.”

Jason sighed deeply.

“Do you know something more? What happened? Why did it happen? Anything?”

“Not yet.  Her doctor told me to wait.” To be honest Tim wasn’t surprised by his brother behavior at all. He would act exactly the same if something were to happen to Bernard. “It’s going to be alright.” He reassured Jason.

“You don’t know that.”

“I… I don’t, but she’s strong. She’s a fighter.”

“Tim. Stop. She’s fragile. She’s delicate. And she’s my one and only. I…. I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t. She would never make it easy on you and leave this way. Not to the one to get rid off this way.”

“Mr. Todd?” one of the nurses emerged from behind the door “You came with miss Y/L/N, right?”

“I did.”

“I can tell you that…..” she started but stopped in the middle of the sentence eyeing Jason who looked like he just came back from hell (which was truly not so far from reality) “and who may you be?” her tone changed into defensive.

“He’s the boyfriend!” Tim cut in, before his brother started causing drama. “He’s worried about her too. Is she alright?”

“Boyfriend, huh?” the nurse scoffed and crossed her arms “I strongly recommend you to behave and take responsibility, young man. She’s in this state because of you.”

“What…. what state?” Jason stuttered

“She can tell you herself, mister. You can go and talk to her. And I got my eyes on you.” she pointed two fingers towards her eyes and then at him, and damn that made him shake and start creating scenarios in his head. Was it that serious? He knew it was probably his fault, since he did not protect her from whatever danger got to her, but still….

“Come on, big guy, move!” Tim pushed him through the door to the padded room where Y/N was laying in the hospital bed. Pale and tired, but with the lightest smile on her face.

“Hi boys.” She greeted both of them, Tim standing back and raising his hand in greeting, Jason rushing to her side, almost ramming the doctor, grabbing her hands and scanning her face, begging for explanation with his eyes since words failed him.

“We’re good here miss Y/N?” the MD made sure it was safe to leave her with those two strangely looking men.

“Sure, doctor. I’ll be fine with them. I’m sure.”

“All right.  I’ll have the prescription ready for you and remember what we talked about. A lot is about to change, dear. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you, doctor.” She smiled a bit and he left.

“Happy for you?” Jason frowned “Correct me if I’m wrong but you’re in a hospital. Since when is that a reason to be happy?”

“Y/N” Tim smiled, detective instincts kicking in “Are you…?”

“SHSH! Quiet, Tim! Let him figure this out by himself!”

“Figure what out?”

“’Jason. don’t freak out…” Y/N took his hand in hers and slowly, gently, lead it onto her belly, keeping it there. Then it dawned on him.

“Are you….” he gulped “pregnant?”

“I am….” Tears started falling from her eyes

“With my kid?” Jason stuttered, the reality slowly catching him up. Y/n was pregnant. His girl was pregnant! He was going to have a kid!

“And whose else you dumbass?!” Tim could not hold back a comment on Y/N behalf and she smiled at him in silent thanks that she didn’t have to be the one to roar Jason up.

“We’re going to have a kid. I’m going to be a dad.”

“Are you happy?” she asked quietly

“Am I….? Fuck, I’m the happiest man in the universe. And it’s all thanks to you. I’m gonna take care of everything, I promise. You won’t have to lift a finger. Do we know if it’s a boy or a girl? Is he or she all right? Healthy? Do you need any special meds to keep yourself safe and healthy during the pregnancy? What furniture do we need? Or toys? Do you think a giant teddy bear would be ok?”

“Jason” she cupped his cheek and giggled a bit “Calm down, it’s only the beginning .We can handle everything one step at time baby.”

“And I’ll be with you every step of the way. And later.” He raised her hands and kissed her knuckles “I love you, baby. You and the kid.”

“Do you want me to….” a soft voice came from behind

“GET OUT DRAKE! I’m talking to the mother of my child!”

“It’s gonna be nine long months…” Tim muttered walking out the door and rubbing his forehead knowing well enough that during that term Jason will be more annoying and abnormal than usual.

[crappymixtape]

just listen

you’re so sick of seeing them, seeing her put her hands all over him at parties and can’t they just find a goddamn room? but then something happens and you have no idea how it's you who wound up in a room with him | ( 1.8k – all the angst with a sprinkle of fluff, friends to something? steve x you, steve x reader )

J U S T L I S T E N 🎶 there she goes, valley

The music at the party was so loud you couldn’t hear anything. Not even your own thoughts. Especially with the way Tommy was yelling about his third keg stand, but fuck if you could read her lips from across the room. The way she was looking up at him. All doe-eyed and shining and smiling and touching.

C’mon, please? she whined.

And then she pushed up onto her toes to put her mouth to the shell of his ear. Whispered. Her fingers spidering up his chest and moving to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. The ones you knew were so soft. The ones you wished you could run your hands through.

Steve.

And when he laughed you knew it was pulled from his lungs by whatever she’d said.

You think you’re cute, huh? you saw his lips form around the words and she giggled a little before fisting his shirt in her hand and pulling him down to press her lips to his.

Hers.

Not yours.

Hers all soft and pink and glossy.

Hers all over him at this party.

Hers all pressed against his car every time he gets off work and as they walk out of the diner and flickering in the light from the bonfires down at the quarry.

Hers as she lay draped next to his pool on a lounger in the summer heat, all lilacs and baby blues and blonde hair spun like gold. Like the sun. Like an actual fucking goddess and the way she held his attention – impossible to shatter.

You felt your chest squeeze. Felt your heart sink into your stomach. Wilting and aching, but you couldn’t pull your eyes from them. Couldn’t look away from how his hands slipped around her waist, the way her body fitted up against his perfectly and when they finally parted his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

Yours still there.

Still wanting.

Still looking.

Caught.

Bumping into everyone as you turned and shoved your way through the sea of people, you scrambled to find an out. Slipped on the bottom step of the staircase and climbed up and away from the party, music fading as you reached the landing. Your heart thudded heavy against your ribcage so loudly you swore you could hear it.

Swallowing thick, you tried the first door on your left only to find Jason Carver attached at the mouth to whatever flavor of the week he was on.

“Ugh, gross,” you huffed and slammed the door shut, Jason’s stupid laugh blunted behind it.

The next room you tried was smaller, but empty and quiet and just what you needed, so you fell inside and quietly shut the door behind you. Leaned your back against it and slid down to the floor. Sat in silence for a moment and wondered at what it would be like to know someone would come looking for you if you disappeared at a party.

Wondered what it would be like to have Steve Harrington stop mid-sentence because he couldn’t see you anymore. Because he cared. Wanted to check on you. Wanted to ask, Hey what’s wrong, baby? What can I do to help, baby?

Baby.

But the longer you sat the more the disappointment settled at the pit of your stomach. The more you realized it would never happen. The more you realized it would just be you alone in the black of the room and you felt tears burn at the corners of your eyes.

You should’ve left.

Pressing the palms of your hands to your eyes you sucked in a breath and held it, tried so hard to wrap up every stupid little feeling and shove it back down, but a knock at the door made you freeze.

A gasp stuck in your throat, you scrambled to your feet and stepped away from the door as though it were scalding hot.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Uh–” whoever it was cleared their throat and shuffled on their feet, their shadow playing at the bottom of the door, “–anybody in here?”

Oh, god. They probably wanted the bed.

“Yea–b–busy!” you blurted and then turned bright red at how it sounded, hands clasped over your mouth. A muffled chuckle sounded on the other side and slowly the doorknob turned.

“Can I come in?” asked so gently, carefully, words warm and soft like melted butter and your heart skipped a beat.

Steve.

Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit. What was he doing?

The door creaked on its hinges as he peered into the room, his silhouette all deep indigos and lush violets against the dim light of the hallway. Even there in the dark he was pretty.

“Can I come in?” he asked again and you shook yourself, blinked away the daze you were swimming in and nodded your head.

“Y-yeah, sure,” you stumbled over your words and felt your cheeks grow warm again, thankful he wouldn’t see.

Making his way into the room he left the door open just a crack, but closed enough that it still provided some privacy. Sat with a little sigh on the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his hair. Looked at you like you were a puzzle, small smile playing on his lips.

“How come you ran away?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Ran away?”

“Yeah. After I kissed Stacey.”

Because I wanted to kiss you. Because Stacey doesn’t deserve you. Because I hate it here.

“Hey, you work at Community Plate, right? And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you in my Intro to Econ class…”

Wait, what? How did he–

“Yeah, but…you’ve literally never talked to me,” fell out and you knew you should’ve been embarrassed, but for some reason it didn’t matter anymore.

He laughed, a deep warm thing and your stomach flipped over.

“Sorry, I’m not good with words,” he poked fun at himself and scooted over on the bed, a silent invitation for you to sit next to him and you took it.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled and he chuckled again, rested his hands on the tops of his thighs and took a sidelong glance at you.

“What if I told you I wanted to talk to you,” he said, a statement not a question, and your eyes flicked up to look at him.

“Bullshit.”

Another laugh, louder this time, kind of clumsy and goofy and it pulled a smile out of you.

“Not bullshit,” he reassured you, the word burning a bit around the edges as he was reminded of what Nancy had told him back in high school. “Stacey’s…” he started, but drifted off, thinking, “I dunno. Easy?”

“Wow.”

“Shit–not like that,” he scrambled quickly to correct himself, shifting on the bed uncomfortably. “I just mean easy like–” he waved a hand haphazardly in the air as though it would help him to gather up his words, “–fuck. She’s Stacey. She likes to go to shopping and get her nails done and watch soaps.” He loosed a sigh and roughed his hands over his face, deflated. Defeated. Not very Steve Harrington.

“Don’t you like that? It’s like…your type.”

“My type, yeah. Well. No one ever asks me.”

Quiet settled between you on the bed at his admission and you felt a tiny pinch of guilt between your ribs. Picked at the chipped nail polish on your fingers and bit at the inside of your cheek.

“Okay. What is your type?” you broke the silence, a little shy, a little bold, a little you and it made his brows lift in surprise.

“Shit–I dunno. Uh, eats pizza? And junk food. And doesn’t care if my friends are all a bunch of fuckin’ weirdos,” he laughed at his last requirement and you did too, but then he grew a bit more serious. Hummed in thought as if considering whether or not he wanted to set free the words sitting on his tongue. “Likes to go on drives with me. Doesn’t think swimming in the quarry is gross. Isn’t afraid to call me on my bullshit,” he looked over at you as soon as he stopped talking and waited. Watched to see your reaction. Wondered what you were thinking and you held his gaze, didn’t shy away.

“Don’t know if you know, but I just did that last thing,” you snarked and his nerves cracked, pushed a laugh from his lungs and he leaned back on his elbows.

“Thanks for that," he was only a little sarcastic, but then his smile softened as he looked at you. Really looked and you looked back.

Took each other in as you sat in the deep indigo shadows that fell across the room. Wondered how it was that Steve Harrington actually came looking for you. That he wasn't a gigantic douchebag. That he was just as pretty this close as he was from across the room.

Hair swept messy across his forehead, shirt with one button undone at the top, eyes dark in the low light, but still warm like amber and honey. Your chucks bumping against his Blazers, tight curls protesting against the hair tie you'd tangled them into, lips twisting as you tried to keep a straight face–

“This party sucks.”

Steve fell on his back and laughed, groaning into his hands as he covered his face with his hands.

“God, it sucks so hard.”

Then it was your turn to hum in thought, trying to work out what had just transpired between you and Steve Harrington. Trying to decide if it was worth one more little risk. Trying to decide if maybe just maybe–

“Wanna go for a drive?” your voice was steadier than before, but wavered a little as he pushed back up onto his hands.

“A drive?”

“Yeah. Pizza or something,” you joked, poking at him from earlier and he gave you a tentative smile.

“Pizza. Or something.”

“Or whatever? I dunno, forget it,” you felt yourself fold quicker than you'd wanted and stood from the bed, cheeks flushed and hot and embarrassed and ready to leave, but he caught your hand and pulled you back.

“Wait–where are you going?”

You didn’t know.

“Don’t run away again,” he was soft. Warm and genuine and it made you turn around, "Please?"

He was standing with you now, your hand still held tight in his, the callouses on the pads of his fingers rough on your skin. You could hear your heart in your ears again and you thought maybe you could hear his too.

“I do. Wanna go for a drive.”

“What about Stacey?”

“She’s not my type.”

You felt something swell in your chest, bright and blooming like wildflowers in a field and it made you smile. Made you feel stupid. Made you feel hopeful and as he looked down Steve gave you the same stupid smile right back.

“I don’t have a car,” you admitted and he scoffed.

“Oh. I got you covered,” and he pulled his keys from his pocket, tried to twirl them around his finger and dropped them almost immediately. You stifled a laugh and snorted instead and he let out a strangled sound as he bent over to grab them, “Alright, I’m not smooth. Spoiler alert.”

“I’m learning so much,” you teased and he crammed his keys back into his pocket, giving you a lopsided grin.

“I don’t like pineapple on my pizza either,” he joked lamely and you tried to laugh, but it stuck in your throat as he took your hand again, a little tentative, a little confident.

“You know, on second though, can we get it to go?” you asked and his mouth dropped into a little ‘o’.

“Uh–ye-yeah. Totally. Definitely.”

“Cool, there’s a bluff just outside of town where you can see–”

“–I know exactly where that is. My buddy Dustin has a–uh, never mind,” his cheeks flushed a little as he pulled you both back into the sliver of light from the hallway. “I’ll explain on the way,” and with that he led you back down the stairs. Wove you expertly through the sea of people and out the door without a backward glance.

As you climbed into his BMW you wondered what else you'd learn about Steve Harrington tonight. But mostly you wondered if maybe, you might just be his type.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[p0orbaby]

All In Good Time

Summary - A party, a blonde, and Wanda’s inability to hide her jealousy. Or the one where Wanda finally gets what she wants.

Warnings - alcohol, language, allusions to some sexy stuff, jealous Wanda, r being a bit of a meanie

Authors note - I could’ve sworn I had a request for this, but I can’t find it in my inbox. Anyhow, thank you to whoever sent it in!

Word count - 2.4k

Navigation | Wanda Maximoff Masterlist

There was always something in the air at Stark parties. A static buzz. A heady sensation of incompleteness. The alcohol never helped. Making you both acutely aware and extremely ignorant as to what was going on around you. It’s one of your more impressive qualities, Nat had told you once over the loud music in the compound bar. You snorted unattractively at her backhanded compliment and chased it with a shot of tequila.

Wanda watched the interaction form her spot on a couch. Pressed between Clint and Steve as they talked about something she wasn’t nearly interested enough in to pay attention to. Nursing a cocktail that wasn't remotely strong enough in order to get her through the rest of the night watching you flirt with people that weren’t her.

She felt ridiculous. Like a teenager with a high school crush. Palms sweating anytime you looked at her, spoke to her, was in the same room as her. And just like a teenager, she was making her infatuation with you glaringly obvious, to everyone but you.

“What did that martini glass ever do to you?” Tony asked, a playful lilt to his voice as always.

Another party. Another painful night of watching you mingle with pretty girls who batted their eyelashes at you. Pouted their lips. Pushed out their tits so you could get a good look at their cleavage.

Her jealousy was irrational really. You had every right to do what you want with whoever you want. You weren’t hers in any definition of the word. But the bubbling feeling of discontent that swept through her body would say otherwise.

The martini glass was swiftly removed from her grip. Fingers aching from the ghost of clenching.

“That’s going to become a health and safety hazard,” Tony explained as he placed the glass on the bar behind him. “And so are the holes you're burning into the back of Y/N’s head.

“I don’t know what you're talking about, Stark”. Her trying to defend herself was futile. Pointless. Especially when her response was accompanied by a tense jaw and a scowl.

“Sure you do” another voice appeared out of nowhere on the other side of her. “You’ve got a giant girl boner for Y/N”

“For someone who speaks multiple languages, you really do have a way with words Natalia”

“Thank you, I do try”

Wanda’s gaze left the redheads to find you again. Leaning in, seemingly talking, flirting with someone. Your hand on their jaw, turning their face to give you better access to whatever you planned to do with them.

Wanda turned back around with an eye roll and a groan. Very much against wanting to be witness to a public show. Whilst her two supposed friends just stood and chuckled at her expense.

“Why can’t they just take that shit upstairs” she found herself saying. “Why would anyone want to see that? Jesus, it’s fucking gross”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if it was you. You’d happily have Y/N’s mouth all over you in public if you had the chance”

The two girls turned and looked at Tony. One with an amused smirk she was trying to hide. The other with a face like thunder.

“Tony, would you kindly fuck off”

The look on his face as Natasha had practically changed her tune in a matter of seconds was comical. Eyes darting around their faces in search of answers. Brows knitted in confusion. But his brain finally caught up when he noticed Wanda stirring her drink miserably with a straw.

“Right, sure. Don’t have too much fun without me”

Natasha waited another beat to say something. Making sure Tony and whoever else might have been eavesdropping were out of earshot.

“Wanda, I love you, I do. But watching you sulk around waiting for something to happen with Y/N is giving me second hand depression”

With a huff, Wanda turned away and slumped into a bar stool. Utterly defeated. “Great, thanks for that”

“Just go over there and start a conversation. You’re still friends, remember? You might end up losing that if you avoid talking to her any longer”

“She obviously doesn’t want to talk” wanda's eyes locked onto your reflection in the glass backing of the bar. Your hands were holding the ass of a girl whose throat you had your tongue exploring. Their hand splayed at the base of your neck, urging you closer. Like you’d be able to do that without physically stripping off and fucking in the middle of the damn party.

Natasha’s sympathy was growing at the same rate Wanda was downing her drink. She normally wouldn’t intervene with interpersonal relationships, but her friend was having a pretty hard time with the whole situation.

So before Wanda even noticed Natasha had left her side, she was storming across the room, pulling your body away from the girl you were sucking face with, and smacking you around the back of the head.

Wanda could have sworn she heard the point of contact from all the way where she was sat. And the way you instantly clutched the stricken area with your palm all but confirmed Natasha didn’t hold back.

At least the blonde had the brains to flee before she got the same treatment. A small win, even if it was at your expense.

Wanda turned back around to watch you in the reflection again. Not wanting to be caught being nosey. Natasha was shoving your shoulder while seemingly yelling at you. An act that looked aggressive, but Wanda knew an aggressive Natasha, and this wasn’t it. She cared for the both of you. “Too much sometimes,” she says so frequently that the sometimes might as well be scrapped.

Then, as if you knew she was thinking about you, you locked eyes with her in the mirror. A chill swept through her body, goosebumps littering her skin as her eyes followed you in the glass. Your lips puffy and red from kissing. Buttons of your shirt undone slightly too low. Fuck. You were so fucking hot. Even when being dragged by Natasha out of the room like a child in trouble.

But it was something about the smirk you wore. The wink sent in her direction just as became invisible from sight. It made Wanda snap her eyes away and blush in both embarrassment and arousal.

Maybe you did know she was thinking about you after all.

-

There were shadows in the lights.

People's faces being distorted as they moved on the dance floor. Dark corners of the room grew wider the more she drank.

After Natasha had pulled you away to god knows where, Wanda had a change in mentality.

She could have fun. No, will have fun. She asked for another drink, downed it, then asked for one more.

Sam found her at the bar and insisted she come dance with the boys. Fuck it she thought. Why the fuck not?

So that’s where she found herself. On the right side of drunk, body squished between Bucky, Sam and Carol on the dance floor. Sweat was dripping down her temple. A drop or two made their way from her neck to between the valley of her breasts.

There were hands on her. Whose she didn’t know. But the grip they had on her hips was strong. Possessive. The breath she felt down her neck made her shiver in the best way.

She should’ve been more careful. Not just the team were invited to these parties. Plus ones of friends of friends. And even though extensive security checks were completed on every attendee, people’s sexual escapades aren’t necessarily picked up.

But the knowing smirks she was receiving from her friends only meant one thing.

“I hope you’re not avoiding me, Wanda”

Your voice was raspy in her ear. Slurred with the help of alcohol as you found it hard to curl your tongue around the words.

Wands turned her head slightly, just enough so that your nose brushed against her cheek and replied with a blunt, “you looked a little busy so I didn’t want to interrupt”

“Hmm. Well what if I was busy because you were ignoring me”

That struck something in her. Not anger per say, but close. A frustration that only ever reared its head when it came to you. It caused her to turn in your arms, a scowl painted across her tacky features.

“Fuck you” there was venom in her words. Rightly so.

“Language like that won’t get you anywhere”

The hands that were perched on her waist had now traveled lower. One pressed against her lower back, pushing her into you. The other lower still, palm resting on the top of her ass. Fingers brushing the rounded flesh of her well toned cheek. She could feel the swirling patterns you were making into the fabric of her dress.

She wanted to pull away. She really did. She wanted to give you the same treatment you gave her. To have you watch her drag some unsuspecting partygoer out of the room and predictably up to her bed. But she couldn’t. You have her where she’s wanted to be for so long. And though the two of you have teetered on the edge of something for a while, your intentions have always been nothing more than translucent to her.

Flirty touches in the gym. Lingering stares across the dinner table. You’d almost kissed once, in a quiet corner of Natasha’s unofficial official birthday party a couple of years back. But we’re interrupted by a bottle of champagne popping and cheers from your friends.

Nothing like that had ever been close to happening since. And it had never been spoken of either.

But now, looking up at you, seeing your pupils dilate with what she was hoping was lust. Wanda was determined to finish what was started all those years ago.

-

The sheets felt scratchy against her sensitive skin. Every rustle of the linen too loud. Her eyes ached behind her lids as the morning sun shone aggressively through the window. Blinds forgetting to be pulled.

She cracked an eye open, dissorientaned from the alcohol still thrumming through her system. Half blind, she went to grab her phone from the nightstand, slightly confused as to why her palm met an empty space instead of her usual charging dock. Her other eye opened, confusion overtaking her as she sat up.

The bed was in the right place. Window on the far wall to her right also correct. But the pictures on the wall weren’t hers. The open wardrobe donning clothes that she wasn’t all too familiar with.

A grunt to her left caused her to jump slightly. Her fuzzy brain catching up as she found a naked you lying next to her. Sheets over your hips, exposing your back and the angry red scratch marks that littered your otherwise unmarred skin.

Heat crept up her neck all the way to the tips of her ears. Memories of the night before flashed through her mind. Wandering hands. Marks sucked into pale skin. Breathless movements under cool, clean bedding.

Wanda’s muscles groaned delightfully as she slowly but surely removed herself from beside you. Trying extremely hard not to wake you up as she tiptoed across the wooden floor, collecting her scattered things as she went.

She wasn’t embarrassed about last night. She was far from it. But you might have been. And she didn’t want you to wake to the sight of her still lingering after what you believed to be just a one night stand. A means to scratch an itch the blonde girl from before wasn’t able to attend to.

So, crouching down with a lot less grace she would have hoped for, she collected the clothes that had been haphazardly strewn across the room.

She’d just picked up her panties from their final resting place on the lamp next to your head, and was mere centimeters from the door when she was stopped in her tracks.

“Sneaking out so soon? Was I really that bad you have to flee before saying goodbye?”

Wanda jumped out of her skin. Almost dropping the items she’d taken her time to find. Her neck snapping around to find you sitting up, harsh, purple bruising littering your bare chest.

Jesus, she thought. Did I really do that?

“No, I just-, you know, the early bird catches the worm and all that”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at her dishevelled form. Cocking an eyebrow as she struggled to look in your direction.

“If you’re worried about missing breakfast, I’m sure Tony will extend his lodging allowances to breakfast in bed”

She had no words. None that come out at least. Her mouth and brain had disconnected and but the look on your face it was very amusing to watch her open and close her mouth like a fish out of water.

“Look”, you started, bringing up a hand to brush untamed hair out of your face. “I know I’ve not been treating you that great recently. And I’m sorry, okay? Really. And last night was the first step of me showing you how sorry I am. But if you don’t want to carry, whatever this is, on then I’m more than happy with just staying friends”

You pulled the duvet up to your neck in a lost, vulnerable way. Your words had resonated with her. Buried themselves so deep within her soul that she’d never be able to forget them even if she wanted to. It was dangerous.

“Wands, say something. Please. You’re killing me here”

Wanda was never a very controversial person. More frequently than not she did a lot of things to appease others. But this was one of the few times she chose to do something for herself. It just so happened that it was also something that would be a benefit to you too.

So dropping her arms, letting her clothes fall to the floor once more. She watched your hungry eyes linger on what was being hidden by black wrinkled material and the soles of her party shoes. It gave her the confidence she needed to stride over to you.

“The first step?” She asked as she crawled up the matress. Knees sinking into the plush material as she went. Naked breasts swaying as she moved.

“Oh yeah. The first of many. I’ve got a few years of making up to do. Don’t you think?”

You lifted your arms from under the duvet, letting them fall to her waist as she settled on your lap. A spot she fit into perfectly, she realised.

“Well. You better get started then. Because to answer your question. Yes, I am worried about missing breakfast”

Taglist

General taglist: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @jromanoff @diaryoflife @xxromanoffxx @marrymemcgrath @smileyromanoff @rice-wiife @homiesexyall @wanda-is-my-joker @wackymcstupid @when-wolves-howl @sayah13 @lesbicentism

W.M Taglist: @olsensnpm @anaaam @wandsmxmff

[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance , co-author @whump-sprite Alt: Ari forced to whip Alex Timeline: picks up almost directly from the piece marked Prev, skipping back from the last thing I posted to fill in the gap

Needs and Wants [First | Prev | Next]

Pizza should taste good after weeks of starvation rations. All it tastes of is grease. Ari picks her way through a single slice slowly, forcing herself to take the time to chew.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, earlier,” Taryn says. “S’fine.” “It’s not. You were doing exactly what I asked, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” “S’okay, I get it.” “And… I’m sorry I left you in the kitchen so long. I knew you weren’t okay, and I should have checked on you sooner.”

Ari blinks in slow bafflement. Her eyes ache from crying, and she still feels half asleep, unable to process what Taryn’s trying to tell her.

“I … went to sleep,” she ventures. “S’fine, I wasn’t…” She wasn’t waiting. But maybe she should have been? She shakes her head. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, you know. Sleep here on the couch. I’ll make up a bed with blankets and a pillow.” “Thank you,” Ari mumbles. She didn’t really mean to go to sleep on the floor. There doesn’t seem much point arguing.

The pizza crust is cold by the time she gets to it, but it doesn’t make a difference. Alex loves pizza. He won’t be ready for solid food yet. He’s really, actually starving, unlike Ari. Because she couldn’t get him to eat.

“Could you eat another?” Taryn nudges the open box towards her. Ari shakes her head. “Didn’t eat a lot in there.” Taryn nods. “Try to have some more in a few hours.” “I will,” Ari promises. She doesn’t want Taryn to have to worry about taking care of her too. “Do you need anything else?” She starts to shake her head, but catches Taryn’s eye and pauses to try and actually think about it.

Her thoughts are slow as crawling through sludge. Her body doesn’t feel like anything. Maybe faintly queasy from the pizza she just ate.

“Don’t think so,” she mumbles eventually, defeated. “How about a shower?” Taryn prompts. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, I should… yeah.”

She must stink. She’s not sure when she stopped noticing how filthy she is. She’s not sure she noticed at any point. It wasn’t important. But now she’s ashamed. Not just for being gross so much as for not even realising. How out of it is she?

She’s so fucking useless. She’s not even hurt. Taryn shouldn’t be having to waste attention on her.

“I’ll set out clean clothes for you,” Taryn is saying. “I can find something,” Ari shakes her head. “S’okay.”

But she still ends up sitting uselessly while Taryn finds her a towel. She doesn’t even get off the couch until she’s prompted, and guided to the bathroom. She’s so useless. She just wants to crawl into a hole and die, at least then she’d stop being another drain on Taryn’s attention.

Her clothes are practically stiff when she peels them off her body. Her sweat and grease and Alex’s blood have set deep into the fabric. The smell has been in her nose too long to still perceive it, but she probably reeks of rotting blood by now.

Her skin is a mess too, mottled with zits and reddened patches where the skin is flaking from mistreatment. She’s lost more weight than she thought. She can see her ribs without stretching. The observations feel distant, detached, like it’s a patient’s body she’s inspecting, not the one she has to live in. There are sores round her wrists and ankles where she couldn’t leave the cuffs alone.

The hot water burns, but she doesn’t care. She thinks of Alex, and how he always likes the water hot enough to leave his skin red. She wonders if he’ll survive long enough to take another shower.

Washing her hair is difficult. Her fingers won’t pull through the tangles. Frustrated, she ends up yanking out enough hairs that her scalp bleeds. Dandruff has built up enough to come away in thick clumps under her fingernails as she tries to scrape her scalp clean. No matter how much she scrubs, she can’t seem to get to a point where there aren’t white flakes coming off every time she rinses. She only stops when she realises from the streaks of red in the water that she’s doing herself damage.

She dispenses more soap into her hands, and scrubs it into her hair as thoroughly as she can, just hoping it penetrates the depths of the knots. Getting them actually untangled is more than she can face right now.

Still, despite everything, she does feel a little more human once she’s more or less clean. She dries the length of her hair with the towel, squeezing out the water like wringing out a cloth, but she doesn’t dry her head. She doesn’t want Taryn to see blood on the towel. She already feels enough of an idiot for making herself bleed.

Taryn has laid clothes out for her as promised. Underwear, sweatpants, t-shirt, sweater. The kind of basics safehouses are stocked with. Ari feels guilty, but it’s a relief not to have to search for them and make choices. 

Taryn’s made the couch up as a bed too, but she’s nowhere to be seen now so she must be with Alex. Good.

Ari gathers up her filthy clothes and dumps them into the trash in the kitchen. Now that she’s clean she can smell them, and she was absolutely right. They need to go. Taryn could probably clean them with magic, but even magic won’t scrub the memories out.

Not that getting rid of the clothes will help. She can’t scrub the memories out of her skin, either, or the guilt. If she could peel her skin off and throw it away she would.

She should sleep probably, but she isn’t brave enough. She washes up the used mugs instead, trying to find some shred of absolution in being useful. It’s probably a waste of effort. Taryn could do it with a thought. The faucet is caked with limescale – it looks like it drips – and she gets distracted for a while by trying to chisel some of it off with the back end of a spoon before she realises this is an entirely pointless thing to be doing right now.

It’s more important to get some rest, so that she can be less of a burden on Taryn. She can’t hide from it forever. So she slinks back to the couch to lie down. 

The open pizza box turns her stomach. She rolls away from it, facing the back of the couch instead. She tries to sleep.

Taryn finds her crying into her knees again.

Ari sits up in a hurry at the soft sound of the door. Trying to scrub the tears from her face is a futile pretense. Her voice comes out thick and teary when she tries to ask, “How is he?” The narrow press of Taryn’s lips tells her everything she needs to know. “No change.”

While Taryn heads to the kitchen, Ari makes an attempt to get the tears under control and wipe her face properly. Taryn returns with two glasses of water. Ari takes hers and drinks obediently. She hadn’t realised she was thirsty.

“Had anything more to eat yet?” “Not yet…” “Do you think you’re ready?” “I guess.”

Reluctantly she picks up another slice of pizza. It’s even less appetizing cold and congealed.

“Here, let me?” Taryn’s holding out a hand. Ari has no idea what she wants. The pizza? She holds it out uncertainly. Taryn waves her fingers over it with a brief flicker of light, and it grows hot in Ari’s hand. “Oh. Thank you, Taryn.” “You’re welcome. Can I sit with you?” “‘Course.”

She sits close beside Ari, but not quite touching. She picks up another slice for herself, and Ari catches the subtle glow as she heats that one too. Ari picks at her cheese, trying to convince herself that it tastes good.

She feels so intensely wretched with Taryn right there. She shouldn’t be here. She doesn’t deserve help, or protection. She doesn’t deserve to be in a room with Taryn. 

At least she doesn’t reek anymore.

“Can… I ask something, Taryn?” “Sure.” “Not for me, it’s, uh, I just…” She flounders, struggling to find words. “I, there’s, a healer…?” “I’m going to go look for one in the morning,” Taryn says. “No, I mean, in 17…”

She has Taryn’s attention. It’s suffocating. Her head feels utterly empty of words, like she’s shaking her skull and trying to dislodge something.

“He, they…” Breath. “Every couple of days they brought a healer in, to… keep A-Alex alive.” His name feels wrong in her mouth now, like she’s lost the right to say it. “Just – a kid, a teenager, and – it was killing him, he was, dying a bit more every time I saw him and he still – he hated what they, what I…” She can’t say it. More deep breaths. Taryn is listening to her. “He gave… as much as could, every time, before they stopped him. Even though it was killing him, he cared…”

“You want to get him out,” Taryn says, soft and gentle like Ari is a spooked animal. She supposes she is. “I don’t know,” she confesses miserably, “I don’t – I know it’s – dangerous – it costs –” “I’ll do it,” Taryn cuts her off. “Or I’ll make sure it happens. We’ll get him.” Ari can’t breathe. She can’t believe it’s that simple. Of course it’s not that simple but – just to convince Taryn, she wasn’t sure it was even slightly a reasonable thing to ask for…

Taryn sees the look on her face, and puts her arms around her. Startled, Ari drops her pizza into her lap.

“If he helped Alex, we’ll get him out.” Taryn sounds utterly certain. “I’ll talk to Daniel.” “Thank you,” Ari tries to say, and it comes out as a whimper. Taryn squeezes once, then lets her go.

[Next]

[mychlapci]

Thinking about milfy Rodimus again. He's embarrassed by his new belly and saggy, stretched tits. He feels gross and unattractive and doesn't want to risk yet another pregnancy further ruining his body. Bots are fucking heartbroken over this, that he won't let them fuck him anymore. He won't even let anyone finger him or eat him out because he feels too gross about his body.

Although if they ask really, really nicely, he'll still suck spike, as long as he does it while kneeling so they can't see his body. One time, a bot, out of their mind, begs him to let them jack off on his tits. Reluctantly, he lets them, so long as they don't touch. Meanwhile the other bot has basically died and gone to heaven. They're ecstatically thanking Rodimus as they shoot their load all over those saggy, milfy tits. Maybe they beg him and he lets them lick the cum off his chest.

Either way, word gets around. More bots beg him to be allowed to cum on his tits. Some of them don't even want a blowjob, they just want to look at him while they paint his tits with their cum. And they move slowly down his body from there, asking to cum on his belly and then his thighs, groping at his tits and belly. Asking to rub their spikes on his tits and belly. While licking his thighs clean of transfluid, one bot asks him please please can I eat out your valve. He allows it.

And before he knows it he's pregnant again. He's devastated. His baby weight had finally evened out a bit. He wasn't losing too much more but he wasn't gaining and now he's gonna be back to the start again, feeling disgusting and unattractive. He keeps it a secret for a bit because he likes how much the other bots are worshipping his body and he knows they'll be disgusted once he goes back to being fat again.

Of course this isn't what happens. He accidentally lets slip a hint about his pregnancy, maybe mentions cravings or something and the floodgates open. Bots fucking him through a dozen overloads every day, telling him how hot he'll look once he's properly round and fat again. How they can't wait until his tits fill up with milk. They'll bring him all the fuel he craves, massage away any aches he has, how they can't wait to see him nursing another sparkling. AND he'll have that beautiful baby weight on him again. Just saying that makes the bot currently fucking him cum right away, deliriously praising and thanking him.

And when he delivers the sparkling the attention doesn't go away. They still want him, still think he's attractive, and probably did all along. Next time a bot asks if they can try to impregnate him he lets them

oughhhh milf Rodimus my beloved... I am always thinking about milf Rodimus.

He’s constantly trying to hide his baby weight, stuffing it into plating that he’s outgrown a long time ago, only for it to awkwardly spill out between the seams. He thinks bots stare at him because they think the visible rolls of fat mesh are disgusting, but really, they just can’t wait to see that plating pop open and spill all those wonderful curves out.

The crew can quickly fuck his worries out of him, though. A few more babies down the line and Rodimus realizes that they have no intention of ever letting him lose weight. Or to stop getting him pregnant <3 He slowly learns to understand that he’s a very sexy momma and everyone wants him.

[miasmaghoul]

Swiss/Aeon thoughts you say? Please, do go on *Scoots my seat closer*

I'm high so this is basically just headcanons lmao SORRY

I just know they have so much fun together. They laugh a lot during sex, both of em always down for what the other wants. Lots of kink involved in that pairing, LOTS. Super switchy on both of their parts, so much dirty talk it isn't even funny. They're playful. If Swiss tells Aeon to call him daddy, Aeon will laugh in his face even as he chubs up. They're almost always high when they fuck. Both suuuuuuuper touchy, both want to overwhelm each other. They make out a lot, Aeon straddling Swiss and shoving his tongue down his throat, and they both touch each other's faces the whole time. They'll edge each other for hours, and then Aeon will beg Swiss to overstim him to tears and beyond. Or they'll ruin each other's orgasms and revel in the frustration of it all. Both real into predator/prey scenes, in both directions. Swiss likes to be hunted while Aeon likes his head fucked with. Sometimes they'll double team Dew and it'll turn into the worst sort of objectification for the little guy. Definitely get real weird together, in every way there is to interpret that. Aeon likes to be hurt - likes to have his ruddy, sad, shriveled cock toyed with until he's in tearful agony. Likes being tickled until he's sobbing and aching and unable to stay hard. Likes having his flexible limbs contorted and tied to get him exposed to Swiss's cruel hands. Swiss is less into being in extended pain though. He still gets something out if it, to be sure, but he prefers being kept in the build up. He'll let Aeon edge him for d a y s. Will let him work him up for hours, get him so close before pulling away and waiting until Swiss was soft again before giving him more. Then Swiss will be locked up in a pretty pink cage for the night, only to do it all again the next day. And the next. And the next. By the time Aeon decides to get him off, Swiss is on such a hair trigger that Aeon has to use his magic to keep him from blowing at the first little baby kiss to his dick. When he is finally allowed to cum, Aeon bleeds into his brain to make his orgasm unnaturally long. He won't be able to cum for at least three days afterwards, but it's worth it for the sight of Aeon's angular face coated in his mess. Swiss will lick up every drop and feed it to him, thanking him profusely for his kindness. Swiss loves erotic massage, loves the attention paid to his body. Loves the sounds Aeon makes when he works himself into Swiss's ass, massaging him inside too. Likes it long and slow and luxurious. But they both also love a quick, dirty, semi-public quickly. Rubbing their cocks together in an alcove in the chapel, ducking into a supply closet to suck each other off and giggling about it. Sometimes Swiss will cum in Aeon's boxers and tug them back on so Aeon can feel him all day. Aeon will text him later on saying that he keeps getting hard in public. They can be extreme together for sure - lots of heavy, possessive breeding king talk, choking to the point of it not being safe, quintessence sensory play, some super dubious situations. Not often, but it can happen. They can be gross too. Aeon will listen at the hotel wall when he's roomed next to Swiss, jerking himself raw while he listens to Swiss get railed by Mountain. Swiss will cum on his pillow on the bus so Aeon smells him when he crawls in for the night. Just a little nasty.

Like I said, they just have fun.

[somber-sapphic]

Down Hill Here We Go

Lena feels terrible, Alex is worried, Kara is...?

Word Count: 1718

{Go To Part 1}

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Lena curled herself up on the little couch in the Tower as Alex went hunting for…something, the brunette wasn’t really sure. She wasn’t listening. She was embarrassed, miserable and absolutely exhausted. To make everything worse, Kara was nowhere to be seen. That just made the already grouchy woman angry. Kara had texted her to drag her into the Tower, and now she didn’t show up.

Her throat was burning beyond belief, and her stomach was starting to flip. Her skin felt like it was on fire, while her insides were frozen. There was no in between. Her nose was running and stuffy, her body ached, and the fatigue that she felt couldn’t be matched by any late night working that she’d ever endured.

She could hear Alex rummaging around not too far away, but found herself desperately wishing that she would stop searching for stupid cold medicine and hold her. As much as she hated herself for wanting that attention, she just wanted someone to hold her. At least she trusted Alex. Lena was about ready to go curl up in a stranger's lap for the human contact she so desperately wanted. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes, taking a brief minute to revel in how good it felt to block out all of the light that was trying to fry her brain.

When she opened her eyes a second later, Alex was nowhere to be seen.

“A-lex?” She croaked, struggling to turn around so that she could at least see the woman. She was strangely terrified that she would be left alone. Probably something to do with all of the abandonment issues and emotionally abusive family. No time to go through all of that Lena mused, still trying to see where Alex was. When no answer was given, she tried again a little louder.

“Alex? D-did you leave?” Lena bit off the end of the sentence, avoiding asking if Alex left her, which would imply that she actually wanted Alex around. She did of course, but it's not like she actually wanted the older woman to know that. She was a Luthor, tough and never willing to show weakness. That reluctance to show weakness was almost what cost Lena her family. She was working on being more open, but it was hard. She resolved to sit in silence until Alex got back, knowing that if she stood up she was likely to fall on her face. Her equilibrium was all over the place, thanks to the fever.

Naturally, Lena’s anxiety chose to ignore her decent plan to stay put and listen to Alex’s request. She clung to the ratty blanket that the brunette had managed to find before running off hoping desperately that it would provide her with some much needed warmth. She didn’t understand why everything had to be so cold. Was it like a Tower rule or something?

Lena took a deep breath, which immediately resulted in a bout of wracking coughs, so bad that if she were in public, someone probably would’ve stopped to see if she was okay. The answer would have been ‘no’, because it felt like her lungs were somehow on fire whilst swimming in a vat of mucus. A glob of the stuff filled her mouth, and she grimaced, not sure what to do. She settled on what she believed to be the least gross option, of spitting it into the blanket. It wasn’t like anyone would be brave enough to touch if after she was better anyway.

She stood shakily, the world spinning with her as she tried to make her way across the room. She was scared, and wanted to find Alex. Unfortunately, her body had different ideas. Lena managed to take two wobbly steps away from the couch before her legs gave out and she sprawled across the floor in a sort of Lena puddle.

“Lena!? What the fuck were you thinking?” Alex demanded skidding across the floor to sit by Lena's side. She cupped a hand over the other woman’s cheek, eyes filled with worry for the woman she considered to be her baby sister.

“I…I wanted to find you. You left, I got…I got scared. But I fell…” Lena had tears in her eyes that she was desperately trying to hold off. Her damn emotions were winning this battle.

“Oh kiddo, I went to find you some flu medicine but when I came back you were asleep. I left you a note,” She pointed to the table by the couch, where the piece of paper sat. Wow. Lena was apparently quite out of it. “I figured that it’d be best if I let you sleep, so I went to go train with the others. I’m so sorry I scared you. I honestly thought you would sleep for another three hours.” Alex chuckled quietly, forcing a calm into her voice that she didn’t feel.

Lena sniffled and reached up to wipe her running nose on her sleeve. It was gross, but she didn’t have any tissues, so what choice did she have? Alex grimaced slightly, about ready to do what parents had to do with their toddlers when they had stuffy noses.

“I know you don't feel well, but that’s beyond gross. Can we get you back up on the couch? I didn’t get a chance to check your temp earlier, and you feel too hot.”

“Floors good.” Lena mumbled, an intense shiver wracking her frail body. She closed her eyes again, happy to be finally at a neutral temperature. She could tell that Alex wasn’t pleased, but the other woman still stroked her hair and massaged her head. It felt so, so good. Of course, her comfort was short-lived. Only two minutes had passed when loud footsteps jogged her from her moderately contented state.

“I will pick you up, and you will not like it. I suggest you cooperate.” A gruff voice said, pulling her from the calm almost dreamland that made her feel safe. The words were harsh, but the tone was extremely warm. When she peeled her eyes open, she saw J’onn standing above her, a small almost fatherly smile painted on his lips. She smiled back (she thought, really it was more of a grimace) and opened her mouth to reply. All that came out was a pathetic squeak. Lena cleared her throat, brows narrowing in concern.

“Hi J’onn.” She croaked, satisfied at the return of her voice. Clearing her throat had made her feel like she was swallowing burning knives, as well as the glass that had already embedded itself in her throat. Alex made a nervous mother-henning sound and tightened her grip around Lena. If only Kara were there. Kara would fix everything. Stupid Kara needed to come home.

With Lena’s permission, J’onn picked her up, and deposited her carefully back onto the couch. Alex tried to hand her the blanket, but she wrinkled her nose, remembering what she had spat into it earlier. Upon seeing the sick girl's expression, Alex dropped the piece of fabric and wiped her hand on her pants.

“Right. Do I need hand sanitizer?” She asked, one eyebrow raised. Lena dropped her gaze guiltily and nodded. She felt tears welling in her eyes, angry with herself for feeling so emotional. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s alright Le, you’re sick. It’s okay. J’onn, can you go get me a blanket, thermometer, Advil and a glass Pedialyte? I have a feeling we’re gonna have trouble keeping our witch hydrated.” Lena whined quietly and reached out for the blanket on the floor. She was cold, she wanted the blanket regardless of how gross it was.

J’onn was only gone for a few minutes, but Lena hated every second. She wanted the blanket that Alex wouldn’t let her have, she wanted Kara, but most of all, she wanted to sleep. Which she couldn't do without a blanket or Kara.

“Where’s Kara?” She mumbled, rubbing her forehead exhaustively.

“She had to do something for Cat-Co honey. She won’t be back for at least a day. We can call her later if you want to though.” Alex suggested, trying to examine Lena without having to actually examine her. If there was any sort of medical tool involved Lena would bolt. She hated doctors more than she hated being sick. She was on record saying that she would rather die than be stabbed by an evil genius wearing a white coat.

J’onn arrived with the blanket and took his leave as soon as the brunette had curled herself up into a tight ball under the covers. He figured there was no reason to stress her out more by staying if Alex could handle it on her own.

“Alright you,” Alex said, brandishing the thermometer in front of Lena’s face. Instinctively she flinched away, her fever clouded brain, nervous at the prospect of her temperature being checked. Maybe her fever was trying to get some kind of revenge on her, because it certainly didn’t make very much sense. “I’m just going to take your temperature. It's not going to hurt. Open your mouth for just a second, okay?” Alex murmured, speaking as if she would to her daughter. It was barely 10:30 and she already missed Esme.

Reluctantly Lena opened her mouth to reveal a spray of white spots coating the back of her red, raw throat. The older woman’s heart sank as she placed the thermometer inside Lena’s mouth, murmuring about how good she was doing while trying to come up with a plan of action. It was pretty obviously Strep, but she didn’t have any antibiotics laying around, she should, she’d need to remember that, but this wasn’t the DEO. She didn’t have everything she needed to treat Lena’s current ailment. Plus, judging by the runny nose, Strep wasn’t her only problem. With a heavy sigh, she removed the now yelling thermometer from her mouth and prepared to say something she knew Lena would instantly reject.

“Honey…I need to take you to Urgent Care. It looks like you’ve got Strep Throat, and I have no way to fix it here.” Lena’s face palled visibly as she processed the information and planned an escape. She would not be seeing any doctor. She would be fine on her own.

[luckyshotwrites]

Ch. 62 // The Downburst: Part 1 // Day 47

Contents (Warnings): The Downburst (Angsty, vore mentions, and character/monster info). Read full chapter on - A03

Wordcount: 3,400+ (HEY SORRY EVERYONE FOR BEING SO LATE WITH THIS! I had a lot of life jazz hitting me at once!)

Side note: This will contain experimental writing; first person (Lynette's view) will be implemented alongside third person for the two other essential characters, (mostly) Alexander and (occasionally) Drake. All their text will be italicized for those third-person moments, with the characters' names in Bold at the start and their thoughts in Bold. There may be other characters I write for using this.

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(Nov. 11th, Friday)

Alexander

His whole body ached. Why the fuck did I agree? Why did I just want to get my ass kicked? He glared back at Drake, who stumbled behind him.

After his first game with Wicks, he didn't want to admit it, but it made him want to train his magic again. And especially now since that psycho, Wicks, repeatedly beat him into the ground with a smile. 

Though, he started to remember why he stopped training so much too. He felt less in control and vulnerable when he pushed himself too much in an unfamiliar environment. And what made it worse was the smell. 

Her scent is everywhere. Alexander cursed in his head. It had been difficult to be in the house without feeling hungry. It was worse now. All his instincts made him want to find her because he was so low on energy. 

He looked at Drake again. You get your damn drink, then I-

His thoughts dropped immediately. His body jolted as she stumbled back. She held one of the cold water bottles to her nose. 

He had been avoiding her and supposed she was doing the same. The only time they ever really saw each other was for events. 

“M-morning.” She muttered.

He felt his mouth start to salivate. She’s so tiny...fuck. He then threw his head up and swallowed hard. It took him a second to respond and move.

“If you’re going, go,” Alexander growled. He let her through.

Drake was about to say hi, but Lynette went between them. Alexander’s legs twitched. 

“Alexander…”

He knew Drake was listening to his heart. He put his hand into his mouth. His flesh alone tasted so gross to him. He pressed down on it until he allowed himself to puncture it. 

He pulled it out immediately after. The taste he hated lingered on his tongue. It kept his attention. 

He healed his bleeding hand. He grumbled as he saw Drake take a blood pouch from the fridge. Alexander walked further inside the kitchen and leaned on the counter at the center. He crossed his arms and leaned back on it, watching the door. 

He heard a light, "blegh," from behind him. He looked back at Drake over the sink. "It's magus blood, so gross."

“I don’t think I’m that gross,” Ace said, walking in. 

His whole outfit and hair looked as dis-shelved as the rest, and so did Koi. She walked in after him.

Alexander never saw her as he did today. She always wore a suit. Today, she wore a tank top and shorts to train with them. 

"You're not; they're just too taste-specific." She pressed her bangs back, getting them between bobby pins. "And Drake, if you are going to dump it, I'll gladly take it." 

She leaned over the other side of the counter as Drake leaned over the sink to give it to her.

Ace moved to the fridge to get a water bottle. "I’m a little disappointed Lynette couldn’t join us. Watching and fighting Wicks was so much fun. It’d probably be fun to fight with her too." 

The menace himself entered. It almost pissed Alexander off just to see that smug, grinning face. Asshole.

“Lynette’s too busy to beat us up,” Wicks said. 

Alexander didn't understand the lie. Why does it matter if people know she's a human? It won't change anything. All they have to do is confront her to know.

Drake passed Wicks a water bottle and got himself a new pouch, this time of the right blood. 

Wicks caught Alexander's eyes, and he smirked, “What’s wrong, buddy?”

Alexander was rarely ever on the defensive with his magic. And with Wicks, he had no choice but to be. 

Alexander glared down at the magus; he was five inches taller. "Fuck off." He said, pulling his attention away. At least being in a room full of beings he didn't want to eat calmed his nerves slightly. Until it started to wander back to his hunger.

Damn it. 

He couldn't wait for Drake. "I'm going out."

"We're all leaving soon. Why don't you chill with us for a while?" Ace questioned. 

If I have to go to the wedding where she's the only human and I haven't eaten... He swallowed lightly at the thought. He pushed off the counter, "I'll meet you all there." 

...

Lynette

We were in a room together, Charletta, Madre, and me. It was a bride's dressing room, connected to the bigger dressing room for all the bridesmaids, but it gave us the seclusion we needed.

Madre did Charletta's long hair. Usually, it would be down past the middle of her back, so she braided it up for her. Madre hummed while doing it. Her movement looked like second nature. I know she was the oldest of six girls. 

I interrupted Madre's hum with my question. "Madre, you were never really a hairdresser, were you?" I asked. It wasn't because of her skill. She did an excellent job of cutting and styling our hair and her own.

"No," she admitted. "Though I've had a passion for doing hair." She was the one who taught me different braids and hairstyles. I touched on my favorite one she taught me that I have now. The Rapunzal braid. It perfectly tamed my wavy and slightly curly mess.

"Do you work at the C.P.P.A.?"

She shook her head, "I couldn't while you were all so small and Padre wasn't home..." She said. "Pero luego todos ustedes se hicieron tan grandes, tan rápido."

She sighed.

"Sí, y ahora me dan una conferencia sobre volverme loco durante el juego." Charletta replied smugly.

What game...oh right, the marked thing. I got to watch them all play fighting. They were all great, weren't they? They always are.

"Wicks did say you went a little wild," I slid my comment between them with a chuckle.

Charletta burst into laughter, turning back, causing Madre to huff as she was in the middle of finishing her hair.

"It's rare that I get to let loose!"

"Charletta, trae tu cabeza de vuelta aquí, no he terminado." Madre said and Charletta complied, swiveling back in her chair to face the mirror again.

"Lo siento," Charletta looked at me in the reflection, "but you know, speaking of beasts, I'm glad Wicks doesn't think Ulysses is a terror. I can imagine he'd try to destroy him."

The laugh that followed sounded so carefree. A whisper came after, "Not that I wouldn't fight him to the death if he tried."

"Charletta," Madre gave a light tap on her head.

"I was kidding...mostly."

She got tapped on her head harder.

Is Wicks that strong? Of course, he is...there's a lot I don't know about him, or...any of them isn't there. 

I looked back up, and I could hear Charletta and Madre. Yet, I felt so far away. I was right beside Charletta, at arm's length of her right side.

I shook away my thoughts. Madre got to the other side of Charletta next to me.

"If you ever want to talk, Lyn, I'm here for you."

Her eyes always looked soft. She could yell at me, hear my stubborn voice fight back, punish me, or listen to me on my worst days, and that had never changed.

Wicks definitely had her eyes.

"I know; thank you, Madre."

...

Alexander

They were standing up over the crowd. Alexander's eyes wandered to his "problem." Why did it have to be you? You could have been related to any other magus's. He was frustrated by that fact. He glanced at the male to his left, Wicks. Since they met, this was the first time that the stubborn magus's attention was on something else. Precisely the bride and groom. They took the attention of everyone. Alexander hadn't known Charletta well. 

He'd met her at Edgar's house once before, but that was it. Ulysses did talk about her frequently, though. I never imagined it would lead to this so soon...

They said their vows to one another. 

Yet, his attention went to the rings and what was to come. 

His muscles clenched, he could feel tight in his chest, and his breath became shallow. He closed his trembling hands. He could see, along with their rings, they were sealing a bind together. 

His heart was starting to beat faster, and his lips trembled so hard he had to seal his lips. He pulled his eyes away and looked at the crowd to escape his thoughts. 

It was then his swirling cloudy blue hue fell to his father. His feet shifted, but he stopped. Someone gripped the back of his suit. Drake had bent over and tugged it from behind. 

He lowered his head, feeling Drake let go. He could hear the cheers around him once the newlyweds shared their kiss.

...

Wicks

He stuck to Lynette, intercepting many conversations she would have had with individuals he didn't trust. He rationalized that he did it simply for her safety and his promise to his parents, but...it was more than that. 

Lynette was different and had been since Saturday. He walked away from her for only a few moments. He saw she was talking to Ace. 

He hadn't seen her smile much this whole week. Ace seems to make her happy. It made him a little jealous. She was his best friend. He had plenty at the C.P.P.A., but Lynette...she had always been there. She had never left his side, always been the best sister he could ask for, a perfect partner in crime. 

Maybe...she needs more time? Wicks thought to himself. 

He wanted things to go back to how they were. He hated feeling so cut off from his best friend.

Not that he didn't expect it. 

Yet, from what he understood, Ace had been a long-time friend of Charletta's and Ulysses'. So, he trusted him around her way more than any other human-eater, especially her coworkers. Which he didn't see around at the moment.

As the music began to change and more started to go to the dance floor at the center, Wicks saw Ace bowing to Lynette for a dance. 

He hurried over and took Lynette's hand first, "Brothers get a first dance, sorry." He stole her away from Ace, to both of their surprises.

Once they got to the dance floor together, Lynette raised a brow, "Brothers get a first dance? Didn't we do the family dancing already?"

Wicks sighed, "Alright, you caught me..." He didn't see a point in playing coy. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. I know how you get when strangers are a little too friendly."

It wasn't a complete lie. 

"He seems nice..." Lynette replied, then sighed, "But go ahead...tell me what kind of monster he is." 

Wicks dropped his shoulders. Jeez, did I really make you think all monsters are bad? Or did those jerks at your job make you believe that? He kept his hold on her.

"He's a magus," Wicks said. 

Lynette questioned, "Oh, like you guys."

"H-hey!" Wicks heard the tone. It definitely plucked a few heartstrings. What could I say? I'm the worst of them all. I've been lying over and over again to your face.

He could see her force her lips to smile, "I was kidding." 

"You know nothing's...changed." It felt hard to say. He didn't want to admit that.

"I know, you're still all my family, and I love you." It was the only thing she said where he heard her honesty. 

As they continued their dance, he smiled very lightly. "Love you too, Lentils, forever and always." 

I wish I could explain it all to you.

...

Lynette

I got outside of the dance square, and I raised a brow. I swore I saw Wenna tugging Alexander along the dance floor. I wouldn't think Alexander could or would dance... 

It was comical to see Wenna spinning him around. He looked mad, as usual. Drake's mom looked ready for the quick interception due to their behavior. 

"Hey again, enjoy your dance?" Ace asked. He walked up beside me, leaning a hand on the white-clothed table. 

"Yeah, Wicks was one of the people that taught me. He and Charletta had a big dance craze when we were younger." It was one or the other coming up with new things to play...they really feed off each other's craziness.

"Well, would you still like to dance?"

I nodded. My insides quivered, but I knew everyone was there. I didn't feel as alone as I would have if we had gone to a restaurant together. It was someone I didn't know with the intention of a date... "After this song, sure."

...

I felt calm. I didn't know why I felt so relaxed with a stranger. Well, as comfortable as I could be. We were surrounded by different people of different powers, but he didn't push me. When we danced, he seemed nervous to touch me. 

He even stopped mid-way through the song when I felt queasy. And that's we were on one of the balconies, looking out over the giant courtyard. A few faces were outside by the big bonfire to the far left.

As I leaned on the curved white railing, my eyes drifted to the giant hedge maze to the right. I've only seen those in movies.

Ace kept his distance. "It's a beautiful night," I heard him. I looked up and saw a handful of stars glittering above. It wasn't a clear sky. There were still a few clouds nearing the moon.

"It is." I turned back to him to see he was staring. When our eyes met for too long, he shifted his back to the sky.

I started to peer past him to the balcony on our opposite side. It looked like Drake, Alexander, Koi, Viola, and another girl I didn't recognize. I almost waved simply because I saw Viola, but I refrained.

Grabbing their attention wouldn't be best. 

"Something wrong?" He asked.

"N-no." You don't need to get involved with that chaos...nor should I. I tried to distract him and pointed down. "I'd love to explore that maze. It looks like it would be fun for a Halloween thing, right?" I was a baby when it came to anything horror related...yet I dealt with monsters. 

Ace chuckled and looked down at it, "Hmm, did you want to adventure in it now?"

My shoulders raise, "really?" That sounds so awesome...

My eyes went back into the room where the soft jazz was playing. The individuals inside were of various sizes and shapes. No one was over seven feet, though. 

I think the parents are at the bonfire? It should be fine. I reasoned with myself. It'd only be for a little. I continued. I knew why I really wanted to get away. 

"If that's okay with you," Ace said. He held his gloved hands up innocently. He awaited my answer.

Even though I felt anxious, I lifted my head and nodded in agreement.

...

It took us only a short time to end up in the middle of the too-perfectly-maintained maze. It looked like it was freshly cut today. The walls of the labyrinth went to about eight feet tall. There were also sprouts of flowers coming out at the bottom of the bushes.

I plopped onto the stone bench, holding the glass of wine he got me on our way out. Today seemed like the perfect occasion to celebrate with at least a glass. 

"It would have been so cool to see you in the morning with us," Ace remarked. He walked toward the gazebo in the center, inspecting it. I didn't know if I felt like sitting under it with him, so I stayed on the bench near the way back into the maze.

"Did you guys do that training this morning that you talked about last night?" I questioned. How did that go? Everyone showed up to the wedding fine...right?

Ace grinned. He walked over and sat on the bench beside me, "we did. It was a big free for all." He jittered with a shiver. "I almost forgot how scary it is to be wrapped up by Koi."

"Wrapped up?" 

"She's an arachne," Ace said. "And as curse magic as my specialty, I can only get so far with her." He turned his head to me, "That actually brings up a good question what do you specialize in?"

I shook my head, "Ha, come on, you don't want to get me started on that." Charletta told me to lie and say blast magic, and she told me the basics. I got ready to say it and stopped. What if he asks more questions? Before my mind ran rampant, I took a breath. He's a magus. I'm not in any danger.

"I do! I'd love to hear you talk about it" He sounded enthusiastic. "You're part of such an incredible family...I-you know..." Ace stumbled over his words, "I think it's amazing that I met such a lovely girl that, as Wicks said, could kick my ass." He shyly laughed after. 

I took a deep breath. I could trust him. Wicks clearly did. He let us dance together. Ace was one of the only people Wicks didn't helicopter-parent me with. 

I took a breath, "I-...I'm not a magus."

Ace started to laugh, "Very funny, Lynette."

"N-no." I didn't know why I couldn't say it. "I'm not a magus...I'm adopted."

He shook his head, "come on. I mean, you don't look 100% like them, but you could be Stefan's child with another-" 

"I'm serious!" I exclaimed, I put my wine glass down on the ground next to the bench.

His usually prominent smile slowly dropped, and his eyes lost their vibrance. "Ah...I guess I was a little too hopeful." He soughed.

"Hopeful?" I didn't know where his excitement fled to. 

He got up from the bench and brushed back the few loose strands of Cyan hair. "This is..." He turned to me.

His eyes trailed up and down my body. A twitch of one of his eyes and the slight curl of his lip told me everything.

He's disgusted.

"Now, this makes a lot more sense. You were reluctant to talk about any kind of magic." He lifted his shoulders, "it was hard to bring it up casually with you." He groaned, "Augh, this is awful." 

I shook my head, "what are you talking about? What's awful? That I'm...human?" My chest hurt. What did I do wrong...?

He sighed, "You were my last hope. There are no other contenders in the Payton's family to court." He adjusted his suit, making sure to flatten it down. "I was interested in you because you were part of their family. I need a powerful bride for my bloodline." He rubbed his temples. "We have a strict prodigy tradition." 

I weakly smiled, "sorry..."

His eyes glazed over. "I did all this when there was no point. That's infuriating. You shouldn't lead someone on like that."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't..." I could only stare at his shoes.

He huffed and turned away. "You wasted my time."

I couldn't respond as he left me alone in the maze. Please tell me it's some kind of bad joke. I pleaded in my head. I thought he understood me. Actually liked my company for...no, of course not. I failed again.

He didn't give me another word.

I'm human...

My head sank deeper as I stared into my lap. I'm not even good at being human. I'm not close to anyone except my family and they have to stay with me out of obligation...

I felt my legs press closer together, I couldn't finish school, I barely helped with the wedding, I burdened the Paytons so much that I had to lie about what I was, I only burdened my family...

I lifted my hands to my arms, clutching them. I'm a failure at everything I do. I wanted to help people, but when have I ever helped anyone? What have I ever done? I can't even talk to people or keep any friends. 

My tears soaked through my dress. I'm a burden on everyone. I know that. It's been like that since the day I was born.

I curled up bringing my feet onto the bench and leaned onto the concrete back. 

I don't do anything for anyone. The Paytons just pity me, don't they?

My body tensed up as a figure moved out of the corner of my eye. I flicked my head in their direction. My blurry vision knew the shape well. It was Alexander. I couldn't quite read his face but he was huffing.

Oh...that's right...I am good for one thing, aren't I...

I tried to wipe away my tears and hide my face. 

"What are you doing out here, Xander?"

I'm only good at being a meal for monsters, so go ahead, Alexander.

Eat me already.

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. It means a lot that I put out a story that people can enjoy! So, I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable).

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What I’d do for a Livable Income (Synopsis/Chapter - List)