#but let's not overlook the nasty parts of him

[madam-o]

The number of incelly comments I read about Beetlejuice/Lydia where the take is that Beej is the morally superior one because he held up his end of the bargain twice while Lydia did not (because women are deceitful b-words, amirite fellas) is truly maddening, especially since it's not just incels saying it, it's regular fans as well. I mean, if I have to tell you why that's a bad take, well, you'll probably never get it. He's a stalker and a creep and he's been trying to coerce her into marriage since she was a kid.

I mean, I still totally ship them, but still.

[luminiamore]

sweet.

(universe)

warnings: kento being oblivious, gojo flirting with reader (3sum in the near future), jealous reader, soft sex, mirror sex, heavy praise, bare with me noww, this isn’t directly related to part one but it is from the the same universe. im temporarily back lols, enjoy!

for the first time ever in your life, you find yourself filled with jealousy. over a man. the realization is like a poison you can’t shake off, sitting uncomfortably in your chest. you decide then and there that you don’t like this feeling at all. far from fond of the way your blood boils, the way you feel an almost primal urge to fight another woman—over him. your glossed lips crinkle into a nasty scowl as your ears hyper-fixate on the sound of her obnoxiously high-pitched laughter. he wasn’t even that funny.

you swear your eye twitches when she trails her manicured nails down his shoulder, her movements slow, deliberate, teasing. she’s not ugly—not even close. you can admit that. but you’re by no means insecure. in fact, you’re painfully aware of how stunning you look tonight. still, the thought burns: why isn’t he pushing her away?

they clearly know each other; this is a business work event, after all. a secretary, maybe? his assistant? your mind races trying to place her, but no name or face comes to mind. kento never mentioned her before. you would know—he tells you everything about his long, draining work days. he’s also so precise in recounting every detail, you’re there to listen to them as you massage his scalp.

you distinctly remember names like leiri, suguru, utahime. even that guy, gojo. he talks about him the most, despite how much he apparently irritates him to no end.

but this woman? her perfectly styled red hair, the way she clings onto his words like gospel- she’s a mystery. one he conveniently forgot to mention in his stories.

is this why he invited you? to watch him let another woman touch him, laugh with him, lean into him in ways that make your stomach twist?

his face bears his signature stoic expression as he speaks to her, but you can’t unsee the way he smiles occasionally. even the small, intimate gesture of fixing the strap of her dress has your jaw clenching.

kento is a gentlemen, you know this. but does he really have to display it like this? with each passing moment, your heart sinks further, the pit in your stomach growing heavier. it’s sickening.

you’re too pretty for this.

especially tonight, with your strapless light pink bubble dress that hugs your waist like a second skin, sculpting you into a vision of perfection. every step you take, every slight movement sends your high, sleek barbie ponytail swishing behind you in defiance, like a crown that refuses to let you forget who you are.

your makeup is immaculate: fluttery lashes that make your eyes impossibly doll-like, catching every flicker of light, and a soft blush dusting your cheeks, enhancing your angelic glow.

you weren’t brought here to be ignored.

yet here you are, simmering with jealousy, your perfectly manicured white nails digging into your palm as you stare them down from across the room. this won’t do. you weren’t dressed to perfection to be overlooked. not by him.

it seems your prayers were answered, faster than expected too. gojo sauntered toward you with the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance. his snowy hair was nicely tousled, as though it was styled enough just enough to look effortlessly undone. a smug grin was already plastered across his no doubt beautiful face.

the air seemed to shift around him. his tailored black suit hugged his tall frame perfectly, the satin lapels catching the low, golden light. the collar of his crisp white shirt was left slightly undone, offering a subtle glimpse of pale skin beneath. polished black oxfords clicked softly against the floor.

you hadn’t even noticed him at first—too busy glaring daggers into the back of the redhead currently stealing your kento’s attention. but the moment gojo entered your periphery, the energy changed. this time in your favor.

he was impossible to miss as he approached you where you sat in the middle of the bar. he could sense your simmering frustration from across the room—no doubt about your date letting another woman throw herself on him. and of course, decided to intervene.

“is this seat taken, or should i just assume this drink is for me?” his voice was smooth, too easy.

he leaned against the high barstool you occupied, one arm resting on the polished surface of the bar while the other toyed with the edge of your untouched glass. his tone carried a playful lilt as if he’d already decided the answer didn’t matter—he’d stay regardless.

your brows knitted together in confusion as you turned to face the source of the bold interruption. your pretty glossed lips, which had been set in an irritated scowl mere moments ago, softened and shifted into an involuntary pout

your voice, smooth yet edged with a hint of incredulity, carried the weight of your surprise as you spoke, “um, excuse me?” the words hung in the air as you tilted your head ever so slightly.

the moment he spoke, you recognized him. the confident, almost cocky grin, paired with that signature tousled white hair—it was unmistakable. gojo satoru.

“didn’t mean to startle you, doll,” he said, his voice low. he motioned toward your drink, still untouched, the ice inside barely melted. “this drink is still full, and from where i’m standing, you look like you could use some company.”

he paused, his gaze locking with yours, his smirk growing ever so slightly. “but if you prefer the solitude… i can always grab my own drink.”

his words lingered in the air, but you couldn’t help but notice the challenge behind them, the underlying invitation. he was perfectly at ease, as if this were just another conversation.

you blinked at him, momentarily taken aback by his audacity. the corner of your mouth twitched into a small smile as you tilted your head again, batting your long lashes. “and you are…?”

you asked, drawing out the words with just the right amount of innocence, pretending you didn’t already know exactly who he was.

as of his smirk could stretch even wider, gojo’s gaze sharpens with amusement. kento had mentioned you before— you’re like a doll, a fragile, perfect little thing. and god, was he right. you were exactly what he painted, even more striking in person if he was honest.

your brown skin caught the light in the most mesmerizing way, a subtle shimmer that seemed to radiate with every movement you made. it was as though your entire being was illuminated. every curve and contour of your body glowing with a soft, ethereal radiance. to him, you weren’t just beautiful, but something more—almost otherworldly, like an angel walking among them.

his eyes flickered from your drink, still untouched, and then back to you, his gaze slow and deliberate. he took in every detail, memorizing your every move. the subtle pout on your glossy lips, that almost imperceptible shift in your posture, and the way your eyes glimmered, measuring him up.

he couldn’t help but wonder—how could kento leave you alone like this?

his voice smooth as honey, “gojo satoru. maybe kento’s told you about me? he’s mentioned you a bunch of times.” he pauses, letting the words hang in the air for a moment longer than necessary.

if you’re surprised, you don’t show it. you keep that perfect, aloof air about you, your gaze never once wavering from his.

“but don’t worry,” the white haired man continued, that stupid charming grin still there. “i’m not here to step on his toes. just thought i’d say hello to the beauty he left alone tonight.”

he’s flirting with you. there’s no mistaking it. the playful tone in his voice, the way his eyes linger on you, all of it signals the intention behind his words.

you can feel a warmth crawl up your neck, a subtle thrill coursing through you at the sudden attention. it’s a spark igniting within you, something you only felt with kento. you try to hold back, but your lips betray you, curving into a small, involuntary smile.

for a split second, your gaze shifts over to kento. your heart skips a beat when you find him already looking at you, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. his gaze feels like a weight, heavy and unyielding, pressing against your chest. it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it is—anger, concern, or something else entirely.

it’s the kind of look that makes you feel exposed. he’s dissecting every tiny movement, every flicker of emotion crossing your face. despite his distance from you.

you quickly tear your eyes away from kento, a twinge of guilt flooding your chest as you force your attention back to gojo. his playful gaze never wavers.

“something the matter, doll?” he asks, his voice light, but the tone betrays an undercurrent of amusement.

you finally respond, your voice a little breathier than you intended, and a warm flush creeps up your neck, coloring your cheeks. “he talks about me? i didn’t really think he was the type to gossip.”

you’re still processing the idea of kento mentioning you to someone like gojo. he talks as if he despises the man, always with a hint of irritation and sometimes even disgust. as if even mentioning his name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

you always assumed the two were at odds, maybe even enemies of some kind with how often he complains about how insufferable he can be.

a deep chuckle fills your ears, it’s like the sound of a well-aged wine being uncorked. “oh, he’s not,” gojo starts. “but trust me, when it comes to someone like you, he can’t help himself.”

his eyes flicker to kento for just a moment, his gaze lingering briefly, before it’s back on you, “i can see why, though,” he adds, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “you’ve already got me hooked on you.”

his way of nonchalance is almost unsettling. doesn’t he know how territorial kento can get? or does he just not care?

you glance over at kento again, his expression unreadable, but the slight tension in his jaw betrays his quiet disapproval.

“you’re not worried about kento?” the question slips from your lips before you can stop it, your voice barely above a whisper, though you’re not sure whether you’re asking gojo or yourself. it feels strange to voice it aloud. you’ve always thought of kento as someone who would take any threat to his control seriously, and here gojo is, flirting with you in plain sight, with no hesitation.

“worried? about him?” he grumbles, “trust me, doll, kento’s a big boy. i’m not sure if i’m the one he need to worry about.”

what did he mean by that? you’re still processing his words, but as gojo holds your gaze, that familiar feeling of being seen—really seen—creeps up on you. it’s unnerving, but you don’t want him to look away somehow.

for a moment, the room around you fades as you focus solely on the man before you. it’s crazy how easily he’s made you forget about everything else. you want to respond, to call his bluff, but something about how intense he is stops you. instead, you simply blink.

before you can even begin to gather your thoughts and formulate an answer, a heavy hand lands on your shoulder. you feel a warmth run down your spine. that scent—woodsy, with a hint of something clean and crisp—fills the air around you.

your breath catches in your throat slightly and without needing to look, you know it’s him. the very essence of kento’s controlled demeanor has momentarily broken the charged bubble that gojo created between you two.

you glance over your shoulder, and there he is—kento, standing tall, stoic, his usual composed self. his sharp eyes lock onto gojo with an unreadable expression, though there’s a subtle tension in his jaw, the only giveaway of how he’s truly feeling. his presence towering over you in a way that feels protective—if not a little possessive.

gojo, however, doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. in fact, he leans back into his seat, his grin widening into something more smug, as if this is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

you can feel the heat of both men’s attention on you now. what is happening?

kento’s voice breaks the silence, cool and measured, like he’s carefully weighing his words.

“gojo,” he starts, his eyes still locked onto the white-haired man. his hand on your shoulder shifts slightly, he’s trying to keep a lid on whatever’s simmering beneath. “if you’re done with your little game, i think it’s time for you to let her breath a little, hm?” he doesn’t look at you as he talks.

gojo is savoring this moment. “what game?” he replies smoothly, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this more than he probably should. cerulean eyes flickering between the two of you, “i’m just saying hello to the beauty you ditched tonight.”

“you’ve said your hello, and now it’s time for us to leave,” kento says flatly, a hard edge to his tone. his grip on your shoulder tightens just a fraction, a silent cue that he’s ready to move things along—away from gojo, away from whatever this is.

before you can process it fully, you make a sound—a soft, almost instinctive protest. it escapes before you can stop it, you don’t want to leave yet.

you were just starting to enjoy yourself. the night had only just begun to shift into something fun—why does he get to bask in the attention of someone else but when it comes to anyone showing interest in you, it’s time to go? that’s not fair.

gojo, ever the perceptive one, picks up on the subtle shift in your energy almost immediately. the way your body tenses, the slight flicker of uncertainty in your eyes as you glance back and forth between him and kento.

“i don’t think the little doll here wants to leave,” gojo comments, his voice dripping with a teasing drawl.

kento barely flinches at gojo’s remark. without missing a beat, his expression hardens just slightly, and he steps fully into your space. “we’re leaving. now,” kento states, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

you open your mouth to protest, the words forming on your lips, but before you can voice them, kento’s gaze sharpens, and the intensity of it pins you in place. your protest dies in your throat.

gojo, watching this exchange, can’t help the intrigued look that tugs on his entire face. there’s something interesting about how easily kento exerts control over you, how effortlessly he can shut you down with just a look. it makes gojo wonder—would you react the same way to him? would you let him dominate the space between you, take charge and make you follow his lead like kento does?

a flash of something darker flickers in gojo’s gaze and another flicker of curiosity about what it would take for him to have that kind of influence over you.

you stand from your seat, your so kate heels clicking against the marble floor. you move reluctantly, and gojo watches every step, his eyes never leaving you.

when you glance up and send him an apologetic look, something in him shifts. you look almost delicate in that moment and then something twitch in his dress pants. the very idea of you stirs a response in him that he can’t quite ignore. he doesn’t want to.

“hey, don’t look so sorry, doll,” gojo murmurs, leaning forward just a little, his gaze fixed firmly on kento, his eyes sharp with that unrelenting amusement. “i’m sure i’ll see you again, sooner than you think.”

his presence lingers in the air, like an invisible thread pulling at you, even as you turn away. you know, without a doubt, that his eyes are still on you as you step out and kento opens the door for you, that ever-present smirk never leaving his face as he takes a sip from the drink you left.

the ride back to kento’s penthouse is suffocatingly quiet. the hum of the car is the only sound in the air as the night wraps around you both. your body is turned as far away from him as you can manage, trying to press yourself into the cool, unyielding door as if putting distance between you two will somehow ease the frustration you feel.

the silence grows heavier before kento finally speaks. his voice is low, careful, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

“you seem upset,” he starts, the words almost too casual, too calm. “care to tell me why?”

there’s a sharp edge to his tone, barely noticeable but enough to let you know he’s waiting for something—some kind of explanation, maybe.

you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. you keep your gaze fixed on the window, the lights of the city blurring past as if you’re not even there.

kento’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white as his gaze flickers over to you. his patience thinning, but he tries to keep himself calm, measured as he speaks.

“are you upset with me?”

you remain silent, your gaze fixed out the window, refusing to acknowledge him. but this time, the silence isn’t enough for him. he sighs—deep and almost tired.

“is there a reason why you were letting gojo satoru flirt with you?” his voice is low.

you don’t give him any silence this time. without missing a beat, you turn slightly toward him. your voice uncharacteristically sharp, “is there a reason why you were letting some redhead throw herself on you?”

he knows exactly who you’re talking about—the redhead, his secretary, the one who had been working under him for a while now. honestly, he hadn’t thought much of her beyond the occasional brief interaction. to him, she was just another colleague, someone he’d see around the office now and then, exchanging pleasantries and handling basic tasks.

but hearing you mention her like this makes him pause. was she really throwing herself at him? kento, though sharp in many ways, was infamously dense when it came to detecting romantic interest.

he’d never picked up on the subtle hints or the flirty undertones that others would easily recognize. he’d always just chalked up her attentions as professional, after all he is her boss.

“were you jealous, sweetheart?” he can’t help but take the opportunity to tease you. and despite how frustrated you are, you still shy away from his words. your kento always had that effect on you. jealous? no way.

you quip, “no! not jealous. it’s just weird that you never told me about her, that’s all.”

he watches as you look away, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. there’s something about the way you try to brush it off that only makes him want to poke at you more. he’s used to you being a little oblivious, and honestly, he finds it kind of endearing.

“mm, is that so?” he muses, “it’s weird that i didn’t tell you about her?” his eyebrow raises, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “and here i thought you wouldn’t be interested in a measly secretary.”

to kento, when he’s describing his day to you, he only feels the need to mention the important things. why would he ever need to mention someone as insignificant as a secretary?

but he’s not done yet. his gaze softens, and there’s a small, almost tender shift in his expression as he watches you carefully. you almost forget that you two were still on the road. “you really don’t think i’d keep something like that from you on purpose, do you?”

you hesitate, your lips parted for a moment before you mutter, “don’t know.”

a slight chuckle escapes as if to reassure you that it was never anything worth mentioning. you know kento wouldn’t lie to you, and his tone conveys that sincerity. he’s just not the type to complicate things with unnecessary details.

he watches you, eyes soft but intrigued, as he can tell you’re battling what to do in that pretty little head of yours. it’s a look he’s grown used to, and, strangely, he finds it oddly charming. the way you’re focused on him, trying to process everything he says, more concerned with the things you don’t quite understand than with anything else.

it’s a kind of sweetness he doesn’t even realize he’s craving.

you finally make it to his home, a sleek, minimalist penthouse that mirrors kento’s composed demeanor. the dim lighting casts a soft glow across the space, highlighting the clean lines and neutral tones of the decor. the subtle scent of his cologne still lingers in the air as he leads you through the entryway.

his hand never leaves yours, his firm grip guiding you effortlessly up to his top-floor suite. you follow him without question, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors. the weight of the evening settles over you, and you don’t dare speak—not because you’re afraid, but because you don’t know what to say.

your thoughts drift, circling back to the restaurant, to gojo, to the way kento’s jaw had tensed ever so slightly when he saw you exchanging words with the white-haired man. the memory sends a flush of heat to your cheeks, but you push it aside, grateful that kento hasn’t brought it up again.

you almost let yourself relax, eternally thankful that he didn’t press further—didn’t question why you hadn’t pushed gojo away or why you seemed so unsure in the moment. maybe he understood that you were caught off guard, or maybe he simply chose to spare you the embarrassment of having to explain yourself.

he leads you into his bedroom, the expansive city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. the silence between you feels as if kento is giving you space to collect yourself.

you don’t dare look at him directly, instead letting your gaze wander over the room. you can feel his presence behind you, steady and unwavering, and you know he’s watching—assessing you in that quiet, observant way he always does.

still, he says nothing about gojo, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel relieved or unsettled.

however, kento isn’t the type to let something like that slide—not because he’s angry, but because he’s curious. intrigued. at the way you didn’t immediately recoil from gojo’s teasing, the subtle way your lashes fluttered and your lips quirked, had left a faint, simmering heat in his chest.

it wasn’t jealousy, not entirely, at least. it was way more complicated than that.

he watches you for a moment as he helps you undress. he starts with your heels, carefully pulling them off as his hand rests on your soft ankle. his look is sharp, like he’s carefully dissecting the situation.

you’re so sweetly oblivious to the weight of his business partner’s attention and how you seemed to react to it. kento isn’t sure if he should be annoyed or interested at the possibilities it stirs in him.

“you seemed to enjoy the attention earlier,” he says at last, his voice soft and deliberate.

“what? no,” you protest immediately, shaking your head and giving him that wide-eyed look he knows so well. “i didn’t—i mean, it was just—he was being weird.”

his lips twitch slightly into a shadow of a smile that doesn’t quite form. his brown eyes narrow ever so slightly as he stands up, pulling you with him and spinning you around to start unzipping your tight dress. there’s no urgency in the way he moves.

“hm,” he hums, the sound low and thoughtful, like he’s pondering something far more complicated than he’s letting on. the sound of you dress hitting the floor is deafening—and now you’re just left in your white thong standing in front of his tall mirror.

“but you didn’t stop him,” he continues. his words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “you didn’t seem to mind it.”

you blink up at him, flustered, your mind scrambling to catch up with the weight of his words. his gaze feels heavy, pulling at you, and it only makes the heat in your cheeks burn hotter. your lips part, but the words don’t come right away.

finally, you stammer out, “i… i didn’t know what to do.” your eyes flicker away from him, unable to hold his piercing stare for too long, as if it’s too much to handle.

you fidget slightly, your fingers twisting on the tiny band of your panties as the weight of his attention settles heavily on you. “is he usually so forward like that?”

you sneak another glance at him, hoping your words might deflect some of the intensity of his focus. it doesn’t and its making your heart pound a little faster.

he doesn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch between you for a moment longer than comfortable. it’s on purpose, you can tell—like he’s savoring the way you’re squirming under his attention, trying to find your footing.

then his hand moves, covering your fidgeting fingers with his own, stilling them. “you’re going to ruin those if you keep twisting them like that,” he murmurs.

before you can respond, he leans in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your collarbone. the softness of his lips against your skin sends a shiver through you, and you gasp, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

a warm and deep chuckle follows, leaving a throbbing ache between your thighs.

“usually,” he answers at last. “you liked that, didn’t you?”

your lips part as if to respond, but no words come. his hand slides lower, settling on your inner thigh, so close yet not nearly close enough to where you need him most. it’s eating at you.

you swallow hard, your breath hitching slightly, as your mind struggles to piece together what he’s really asking.

“i’m not upset,” he says after a moment, his voice softening just enough to make you meet his gaze again. his thumb starts tracing slow circles that make your skin burn. “i just want an answer, sweetheart.”

you nod slowly, unsure of what else to do, though you should know better by now.

a sharp pinch lands on the plush curve of your thigh. the sensation startles you, and a soft yelp escapes your lips before you can bite it back. his breath is warm against your ear as he leans in,

“words, doll,” he murmurs, the faint gruffness in his voice making it clear he’s not asking. he’s using gojos words against you and it makes the slick pooling in your panties increase tenfold.

“come on,” he urges softly, “use that pretty mouth of yours. i know you can.”

you messily breathe out, “yes ken, i really liked it.”

you’re so consumed by the weight of your confession that you fail to notice the subtle shift in kento’s expression. there’s a flicker in his eyes, a deepening intensity, as if something has just snapped into place.

he would really do anything for you. anything.

you might not fully understand the depths of it yet. and you don’t need to. in this moment, kento’s world seems to orbit around you, and it’s clear that he’s willing to give everything for your pleasure, your trust, your everything.

that’s all he needed to press two of his large fingers on your panty covered cunt, quietly groaning at the wet patch that seemed to have accumulated during his talking. who knew talking about gojo would get you this soaked?

it seems you’re thinking the same thing as you try to muffle your whine with your hand, covering your face because you’re just so embarrassed. “none of that, sweetheart. eyes on the mirror, understand?”

your legs are shaking, twitching really at the sensation of his subtle rubbing on your sensitive clit. your pretty nipples perking up due to the contact of the cold air. and kento notices, of course he does.

your eyes hit the mirror swift, your hands dropping instantly. your eyes are hazy, staring back at him with desperation, “yes, ken”

“such a good girl. the most perfect girl.”

kento moves to face you directly. with precision, he presses you flush against the wall, the cool surface biting against your back as the heat of his body contrasts sharply against your front. his hands settle on either side of you, caging you in.

his movements are unhurried, savoring every second of you like this. slowly, he lowers himself, his knees hitting the floor with a purposeful thud.

his focus is no longer on you, rather your twitching brown heat. he can even see your arousal dripping down your glistening thighs. your lower lips are plump and sticky, practically begging for him to place his mouth on you.

how could he ever deny you?

he uses his tongue swiftly, harshly, and unrelentingly to attack your dripping mound. starting from the base of your hole to where your clit was poking out of its hood, his senses overwhelmed with the sweet taste of you.

still, he can’t help but bring it up again, “you’d let him taste you just like this, wouldn’t you?”

“kennn,” a cute whine eludes you. but you can’t hide the way you leak even more at the idea. he laps at you more rapidly, sending the sounds you make echoing across the room.

he emits a deep, guttural groan, the sound vibrating through you and making your thighs clench around his head involuntarily. his large hands grip your hips firmly, keeping you firm against the wall as his tongue penetrates your wet hole. “hm, doll? you’d let satoru ruin you like i always do?”

“y-yes- oh! i would!”

kento quickly swaps his tongue with his index and ring fingers and curls them to your favorite spot. finding that the sound you make is something he would honestly kill for. he bets on you making those sounds for satoru too.

he opts to suck, hard on your beautiful pearl with his mouth.

you breath stutters, little gasps and chokes of a moan being stolen from you, “oh christ- ken! ken, baby- m’so close.”

the feeling starts low, deep in your core, like a slow, simmering warmth that makes your body feel electric. ever hypersensitive, you more heavily start to feel that intoxicating pressure in your lower abdomen.

your breath quickens, coming out in soft, airy gasps, and you can’t stop the way your body arches, your back curving as you chase every ounce of pleasure being given to you. your manicured nails dig into kento’s broad shoulder, still covered by his dress shirt.

“will you, sweatheart? make a mess for me, yeah?” you don’t know how but his fingers move faster, jabbing and poking precisely in that sensitive spot that makes your head spin.

“make a mess for satoru.”

then it happens, the release washing over you in a cascading rush that steals your breath and leaves you trembling. behind your closed eyes, you could’ve sworn you’ve see a white light. your legs shake and your glossy lips part with loud, breathy moans that you can’t control, too lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

the intensity leaves you lightheaded, dizzy even. your body swaying as if it can’t bear the weight of such pleasure.

you feel kento’s strong hands on your waist, steadying you, his hold being the only thing keeping your legs from crumbling beneath you. every muscle turned to liquid.

“easy, sweetheart,” he watches you, utterly captivated by the way you’re still trembling in his arms, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath.

he knows he should give you a moment to recover, to let your body come down from the high that’s left you so drained. this orgasm clearly took so much out of you-it’s written all over the way you slump against him as he stands in front of you.

but kento... kento can rarely contain himself when it comes to you. he strokes a hand down your back, the warmth of his palm possessive, his lips gently grazing your temple.

“you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. “so good to me, doll. you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

he tightens his grip on you just slightly, his fingers pressing into your soft skin like he’s staking his claim.

you nod weakly, the response instinctual because you know he’d never do anything to hurt you. kento sees it in your eyes, that sweet look, that unwavering willingness to let him have his way with you-and he can admit, it drives him insane.

“good. good girl,” he whispers.

that’s all you hear before you feel him lifting your body up and your legs wrap around his hips. it’s hard not to pay attention to the pressure of his thick tip pressing at your creamy entrance.

when had he even taken his pants off? you’re not sure. in fact, you’re not even prepared for the way he suddenly presses into you, your slippery folds stretching its best to accommodate to his massive size. fuck, it was all too much!

kento releases a shaky breath, his mind scrambling to figure out how can one person feel so heavenly, “always so tight aren’t you, sweetheart?”

you mewl at his words, mewl at the way you feel so full yet he’s not even halfway inside you yet.

“s’too- too much!”

as if to disprove your trembling protest, kento pushes in deeper, his hips meeting the backs of your thighs with a force. your breath catches in your throat, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the new angle overwhelms you completely.

your legs dangle limply over his broad shoulders, your knees pressed tightly to your chest, leaving you utterly at his mercy. the position forces you to take all of him, every inch sinking deeper, stretching you in a way that borders on unbearable. but it’s so addictive.

he’s so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you dizzy.

“fuck,” he groans, his voice husky, vibrating through your entire body as he holds himself there, buried so fully it feels like there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. “look at you, doll. taking me so well.”

his large hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as your body twitches beneath him. the stretch is a sinful combination of pain and pleasure that leaves tears prickling in your eyes.

“can feel you squeezing me,” he mutters, his breath hot against your ear as he leans over you, pressing you deeper into the wall with his weight. “so fucking pretty like this, sweetheart... it’s almost like you were made for me.”

you can’t respond-you can barely think. all you know is you want more. and more. and more.

like he’s read your mind.. he starts to pull out, the slow drag of his length leaving you gasping, each inch pulling at every overstimulated nerve within you.

his hair brushes lightly against your cheeks as he bends down just slightly. his gaze drops to where your bodies are joined, watching with unrestrained hunger as your slick clings to him, coating his entire length.

“look at that,” he murmurs, his voice low, sending another pulse of heat straight to your core. he shudders at the sight, his fingers tightening their grip on your thighs as if to steady himself.

then, without warning, he thrusts back into you with a brutal force that knocks the air from your lungs. your back arches against the wall, a broken cry spilling from your lips as he buries himself to the hilt once more, the sudden fullness making your head spin.

“you feel that, sweetheart?” he groans, his breath hot against your ear as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, as if determined to remind you just how completely he owns every inch of you. “my perfect angel.”

you’re helpless against the wave of pleasure building within you, dragging you under with every deep stroke.

your warmth is making his brain scramble, causing him to start rambling now. “maybe i should let satoru take you like this.”

the way you tighten around him is his incentive to keep whispering against your panting lips. “bet he wants to own this sloppy pussy like i do, hm?”

you’re not sure what he’s saying. your mind is currently clouded by the way his tip repeatedly taps your cervix. nevertheless, you swiftly nod your head at his words. you’d agree to anything if it meant he would keep giving you pleasure like this.

you feel that familiar heat stirring deep in your lower abdomen, a subtle warmth that quickly intensifies, growing more forceful, more urgent with every passing second.

this time, though, it’s different. there’s something more uncontrollable about it. you recognize the signs — the way it tightens and twists inside you, a sure signal that you’re about to squirt. you’re about to make a mess.

“gonna cum, doll?” kento makes a grunt and directs his hips to directly punish your gummy spot. if he had neighbors, they would probably hear you cry out bloody murder.

you mumble out through your shaky moans, “y-yes! m’gonna cum, for you! for ‘toru!”

you’re so fucked out, you barely recognize the little slip of the nickname you cried out. you’re a precious thing, fuck. his hand slips down to find your little nub and rubs tight circles so quickly, it almost feels like whiplash when the pleasure hits you.

“go ahead, sweetheart. kenny’s got you. let it all out.”

at his command, you do. you gurgle, letting out clear streams of your juice that spray all over his dress shirt, lightly sprinkling over his open mouth, tasting you. your chest heaves, back arches closer to kento, legs tremble as you lose all sense of your surroundings. you can’t even recall your own name. the only thing you know at this moment is this feeling of pure euphoria.

kento pace starts getting uncoordinated, sloppy as he ruts into you. it’s not long before he follows after you quickly, a deep moan rumbling from the depth of chest as he spurts out thick ropes of his seed into your awaiting womb. and you take it all. because yore his good girl.

it’s so much you can feel like overflowing out of your heat, small streams dripping down your spasming other hole.

he gradually pulls out and quickly kneels down to observe how his cum drips out of your cunt like thick paste. it’s mesmerizing. he slides two fingers up your slit, collecting a nice glob of his aftermath before pushing it back inside of you.

you exhale in a mixture of a whine and a choke, even going as far as to whisper that you’re too sensitive. you don’t know that kento had planned this, you also don’t know that satoru is on his way to you both right now. with his eyes still focused on your pulsing mound, he tuts at you.

“don’t be like that, doll. you need to give me at least one more before ‘toru gets here.”

[winchesterwild78]

Brat

Master List

Characters: Ben (Soldier Boy) x Reader (girlfriend), mention of other characters

Warnings: Use of degrading names (consensual), SMUT!, a sprinkle of fluff, Soldier Boy (because he’s a warning all by himself), rough touching, unprotected sexual contact (cover it people)

A/N: Happy Birthday @cheynovak! Just a filthy birthday present for Chey. I hope you enjoy. Y’all don’t read this if you don’t like rough, degrading, but consensual sex. This is just pure SMUT and of course it has Soldier Boy so you know it’s going to be nasty in the best possible way. 

I wrote this fast and edited it fast-please overlook any mistakes.

Minors DNI 18+

You woke up early to the sounds of the birds singing. It was still dark outside, but you had to work. You stretched, groaned and reached your hand over to try and feel your boyfriend of 2 years beside you. You felt a pang of sadness when your hand touched the cold bed. 

A smile creeped across your face, Maybe he got up early to make me breakfast or he has a surprise planned. You climbed out of bed thinking your boyfriend, Ben, or Soldier Boy as the rest of the world knew him, was up making you breakfast. It was your birthday after all. The one day a year where everything should be about you.

You quickly showered and got dressed. You decided to wear the short black pencil skirt and off white thin blouse Ben loved on you. It showed off all his favorite parts of your body, your tits, your hips, and your perfect ass. You also wore the green lace bra that matched his suit. You had it made a few months ago and it drove him wild.

“Now everyone will know you belong to me doll.” He growled when he first saw it. You ordered a few, because sometimes Ben forgot his own strength and would rip your clothes. 

Walking down the hallway of your shared apartment your heart sank. The house was quiet and dark. Ben wasn’t there. You blinked away the tears that filled your eyes. A stray tear fell anyway. Quickly wiping it away you made a coffee, grabbed your stuff and headed to work. 

Vought Tower was a buzz of activity today. As soon as you walked through the doors you felt it. As you passed the security desk, Bob, the head of security waved, smiled and yelled “Happy Birthday!” You smiled and thanked him.

You got on the elevator and pushed your floor. You checked your phone and saw dozens of messages from friends and family, but nothing from Ben. Your heart sank more.

When the elevator arrived at your floor you walked to your office. Passing Ben’s office, you heard him in there talking to someone. Hesitating at the door, you decided to keep walking. 

When you opened your office door you saw the most beautiful bouquet of y/f/f on your desk. It was huge and practically covered your desk. There were other gifts and cards. You sighed, letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

Sitting your things down you grabbed the card attached to the flowers. Your heart was thumping with anticipation in your chest. Then your heart sank. These beautiful flowers weren’t from Ben. The card read: Happy Birthday, Y/N! We love you and can’t wait to celebrate later with you. Annie, Huey, Butcher, MM, Frenchie and Kimiko.

Moving the flowers to the side you sent a message to the group text. Which Ben happened to be in too. 

You: Hey guys! Just got in and saw the beautiful flowers. Thank you for remembering my birthday. Love you guys so much! 

Annie: Yay! So glad you liked them. Can’t wait for later.

Huey: Annie and Kimiko picked them out, but Happy Birthday.

Butcher: Happy Birthday, love. 

MM: Yeah, Happy Birthday, Y/N.

Frenchie: Joyeux anniversaire mon amour

Kimiko: 🥰 💝 🎉

Ben: Get back to work!

His message pissed you off, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. You stepped in your office bathroom and slipped off your panties. Knowing when you bent over just enough of your pussy would show. What better way to get back at Ben for forgetting your birthday than to tease him. 

You grabbed your notebook, coffee and pen for the early morning meeting everyone was expected to go to. Walking into the conference room you were greeted by coworkers wishing you a Happy Birthday. You smiled, hugged them and your eyes flicked up to meet Ben’s. His face was cold with no expression. 

One of your male coworkers walked over to you and handed you a small gift and you hugged him. This time when you looked at Ben you saw a flash of anger and jealousy in his eyes as his jaw clenched. You smirked. 

Taking a seat, you decided to sit away from Ben. Your usual seat was right beside him. His mouth slightly opened when he saw you sit down. Whispers filled the room, which only intensified Ben’s growing frustration. 

“Alright, let's shut up and get to business.” Ben’s voice boomed through the room. A hushed silence fell. The tension in the air crackled. You sat in the meeting staring Ben down. Biting your lip, leaning forward and letting just the top of your breasts show. At one point Ben asked for the documents you had. Walking over to him you handed them to him. You ‘accidentally’ dropped your pen as you walked away and you bent down to pick it up. Ben saw you weren’t wearing any panties. A low growl came from his chest. You smirked when you saw Ben adjust himself. 

By the end of the meeting the tension in the air between you and Ben was so thick and strained. It was like a rubber band being pulled until it was ready to snap. Ben’s voice boomed, laced with frustration and anger as he told everyone to get out. The meeting was over. “Now, everyone get the fuck out and get back to work. Y/N, I need you to stay. I need to talk to you.” 

You gathered your things and looked up at Ben, “Sorry Soldier Boy, I have another meeting I have to get to. Whatever you need will have to wait.” Annie smirked as you gathered the rest of your stuff and sauntered out of the room.

Ben growled in frustration. You heard his heavy footsteps behind you, “I told you to stay, that I needed to talk to you.” “I heard you, Soldier Boy, and I told you I had another meeting and you’d have to wait.” 

As you got to your office door, Ben was hot on your heels. Pushing open your office door you felt Ben grab your arm, causing you to drop your things. “Woman, I told you to wait!” “And I told you no!” 

He pushed you against the door closing it. His face inches from yours. “Why do you have to be such a fucking brat?” He growled low. “Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole?” 

Ben crashed his lips on yours, pinning your hands to the door. He growled in your mouth as he deepened the kiss. “You’re such a little slut, walking around this office with your cunt out. Were you hoping someone would fuck your little pussy for your birthday?” 

You bit his lip, “Someone has to, because my boyfriend forgot my fucking birthday.” You pushed past him and bent over to gather your things. You stuck your ass in the air, giving Ben a perfect shot of your glistening folds. 

Ben couldn’t help himself anymore. The sight of you in his favorite outfit, your pussy on full display, just waiting to be filled up. He grabbed your hips and pulled you over to the couch. Throwing you over the arm he hiked up your skirt, revealing how wet you really were. 

A smile tugged at your face. You heard his belt buckle and your walls clenched. Ben slid his thick fingers in between your folds and felt how wet you were for him. “Mmm such a needy little slut aren’t you. Is this all for me, or were you hoping someone else would fill this hole?” 

You wouldn’t answer him, you just smirked and bit your lip. “Answer me, or you don’t get anymore of this.” He thrusted his fingers inside you and then pulled out. You whined, “Yes Ben, I was hoping you’d fill me up. Nobody else.” His fingers went back inside, pulling a moan from your lips, “That’s right baby, who’s pussy is this?” Through shaky breaths you moaned, “Yours, only yours. Please Ben, I need you.” You begged as your body ached for him.

“Such a needy little whore aren’t you? Want my cock to fill you up, fuck a baby into you?” You nodded and moaned. “Nuh-uh, use your words, pretty girl.” “B…b…Ben, please, fill me up. Fuck a baby into me.”

Ben’s cock twitched at my words and he lined himself up and pushed in your dripping hole. You gasp and grip the couch. His hands are grabbing your hips as he’s driving his cock deep inside you. You feel the sting of his fingers digging into your flesh. Then without warning, one of his large hands comes down and smacks your ass hard. The sting sends a shock through your body. You yelped. Ben’s hand rubbed where he’d slapped you. 

His pace is hard and brutal, but you couldn’t get enough of it. Taking your hand you slid it down to your throbbing clit. You start rubbing, chasing your release. “No! Don’t you dare. You don’t get to cum until I make you cum.” Ben slapped your hand away. 

Ben grabbed your hips and pulled you up, he pulled out and walked around to the couch, sitting down. He pulled you on top of him.

Sliding his hands up your shirt, he removed it, revealing your bra. He smiled and you smirked. He carefully unhooked your bra and your breasts sprang free. As he cupped them and started sucking on your nipples, you lined yourself up and sat down on his cock. Taking every inch in quickly. You gasped and placed your hands on his broad chest to steady yourself. 

Rocking your hips back and forth, Ben continued the brutal assault on your tits. One of his hands went into your hair and pulled your head back. Revealing your neck and breasts to him more. You continued to bounce on his cock, feeling your coil build and the need for your release growing stronger. “Please Ben, I need to cum. Please let me cum.” You begged. 

Ben kissed up your neck, and to your ear, “Not yet doll. I’m not done with you yet.” Ben stood up, your legs wrapped around his waist and his cock still inside you. He flipped you over on the couch and threw your legs over his broad shoulders. 

He pounded you into the couch, pushing you further into a fucked out state. Your mind going hazy and all sense going out the window. His hand gripped your neck. Which turned you on more. You trusted Ben, he’d never hurt you, and when he was rough there was always a gentleness to it. Ben loved you and you loved him. 

“You like that? Being fucked by a real man?” You nodded. “I can’t hear you, maybe I should stop.” “No….Ben….don’t….yes….I….like….it. Fuck!” You said through each thrust.

Ben pulled out and you groaned. He stood, pulled you into his arms and placed a soft kiss on your lips. He walked you over to your desk and helped you on it. You sat on the edge and Ben dropped to his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders he started to attack your pussy. Licking and sucking your hole and your clit. Your hands went into his hair and pulled him closer. “Oh fuck, Ben! Just like that baby.” He started eating you like he was a starved man. Pushing two meaty fingers inside and hooking them up. You pushed into him. “Oh Ben, I’m gonna cum, please let me cum.” You were a sweating, panting mess, ready for your release. 

Ben hummed against your clit and sucked hard. “Cum for me darlin’.” That pushed you over the edge. You came with a scream of his name. He lapped your release up, and when he stood you saw his beard was glistening. Ben kissed your lips and you could taste your release. 

He brushed a stray hair off of your sweat covered brow and smiled softly at you. “Benji, fuck a baby into me.” Ben pulled you off the desk and leaned you over it, pushing your belly into the hardwood. His hand grabbed your hips and the other lined himself up. He thrusted in and fucked you hard. Grabbing your hair. The fast, hard pace was pushing your belly and thighs into the desk. You knew you’d have bruises, but you didn’t care. 

As Ben got closer to his release you felt his thrusts get harder and his grunts louder. 

“I’m going to fuck a baby into this pretty little pussy so the whole world knows who you belong to.” Ben came with a grunt, you felt his release coating your walls. You bit your lip at the thought of having his baby. You were in love with him and saw a future with him. 

As Ben softened he pulled out, watching some of his cum fall to the floor. He smirked. He gently helped you up and grabbed a tissue to clean you. After the two of you got dressed, Ben kissed you. His lips, soft and gentle on yours. “I love you, Ben. That was amazing.”  “I love you too, Y/N. Happy Birthday, baby. Even if you are a brat.” 

Tags are open, if you want to be added, let me know.  

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@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

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@superrey @kamisobsessed

[caramelcleopatraa]

WORKOUT

word count: 801

x: typed this out in a couple of hours because I saw these pictures and imagined Roman working out in the outdoor gym and just started writing whatever came to my mind (not proofread) Enjoy this impulsive imagine.

content: 18+ mdni, established relationship, Roman Reigns x reader, Exhibitionism/Vouyerism, doggystyle, (sorta) public

He bought an Airbnb for you two after losing his championship title. Time to get away from the rush of it all. So, you two escaped and went to Miami, enjoying quality time alone in the house, or eating high end food in sparkling restaurants. The house was beautiful in itself. The exposing windows that separated the modern house from the outside. A mix of beige, black, and green. Decorative trees and bushes sprinkled around the house, complimenting the beige and black interior. The house had everything. Multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, a spacious pool with beautiful greenery surrounding it, and an outdoor gym overlooking the water and other modern houses in the distance. Of course, The outdoor gym was his favorite part of the house. And you reeked of the benefits. Watching his beautiful face contort as he pushed through different exercises. His warm caramel skin shining brighter with the sun’s help. You never thought that you would find yourself using the outdoor gym equipment. Except for today, grabbing onto the stable black bar while you and Roman engaged in a…. different type of workout.

“Mhm that ass so damn fat, making me feel so fucking good baby.” Your hand was starting to hurt from how tight you were grabbing onto the gym equipment. Your other arm was no help, being held behind you by your samoan lover. Soo, you wouldn't have to worry about grabbing on to the bar, because your other arm would be held behind you as well. Usually, you shied away from doing sexual acts in public, but he looks so sexy working out, you forgot to have shame while he fucked you stupid. Neither did you try to find shame because of the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. 

Your nails scratched at his forearms, yelling his favorite names in that sweet honey voice that hypnotized him into doing anything for you. “Ooohh~ shit! You’re fucking me so good!” The sight of his woman high off pleasure because of him gave him indescribable feelings of pride and happiness. “My baby so nasty, fuckk- keep talking to me mama,” Roman purred, burying himself deeper in your pussy, marveling at the wetness. Your legs were turning into jelly from his sudden slow and methodical, but forceful strokes. You needed more than that though. “Faster Roman…” His silence let you know what you needed to do. You knew that you would have to beg him to get what you wanted. “Daddy please stop playing! Fuck me for real!” But he didn’t give you any time to catch your breath, pulling you closer to his body by your torso and kissing you. He walked you closer to the edge, giving both of you a better view of the houses around you. But that also gave them a better view of you. 

“Ask me correctly.” “Baby, they can see us.” He held you tight against him, slyly slipping his thick hand between your thighs to rub your clit. “Let them see how good I’m fucking you. Ask daddy again.” You let out a heavy breath before saying, “P-please fuck me daddy. I need it so bad.” As much as he liked to tease you, he needed it as much as you did. Your arms were held behind your back again, but he submerged himself in the crook of your neck, talking you through it while sliding his dick back into you. Welcomed by the warmth and tightness he always missed when he pulled out of you. “That pussy feels so fucking good baby. You this wet because of me, huh?” You couldn’t respond before he started fucking you again. Your mouth fell agape, moaning like crazy. “Mhm, let ‘em hear. Let them hear how good I’m fucking this pussy.” His breath on your neck, his hold on you body, the way he fucked you, it made you dizzy. Your mind was going blank, and your knees were going weak, trying your best to communicate to him that you were going to cum without stuttering. “Daddy! Ugh shiit! Please let me cum.” “Go ahead mama, cum for me.” He held you up while you collapsed in his arms, legs shaking, eyes rolled back, screaming his name a couple more times while saying, “I’m coming!” as well. Your moans meshed with his deep grunts and groans, coming deep inside of you with some final thrusts, jerking your body forward. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back. You grabbed the back of his neck, relaxing into his hold, sweaty and satisfied, close to your man. “Best workout you ever had huh?” He laughs at your joke, but doesn’t let you get the last word. “Just wait until after our date tonight sweetheart. You won’t ever need to hit the gym again.”

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000

[mobbu-min]

☆ bragging rights ☆

(ft. the vice housewardens + ruggie)

After reading this fic where reader brags about the dorm leaders, could I request a version with the vice dorm leaders? And maybe the first years in the future? requested by anon PLEASE!! I LOVE YOUR FIC ABOUT BRAGGING THE DORMLEADER SIMPING RANT TO THE FIRST YEARS SHSBSJS MAKES ME ALL FLUFF 😭 Could you perhaps one day make the vice dorm vers, please?? no pressure of course— i just need all those fluff making me giggling at midnight on my bed because of the fluff its so CUTE!! requested by anon This https://at.tumblr.com/mobbu-min/request-what-if-the-dorm-leaders-had-an-so/qt4e3a02k8z8 this right here was the cutest shit I've ever read. If it's not too much to ask of you, is it alright if we had a version with the Vice Dorm Leaders? Jamil's either gon be smug as fuck or shocked. requested by anon

a/n i decided to put Ortho in the first year part which is probably going to be posted tomorrow tbh

tw cursing and reader is horny for a lot of them

want more? here is part one: bragging rights

Trey + Ace/Deuce <3

⋆ Ace can understand why you’d brag about Trey. I mean it’s Trey Clover. Literally the most husband material of the husbands. He’s good looking, can bake, smells nice, cleans well, can bake, is good with kids (at least what Ace has heard), is perfect at dealing with Riddle. Did he mention that Trey can bake? Anyways, Ace actually doesn’t have anything bad to say. Sure you’re annoying and Ace can’t seem to look Trey in the eyes after all the filth that comes out of your mouth. He can’t delete the memory of you ogling Trey while he was bending down to get something out of the oven and drooling, ‘man, what I would do to get a bite out of that ass’. He legit considered drowning his eardrums in bleach, yuck.

⋆ Same as Ace, but he gets so flustered everytime you say anything remotely dirty. But anyways, Deuce actually really loves the way you talk so highly and lovingly of Trey. Like yeah, it’s a little much and kinda makes Deuce feel like a third wheel despite the fact Trey is very much not present, but Deuce can’t help but want someone that would talk about him so highly as well. Also, he knows that Trey would take wonderful care of you and that’s all he could ask for. 

⋆ Trey is both shocked and happy. He’s pretty much used to people overlooking him because let's be honest, out of everyone in the dorm (hell probably the school), he’s the most normal one out there. But knowing that you’re willing to talk anyone’s ears off just about him makes him chuckle. You sure are something else, huh? Well, Trey doesn’t mind, actually he’ll probably show up at Ramshackle with your favorite sweet and show you what these hands can do~

He’s going to give you a massage, nasties

Ruggie + Jack <3

⋆ A respecter of his elders, Jack feels a sense of pride when you talk so highly of Ruggie. Though at first, he mistakes it as admiration and respect just like Jack feels for Ruggie, but something about the way your eyes light up and cheeks brighten quickly gives him another impression. Listen, Jack adores you and wants what's best for, however, that doesn’t mean Jacks wants to listen to your hour long rants about Ruggie. Again, Jack’s a chill guy, so he’ll water his plants and do other chores while you trail after him like a little duckling. It’s cute really

⋆Ruggle like ‘are they talking about me? You’re joking, nu-uh….oh shit!’ He gets so smug about it. His tail literally wags back and forth so fast he considers taping it to his side. Ruggie definitely wasn’t expecting it, because one, you hang out with a ton of cool people, and two, Ruggie is constantly messing with you (affectionately ofc). He definitely sees your relationship in a new light. Maybe he wouldn’t mind sharing some food sometime, just a thought.

Jade + Grim <3

⋆ Grim is so fuckin scared. He doesn’t know if it’s for you, or for him, all he knows is that he’s running for the hills anytime he sees that tall ass fucker. Like literally, you just had to choose the scariest person ever to simp for huh? You know that tiktok sound where it’s all like “Shut the fuck up! I’m so fuckin scared rn!”, yeah that’s Grim. Always on the verge of shitting himself or fighting Jade. Grim has not known peace.

⋆Jade is pleasantly surprised. Originally, he’s all like ‘I can totally get something out of this’ but eventually you wormed your way into his heart. Does he protest? No, because you’re genuinely the most interesting creature he’s ever met. Jade considers you one the most precious pearls in the world. So knowing you consider him a worth enough person to brag about makes him beyond happy. However, don’t expect that this relieves you of his teasing, because he finds this a perfect opportunity to amp it up.

Jamil + Grim <3

⋆ There’s two things that run through Grim mind when you ‘shockingly’ confess that you have the hots for Jamil. One, didn’t he literally kidnap us?! And two, hell yeah! Food! Grim walks a thin line between wanting to be mad at Jamil for what he did during winter break and falling in love with him instead, because damn, when Grim heard the saying ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ he didn’t realize how true it was until Jamil became a recurring face in his life. 

⋆ Jamil is both shocked and smug. Like, he expected you to fall for Kalim, because he has money and is emotionally available. But! The fact that you didn’t fall for Kalim makes him 100x more smug! Like for once, Jamil beats Kalim and doesn’t have to a) feel burdened by it or 2) feel guilty. So it's a win-win situation! Jamil is calculating and observant, so he decided to go a safe route and cook you all your favorite food as a confession. And damn, he did not expect you to cry and wipe your boogers all over your sleeve because you were so happy. Maybe he can get used to it.

Rook + Epel <3

⋆ You really know how to choose ‘em huh? Epel is literally at his wit's end. All you talk about is Rook and all Rook talks about is you. And both you have a very weird and honestly, freaky, way of saying how much you love each other. Out of the two, Epel would much rather listen to Rook, because at least Epel doesn’t understand a word that comes out of his baguette loving mouth. But you? Epel swears that once he gets home he’s going to get his meemaw to wash out all the filthy things you said about Rook and what you wanted him to do to you. He realizes he’d much rather listen to Vil nag him. Just give the poor boy a break!

⋆ Okay okay okay, he’s known since the beginning. He knows it all! It’s so fuckin creepy, but damn does that make things ten times easier. Rook is instantly sweeping you off your feet and into bed to make all the things you said come true. He’s a gentleman, what can he say? Rook loves that you like to brag about him, it’s just so beautiful knowing that you both want each other. He can just explode at the thought. 

And he does…please interpret that however you like…

Lilia + Sebek <3

⋆ YOU TRULY ARE STUBBORN HUMAN!??!?!? Sebek is so fucking stingy about it. Like damn, okay you damn overgrown cucumber! Be stingy! Like that’s not going to stop you from getting laid. Does Sebek care though? No! Because he’s mean! Or more like, he doesn’t understand. But that's beside the point! Sebek will not let you get close to Lilia, not in his presence! What if you want to consume his mind and eat his brains?! Sebek can’t even imagine! Will fight you anytime and anywhere! Name the place, and he swears your ass is grass!

⋆ Okay, but alternatively, Sebek is a lot like how he was with Malleus and is all like ‘Yeah! Master Lilia is truly amazing! Human, you might actually be smart!’ and you’re just there with the widest grin because Sebek is your way to getting what you want(that being getting your guts rearranged). And everytime you come to him with the weirdest questions, Sebek merely bats his eyes and answers it without a second thought. Like ‘Of course, it’s big! It’s huge actually! Ginormous!...Eh, Human!? Why do you look ill?...Human, I haven't the slightest idea of what you could be referring to, but I was talking about his generosity. What else could there be that’s as big as his heart and wisdom?...tch, you better not get My Great Lord ill!”

⋆ Oh! How scandalous! You’re making him blush! Don’t you know it’s rude to make an old man’s heart want to burst? Literally cackles and gives you a big ass kiss. The things you do to this old man, like damn, he feels young again. Lilia is actually so funny about it because he wants to see you duel it out with Sebek for his hand, how lovely would that be? But also wants to whisk you away so you both can ‘game’ instead. Ugh, so many choices. Maybe he’ll let you both fight, so he can kiss your boo-boo’s away. How romantic!

Sebek do not question why I'm wobbling out of lilia’s room. Memories were made last night!

[the-kr8tor]

TTN oneshot request :): reader who's been invited to one of the parties after Hobie's band gigs. Hobie,being his usual teasing self,tries to make r dance with him to one of the songs that come from the speakers but he can't dance at all,so reader ends up teaching him.

-🎸 anon

Ahhh 🎸 anon!! I love this prompt thank you for sending it 🫶 I changed some things around hope u don't mind ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (r is mentioned to wear makeup though) cw drinking, poop jokes lol, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader. FLUFF

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN oneshots

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You lean against a railing overlooking the spacious backyard. Watching Yuri dismiss the third man who tried his luck tonight is better than any cable tv, she scoffs, waving the disappointed man away with her long nails. Yuri notices you giggling by yourself, she beckons you over to the dance floor with a smile. You shake your head with a laugh, gesturing to your half empty cup. She sighs dramatically, miming a crying face. You blame the booze in her system on why she's so lively. It's a nice change though, you love seeing her prance around the dance floor, looking for a more worthy partner.

The bass booms, playing all the classic punk music in the speakers. The sky is dotted with twinkling stars, cool air blowing past the grassy backyard. Roaming your eyes around the venue, you spot James chatting up a familiar figure, his arm slung comfortably around her shoulders. She laughs at something he said, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. You smile softly, happy for them both.

You turn around to face the inside of the ridiculously huge house. The home is packed with bodies bouncing around, the glass shakes from the loud music blaring inside. You see Ned becoming an unwilling bartender, mixing drinks for everyone after he got a particularly nasty bloody mary from someone who's so drunk they shouldn't even be near the kitchen.

With all the people watching you're doing, there's one person you haven't seen in a while. You wonder what he's up to, hopefully not to sneak behind you to carry and throw you into the icy pool—

“You're not very good at sneaking up on me anymore, Hobs”

Hobie groans right behind you, looking over your shoulder, you smirk at him. “How?” He effortlessly lifts himself up on the railing, arms envelope around you, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder. You help secure him with your hands around his elbows.

“I can sense you a mile away.” You whisper the next part. “I think I got your spidey senses from hanging around you too much”

“You make it sound like a disease!” The alcohol makes him all gooey inside, just for you. “Y’know I have the cure right here”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it then?” Turning around, you face him fully, his arms never leaving your waist whilst your hands never leave his skin.

Hobie points at his lips quickly before he falls on the ground (like you would even let him fall with your hands holding him steady)

“Here”

“Ah! Is your cure tried and tested? Peer reviewed by scientists?”

“Only one way to find out”

You giggle, meeting him halfway to kiss his lips. He tastes of beer and licorice he's been chewing on since you've arrived at his friend's' house. Your hand blindly slides to the back of his neck, fingers scratching lightly. Hobie smiles into the kiss, his hands tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.

Unfortunately, you need air to survive so you reluctantly pull away. He chases your lips making you peck him thrice to ease his suffering from apparent lack of kisses.

“I think I just overdosed on your cure” you hold him close even with the wooden railing between you.

Hobie chuckles, “You'll be fine” he swipes away the sheen left on your lips.

“So considerate. Where have you been, huh?” You lean close to his ear. “Did you go out and fight crime? Are you okay?”

There's goosebumps on his arms, not from the cold. “Nah, I was in the bathroom, taking a huge dump–”

You clasp your hand over his mouth, Laughing through it. “I literally just ate, babe”

“Just answerin’ your question, Gromit. ‘m being honest it was big,” he measures using his hands, “this big. Record size” Hobie loses his grip on the railing, falling flat on his ass.

“Huh, I see a bigger one right here” you look down, seeing him feign offense with his hand clutching his imaginary pearls.

“I should've thrown you in the pool when I had the chance and then we’ll have a floater” he nonchalantly rests on the grass by his elbows. Looking up at you with a smug grin.

You roll your eyes, walking down the steps to help him up before he gets grass stains all over his leather jacket. Hobie clearly doesn't need your help getting up but he would take any opportunity to hold your hand. Your hands are still slightly cool from the drink, a stark contrast to his warm ones, a welcome difference to the both of you.

Heaving him up, Hobie meets you in a tight embrace, smothering you in his hold; you love it though. Slowly he sways you to the beat of a punk song you recognize from back when you and Hobie were in highschool together. A reminiscent of your younger days with only homework and school to worry about and the deep longing you have for your best friend now turned partner.

If only your younger self could see you now, she’d think you did well for yourself. She'd be proud of all the things you've accomplished with the love of your life with you.

“D’you remember this song?” Hobie whispers in your ear, his piercing kisses the shell of your ear.

“How could I not remember?” You lift your head from the comfort of his chest, eyes staring fondly at Him.

He chuckles, you feel the happiness vibrate from him. “Yeah, but d’you know the backstory?” you shake your head.

“I requested this song to the bloke who was holding us hostage with his shitty songs.” You chortle, Hobie continues his story. “I had to bribe the wanker,” he sighs. “So I could ask you to dance with me.”

Your eyes soften, heat behind your sockets, your hold on him tightens.

“Then I realized I can't fuckin’ dance and I'll make a bloody fool of myself in front of you. So I let the music play and continued to talk to you throughout the party because that was enough for me.” He pauses, your eyes are glossy, glimmering under the porch lights. “Being with you was enough.”

You feel the tears fall so you hide your face on his chest once again, feeling sorry for soaking his shirt, you let your hug tell your feelings.

“Don't hide from me right after I poured my heart out to you.” He laughs, his fingers spread across your nape, rubbing softly, finding you endearing. “C’mon, I need to see my Gromit”

You look up with red eyes, mascara and eyeliner smudged. “Fuck you” you say with tears on your cheeks, trying to sniff it away. But your wide smile and grip on his shirt tells your true feelings. “You're such a little shit”

Hobie laughs loudly, fingertips cleaning away smudged makeup. “Yeah, yeah, but you love this little shit”

You lean up to kiss him, as gentle as he holds you, as affectionate as he loves you.

Sighing, you cup his face. “I do, so much.”

He presses your foreheads together, enough to make tears escape your eyes once again. Hobie's fingers catch them, wiping it away from your skin.

“If you let me teach you will you ask me to dance with you?” Whispering, you loop your arms around his neck, swaying with the beat.

“I might be a lost cause, love.”

“I'm patient, don't worry” you can't seem to keep your lips away from him as you kiss the corner of his lips.

Hobie suddenly pulls away, leading you towards the makeshift dance floor. “Alright then, no time to lose!”

You let him guide you, laughing all the way. He shimmies on the dance floor, long limbs flailing about, eyes staying on you.

You've got your work cut out for you.

[ilguna]

☼ cruel summer pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick tricked you into playing the damsel role, something the Capitol will be referencing for the rest of your life. still, you're not sure if you can forgive him for being so cruel to you in the first place.

warnings; swearing, ehh gore, someone loses an eyeball, weapon use, death.

wc; 2.2k

part one

--

If you make it out of this arena alive, you might consider taking back all the nasty things you called Finnick that night on the balcony. In the heat of the moment, you confessed the feelings that you’ve had for him for a while, and in return, he told you that this had been his plan all along—to push you to your breaking point.

Every ounce of composure you had left was gone at that moment. All the emotions that you’d bottled for the last year shattered. You were upset, because this vulnerable moment had yet again, been turned into a joke for Finnick’s amusement. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

When you finally stopped screaming at him, which was right around the time the escort and Mags had come to check to make sure that everything was okay, he tried to explain his reasoning. You didn’t want to hear what he had to say, so you left to go to your room, which brought the conversation inside.

“You need to listen to me, (Y/n).” Finnick had told you, grabbing your arm to slow you down. “I know you’re mad—”

“Mad?” You repeated, your ladylike appearance was fading, not being able to hold it for the escort. Who was standing in the living room beside the stylists and Mags, watching the argument unfold. “Mad doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface, Finnick! This is one big joke to you! I’m going to die, and it’s going to be your fault!”

You made a beeline for your room, trying to lock the door behind you, but they won’t shut if there’s something in the way. It was Finnick, and he had himself firmly planted there, refusing to move.

“You know I would never get you killed.” He tried to tell you.

You scoffed, “Do I, Finnick? I wouldn’t have put it past you.”

“You can’t place all the blame on me, you’re supposed to be the smart one. I was waiting for you to figure out I was messing with you the entire time but you trusted my judgement. I hope you won’t be this naive in the Games.”

“Get out of my room.” 

“I wanted you to look like a ditz, to give you a better chance at winning.”

“You’ve got a really backwards way of thinking.”

“It’s worked for me in the past, so I figured that it’d help you, too.” His patience was unwavering. “I wanted the Capitol and the tributes to overlook you, and they are. It’s a blessing. You’re going to be invisible in the arena—it worked out for me, so it’ll work for you.”

You stared at him, still angry, gripping the white trim of the doorway. “And you didn’t think to let me in on this?”

“You would’ve slipped. It’s hard to genuinely act clueless.” He shakes his head. “I had to do it, (Y/n), or else the Capitol would’ve had their eye on you the whole time. This was the only way.”

“I have no skills.” You seethed through your teeth.

“That’s not true. You know how to use a spear and hunt for food. You just need to put that together, and you’ll be able to keep yourself alive. You don’t even have to kill unless you absolutely have to.” He raised his eyebrows. “Like I said, you’re smart, (Y/n). You’ve got this.”

“Is this why you stopped being friends with me? Back home?” 

Finnick shook his head. “I stopped being around you after my Games because I felt like we couldn’t connect anymore. I was somewhere else and you didn’t understand.”

“So you told all my secrets? You let them start rumors about me?”

He looked at the ground, quiet. “I never should have told them those things.”

“It’s too late to feel sorry for yourself.” You told him. “Or fix any of this. You better hope that you’re right about this strategy, or my blood will be on your hands.”

Finnick nodded, backing out of the door, satisfied that he’d gotten the chance to properly speak to you. “Goodnight.”

You punched the button on the wall. 

If Finnick’s plan doesn’t work out, it won’t matter, because you’ll be dead anyway. Still, you’ll spend every last breath cursing his name and actions, for getting you in this position.

As much as you hate to say it, you have to admit that his plan has worked without a single hiccup. He was right, down to the very last word. You don’t think that you crossed any of the other tributes’ minds, much less the very much, now-dead Careers.

It was easy, too easy to survive this far. There were several times you were sure that you’d get caught sneaking in and out of the Cornucopia for supplies. Or when you’d accidentally pass by an active camp, where you were merely just a few feet away from the deadliest tributes in the arena.

You never got caught though, you flew under the radar, and it’s brought you here.

The male tribute from District Eight stands a few feet away from you, knife in his hand. You can’t seem to remember his name, but you know that he’s older than you, on the cusp of being free of the Hunger Games forever. You won’t be able to place your finger on his age exactly, but if you had to guess, it’d be eighteen.

He’s panting heavily, a result of chasing you for two miles through palm trees and sand. You would’ve brought him through the river, too, if the Gamemakers hadn���t dried it up yesterday. Now all it acts as is a barren trench. He’d tried to corner you into going inside, but you knew better. If you’d fallen in, you would’ve died down there.

You didn’t survive this entire time just to be killed from doing something stupid.

“Come here, little girl.” He breathes, voice deep. He takes the first step toward you, your legs twitch, wanting to run. You don’t move. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

You tilt your head at him. 

In the past two and a half weeks you’ve been in here, you don’t think you’ve said a single word. A point you’ve been trying to make since you made a fool of yourself on stage with Caesar Flickerman. Which has been a little difficult to keep up, because you have a habit of working out your problems aloud. 

Your lips are sealed, as far as you’re concerned. And they’ll stay that way, until you’re announced as the victor. 

He’s making his way at you at a steady pace. The closer he gets, the more you’re able to see the deranged look in his eye. It makes you worry, but your focus lies with the knife that he’s white-knuckling. Your idea of getting it out of his hand somehow is becoming a bad one. 

You really have no choice. The Cornucopia is miles away. The only weapon you had is gone, thrown into the trench. What you have now is your backpack, which has close to nothing inside of it. Just the sleeping bag you stole, a half-empty bottle of water, and a coiled wire.

“Surprised you lasted this long.” He mutters, “What did you score, again? A three?”

Four. Which might have been done out of irony, because that’s where you’re from. Or pity, because the Gamemakers saw that you were making an effort to learn. With Finnick’s initial instructions to fail everything you touched, you had a hard time figuring out the right way to do things.

You weren’t allowed to succeed.

“What’s the matter?” He teases.

He’s gotten close enough to lunge at you, swiping with the knife. He cuts you across your upper left arm, leaving a stinging trail behind. In turn, you swing your fist at his jaw, an ache forms in your knuckles, pain blossoming under the skin.

You’ve never had to punch anyone before.

In the brief time you have, you try to seize the knife from his hand, but he’s already thought of that, lifting it up, out of your reach. As he prepares to stab downward, you wiggle out of the backpack, bringing it in front of you to act as a shield.

Sure enough, it pierces through the cloth, he draws it out. You lower the bag, backing up, shaking your head at him. You’re not going to be able to fight, and it’s not because you don’t want to, it’s because you’re not capable. You can punch and kick him all you want, but he’s going to bounce back.

You need a weapon, so you rip the backpack open, pulling out the bottle of water that's beginning to leak from being stabbed. You throw it at him, watching as he dodges it, breathing out a laugh. It wasn’t your goal to hit him, just slow him down another step.

Your hand dives back in, rooting around for the wire, which lays at the very bottom, practically untouched since you discovered it. Right as you go to pull it out, he swings at you again. You’re barely able to lift the bag in time, listening to it tear from the sharp blade.

Without thinking it through entirely, you retaliate, aiming for his legs. The wire slices into skin, he jumps away from you. One look at the damage you’ve caused, and you forget about defending yourself with the backpack. You have a ranged weapon. 

For once, you take a step forward, pursuing him. Each time he slashes, you dodge and attack. He doesn’t miss every time, sometimes catching your shirt or your skin. Either way, the advantage changes.

You hurl the backpack at him, still hanging onto a strap, watching as his focus turns to catching it before it knocks into him. With the other hand, you bring down the wire, coming into contact with his face. He lets out a hiss, right as you whip it forward again.

His sudden scream startles you, making you jump. You watch as he drops the knife in his hand, forgetting about it. His hands are trembling when he reaches to touch his face, his left eye, where blood is gushing out like a waterfall.

You don’t stare for long, jerking forward, falling into the grass to grab the knife before he realizes his mistake. His eye is squeezed shut, letting out pained sobs. You get back to your feet, arm drawing back, before you hammer the knife into his chest, right over where his heart is. 

His eye and mouth pop open at the same time, hands falling from his face to his chest, where he’s just able to secure his fingers around the knife. Then, his eyes roll back, taking his body with him.

A cannon blasts.

You shuffle forward a step, looking down at him, and then up at the sky. 

That’s it, right? That’s all you had to do? There’s no one left in the arena?

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games, District Four’s very own (Y/n) (L/n)!” Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms over the clearing, answering your questions.

You laugh, backing away from the gruesome scene you caused. “How’s that for a score of four?”

—

The familiar voices down the hallway grow louder with each step you take. They placed you in the room as far away as possible, to make you work to see your people again. In any other instance, you’re sure you’d be on some degree of irritation, but you’re so relieved to be here, and alive that it doesn’t seem right to be mad.

You survived the Hunger Games, there’s nothing in Panem that can touch you now. 

Your eyes are searching for them before you’ve even rounded the corner. Your stylist, your escort and Finnick are standing together, talking quietly. 

“Finnick.” His name leaves your mouth in a gasp, causing him to turn. Your feet move without permission, body gravitating to him. Finnick gives you a look—the look he used to give you back home when he thought you were being dramatic.

He throws his arms open at the last second, your body coming into hard contact with his, making him stumble back. He’s got you securely, though. Your arms lock around his back, squeezing him tightly. You can feel his cheek press against your ear.

“Welcome back.” He says.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself this moment, because you’ve missed being his friend. If there’s one good thing that will come of this, it’ll be getting him back. But it won’t happen before he shows you that he’s sorry.

When you pull away from the hug, his eyes flicker to yours, watching you. “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But it’s a start, isn’t it?”

You suck in your lips for a moment, nodding. “We’ll figure it out when we get home. For now, I just want to get out of here.” You tell him, before turning to the escort and the stylist, who are both smiling at you. You take in a breath, trying to reciprocate, “So, what’s next?”

[saphic-with-t]

I saw people talking about Jawbone being a bad school counselor for how he treated the situation with Kipperlilly, and while I agree that from what we heard, it was definitely not good, I’d like to use this to point something out.

This single situation highlights two major things I think we forget or overlook when looking at the more serious, intense stuff within the storytelling genre of dnd/actual-play. Both boil down to things not being perfect.

First, this feels like the situation where we should remember that Brennan isn’t a school counselor, and never has been, or gotten training. He doesn’t know the proper procedures for stuff.

Second, this is improvised. It’s off the cuff and can’t be changed. If it was a traditional style of writing like a book or script, maybe an editor would have picked up on the inaccuracies or problems of the character and brought it up to Brennan for revisions in the next draft. But that can’t happen, and it’s pretty much set in stone as soon as it’s put out.

There is also the possibility (though I don’t personally believe this) that Brennan was intentional with Jawbone handling the situation poorly.

Jawbone’s mistake adds to and reinforces his character. I have met with school counselors before and they are usually far from perfect. In fact, Jawbone is still definitely one of the better examples of a school counselor in fiction and irl. We know that a lot of students (and staff) do really enjoy him. He was able to diagnose Adaine’s problem and has helped a few of the bad kids quite a lot and gives good advice. But he’s still new. He doesn’t have official education on child psychology and is pretty much completely self taught. It makes sense that at the very least he would let some kids slip through the cracks or make some bad calls. Especially since Kipperlilly’s situation and Jawbone’s secondary relationship to them is a unique thing that he would definitely not be prepared for.

Also, you can just add your head cannons into the mix. I saw one saying they believed Jawbone recommended to KlCk’s parents that they find her a therapist outside of the school and they declined it, but since it wouldn’t be part of her file, Riz and the rest wouldn’t see or know about it. Things like that are the whole point of head-cannons, to help explain stuff that goes unexplained.

Anyways, if you read this far thank you, I just needed to rant about it because people were getting really nasty about it (especially on Twitter) and I wanted to drop my two cents into the void.

[swtnrcmnt]

୨୧ — jj’s confession; s.r (2)

very very high in demand and part 1 is about to hit 1k notes so here u go :))))

warnings: angst, really sad lol, but happy ending ! part one is here

it had been a few days since you and spencer had stopped talking. despite working and living together, the silent treatment had been going strong. you hadn’t really talked to jj either other than giving her a simple nod on a case or a nasty look here and there, though she had been overall avoiding you.

sitting at your desk, doing paperwork, garcia came over to you while staring at spencer the whole time. “hey, um could you come with me for a second i need to tell you something.”

“uh, sure.” putting the files away, you followed her to her little office where she shut the door behind you.

“don’t tell spencer i told you this, but he’s really sorry, y/n. every day since i told you what happened he’s come to me almost crying saying how he doesn’t know what to do and he wants to fix the problem. please just talk to him.” she pleaded, holding onto your arm

“i don’t know penelope.” you sighed, sitting on her chair. “please please please he’s like a sad little lost puppy without you. you don’t have to make everything right all at once but just talk to him.”

“how am i supposed to talk to him though. how are we supposed to make it right again i can’t just excuse him saying he doesn’t know who to choose when we’ve been married for years? there’s no way i could just overlook it.”

“and i get that and you have every reason to be upset. but the silent treatment is just killing the team.” she looked down at you, grabbing your hands “pretty please?” you sighed, agreeing to talk to him.

grabbing your coat and bag, you walked back to spencer’s desk, not making any eye contact with him. “grab your stuff, let’s go.” he immediately followed right behind you.

once you got outside the building, and into your car you headed to a park. the one he had taken you to the night he proposed.

sitting on the bench, you looked up at him. “sit down.”

“i miss you.” was all he said. you could see him looking over at you through the corner of your eye, but all you did was look down.

“where do we go from here, spencer? help me figure this out because i have no idea what to do.” finally looking over at him you could tell he hadn’t been sleeping well since he had willingly taken the couch.

“i’m not sure. but i know i have explaining to do.” he sighed, not knowing exactly where to start. “you know when i said that the feelings were only there until you came into my life? that part was true. and when i said i didn’t know who to choose? that part was true too. but only because her whole confession resurfaced buried feelings that i thought i had gotten rid of since we got together. and i know trusting me is the last thing you’re able to do right now, but trust me when i say that when i proposed to you here in this park, and when we got married, and any of the millions of times when i said that i love you. she wasn’t a part of any of that. not even in the slightest.”

he was almost crying at this point, and you could tell the guilt of the whole situation was eating him alive. but that didn’t make anything better.

“i know, spencer. and i really really want to make us work, but i don’t know how i could just move on from this.” you said, looking over at him with tears in your eyes.

his heart dropped. “are you trying to say something?” you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, the feeling being too painful. “i’m sorry.”

grabbing your hands, he looked over at you. "please. let's work through this. even if it means taking a short break from each other to figure things out, i can't lose you."

your heart breaks just looking at the state he's in. dark circles around his eyes from the lack of sleep, the tears swelling up in his eyes, and the desperation in his face for you to stay.

if you were being completely honest, you really didn't want to leave him, not just because you felt awful for him, but because you know how badly it would hurt you too. you don't think you could ever find a person who could even come close to the kind of person Spencer is. kind, caring, nice, funny, knows exactly what you like and dislike. he was unlike anybody else.

"how about we take some time to think then. i think we could both use that and then we can come to the decision." he looked grateful as ever. "yes, yes. a million times yes let's do that." he said, hugging you tighter than he ever has. "ok don't get too excited."

a few weeks had passed since you decided to take a break to think about where to go next with your relationship, you hadn't seen spencer much since then as he had been spending most of his time teaching and you went to move in with penelope temporarily. you gave spencer a call to let him know you wanted to meet up today at your shared home to talk.

"come in" he said while opening the door for you, he looked happier than usual which settled your nerves a bit more. "so, are we here to talk about our decision?" he asked, you nodded in response

sitting down on the couch together, he started rambling on about how he felt. "i know what i did was an asshole thing and i should have never said anything about anything and you're my wife and that's what i should have said when you asked me who to choose but to be honest there is no need to choose because the only person I have and will ever, ever need is you and forever only you. and i'm so sorry for everything that happened and I hope you feel the same way."

staring at him, you didn't give him an answer which made him nervous. "say something.. please." you just smiled at him

"well. it's going to take a lot of work to get back to where we were, and i hope you know my trust in you has gone down by a bit, but I talked to jj. and i came to the decision that i still want to be with you. because to be honest with you, i don't know how I could ever be with anyone else."

he looked you in the eye, with the biggest smile. "i love you, so so much. more than you'll ever know. it's always been you." he said, pulling you in for a hug and kissing the top of your head

"i love you more, spencer"

hahaha i hope u liked this >:)

i'm not sure how much i like this ending but oh well

@ceruleanrainblues @ssa-jet @fate-posts @lillyrob @sleepymadmess @sebastiansstanswhore @zendayaswrld101

[chosoniisan]

A risk worth messy reward ↠ kamo choso

↠alternative title: swapping spit with choso, literally

↠pairing: kamo choso | sorceress!reader

↠setting: post canon, not at all compliant

↠genre: nasty, nasty fluff

↠caution: suggestive; height/size difference ("my" choso is over 6ft); unhealthy-ish/complicated relationship; kinda owner/pet dynamics; coercion (?); lots of tongue

↠summary: after yet another rural-steeped mission, your first priority is finding the nearest bed to fall into; conversely, choso has other things on his mind

↠authoress' notes: my initial plan had been to write a hc about the oddities of choso, how he has some bizarre and inexplicable habits, but writing hcs (without plot) isn't my strength, so I opted for what could be considered "snapshots" instead :')

also, the context, setting-wise, for this is that once the dusts settles post canon, the high-ups (the smattering of them still kicking), let choso live conditioned on you acting as his controller at all times, lest you risk ending up on the execution chopping block, too. . .

A ripely full moon, and the air’s refreshed with a slight chill:

by all means the sort of mid-autumn night you’d want to bottle up and take with you.

You might just have to overlook the chunks of entrails sticking to your soles, though. And maybe you can pretend that it’s the crickets droning in the grass and not the crisping of bone dissolving into nothingness. As if on cue, you resist the urge to sigh to keep the tang of death, thoroughly worn over, from invading your lungs any more than it already has.

It’s not quite how you’d envision your evening—but beggars can’t be choosers. And on the bright side, at least you’re fully intact, all your limbs present and accounted for despite enough close calls to last you a lifetime. Sure, you might have said the very same thing last time (i.e. a handful of days ago), and you’ll no doubt mirror that sentiment next time too (i.e. in another day or so), though you take your blessings when you can get them.

Granted, your good luck quickly runs its course since there’s hardly anything fortunate about the strain of curses the far-flung reaches of the countryside seem to breed to no end. Who would have thought that the higher you climbed the rankings the more acquainted you’d become with woodland critters the size of your hand (excluding cursed spirits, mind you). Then there’s the persistent feeling of otherness crawling over you like a second skin the longer those prying eyes rake and rove over you. (If only they knew that a city girl and her dutiful charge were the last bit out of place in these parts.)

“I mean it when I say that you’re a lifesaver, Choso.” Your poignant ring is all the encouragement he needs to scrap making sure that dead is actually dead this time around and squeeze himself back into your sphere again. Crunch, crunch, crunch goes the tall grass giving way to your missing piece because obviously solace by another name is your side. Leave it to him to be over 190 centimeters of delicately endearing. “I wasn’t expecting that other special-grade, but, of course, you’re always covering for me in a pinch—I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

In that moment, you’re the stargazer of him; a face lighting up the pearly night beyond measure. “I’m always following your lead, though. You’re a lot more experienced than me, too, so the best I can do is try to keep up. Because I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” A dash of sheepishness colors the downward wisp of lashes brushing against his cheeks, but that isn’t enough to distract him from the sway of you in his shadow (even if he has to really drop his head to horde that eyeful for himself). “I’m glad we make a good team,” his brief lull is beseeching, the tilted head even more so, “at least I think so.”

For the sake of his tenderly bleeding heart, your nodding doesn’t miss a beat. “Yep, we sure do. . .! And every good team needs some rest, so I should go ahead and text our supervisor and let him know we’re finished up here.” Another thwarted attempt at a sigh, so you settle for a mild quirk of your lips amidst reaching into your pocket for your phone spared from the fray. “We’ll have to stay the night in town, which isn’t ideal, but we can take the first train back home in the morning.”

The faster you can confirm the rendezvous spot, the faster you can sink into a warm bath and then beneath a cozy comforter, so you’re already a few rapid-fire texts deep when Choso pulls on your sleeve.

“Wait. Before that. . .” he begins, slow, measured as if he’s taking the time to taste every word before it leaves his lips. Like that’s not enough to prod at your attention, you’re especially perceptive to rose stain swashed across the expanse of his face, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think him too innocent to sell his soul to the devil for a life of strife alongside you. Though perhaps innocence in its purest state is wetting his hands in blood, bearing your burden of nocturnal calamity with the occasional slip of diffidence. “Can I. . .” Gulping down that lump in his throat. “Can I have my reward now?”

It's your turn to sound things out for good measure.

“Your. . .reward?” (Emphasis on the furrowed brows there.)

He bobs his head once, meanwhile you’re rifling through the pages of your mental archives in search of this reward, whatever it is. A contemplative hum sifts through you at the recollection of saying something in the realm of treating him once this mission wrapped up; admittedly, it was the sort of remark made in passing, but if it’s Choso, you don’t mind staying true to your word. Besides, you have an inkling of what he might have in mind (or you hope you know him well enough to make that guess. . .there’s only one way to find out).

“You’re talking about the souvenirs near the station; I think you were looking at the sweet dumplings, yeah? I don’t know if that shop is open this late, but we can go over and check—”

“No, not that.” Vehemence strums in his tone, so much so that you start a bit, setting off the ripple effect of him offering you a repentant look in return, one that’s still very clearly brimming with fervor. “I did a good job, right? And you promised I could have a reward if I was really good.” As a matter of fact, he’s not wrong, but his moonstruck gaze, expanding, plants an unnamed sensation between the open spaces in your chest. (You’re not daunted by him, it’s just that unpredictability has never been your forte.) “. . .So I was thinking that I wanted you.”

Doesn’t have a chance to click together in your brain until the warmed heart of his palm envelops your entire cheek, and even then you’re still too many steps behind by the time he’s level with you: face-to-face, eye-to-eye, lips. . .dangerously close. Inhaling a mingling of dried copper and powdery musk doesn’t help you figure out what he means by wanting you, having you; rather, with each fanning of his breath over you in crests, you’re gradually unraveling into something entirely unlike you. Something a lot more nerve-ridden.

If you had intended to chime in after scrambling to make sense of the situation (or not), the reality is that you’re simply opening the door for him to carve a place inside you. Literally. Considering it’s not the sound of a mildly articulated concern that echoes in the air, but a muffled squeak when he catches his lips on yours, inviting himself into the niche of your mouth before you can try to recoil. Even when you do think to reel away, his arm is already circled around your waist, seizing you into the bulk of him to the point that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other ends.

You’ve long given consideration to the fact that Choso’s spent more time sealed than unsealed, that to this very day he’s still working out the kinks of what it means to be mostly human—but this. This goes beyond his idiosyncrasies of not knowing the particulars of kissing. No, this is nothing of a kiss and everything of devouring you whole.

As susceptible as you are, he has no trouble crowding his tongue against yours, which is the difference between tasting him and choking on him. Testing the waters is the last thing on his mind (you suspect it had never been there in the first place) when he’s using the anchor of his hand to steer you right where he wants you, because how else could he map the ridges of your palate without you shrinking like the violet you’re steadily flowering into. Intrusive is him eating away at your lips like a man starved, but it’s also the blooming of heat curled through your insides with a particular penchant for the midst of your tummy.

The compulsion to stagger back is second nature to you, except he’s unnaturally folded into you, so there’s really nowhere for you to skitter off to, especially not with the fixation given to a mesh of sticky pink. And it feels foreign, sinfully so, as he overwhelms you with broad, saliva-rife sweeps of his tongue, undeterred by your stagnate self, too paralyzed by the knotting in your core, the blistering up of sweat at your temples, and the uncut wildness—or is that obsession?—of him before your very eyes. Either way, it’s just the push needed to send you over the edge of quiet bleating. . .that finds its premature end swallowed into him for safekeeping at the bottom of his stomach, just like every other morsel of you.

Heady appreciation is quick to follow on your heels by way of a long-winded moan from him, to you by virtue of his snare. The stammering in your chest is the clear mark of being caught off guard, and Choso in all his fevered glory capitalizes on your lapse of self to plunge his tongue as deeply as it’ll reach. Nevermind the fact that there’s no stifling the stuttered heave around him or the full-bodied quaking against him, either, he’s still singularly focused on partaking in the mess of you. Willingly or not, you can’t help but indulge him when you’re varying shades of fluster, and it’s the gilt reflection of your disarray that has you clamping your eyes shut. Too bad for you, darkness doesn’t temper the dizzying sensation clambering through your veins that’s becoming more, and more, and more intertwined with him.

(You don’t know how much longer you can weather the storm of him, or if you’ll even be able to mend what he’s already bitten through, and maybe it would have been preferrable if he had taken your skin & tissue with him. He took something far more softly perverse.)  

Though in the end, it’s of his accord, only, that he spares you of the kind of smothering that’ll have you icesheet cold against him in no time flat. And you use spare loosely because he simply moves to sucking and nibbling on your bottom lip as if parting from you means imminent death. If he’d give you a chance, you could assure him that his fears of relenting are unwarranted, but in the thick of hungry fascination, he’d rather stripe his tongue along the corner of your mouth to gather up a stray bead of slick. Whether yours or his, you don’t know—you do know that when he’s done, it’s every bit of his tacky memento etched on your skin.

His gift to you for letting him have one of your deepest intimacies.

As expected, he doesn’t keen over from unlacing himself from you—truthfully, his hand is still palming at your cheek, so it’s not a full untethering—though you’re certainly not boasting a modicum of stability yourself. If that unyielding hold around your middle is anything to go on, you suspect that he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; you might even say that he’s savoring in the ruby-rich reliance of his handler.

“Uhm,” Reticence returns with a vengeance despite having just rooted through you mere moments ago; the moonlight glancing off traces smeared across his lips a testament to that. “. . .Do you we could see about those dumplings now?”

And of course you’ll oblige him—even knowing you’re complicit in preserving his devotion.

[octopiys]

I've been rewatching HTTYD and of course I had to combine my two interests

John MacTavish (27) is a native to the village, most recognized for his shaved sides and long mohawk. He's the village blacksmith, with an affinity for crafting new weapons, large ones that counter even a dragon's fireball.

Once when he was a teenager, he got his hands on a craftsman's items, and decided that he needed some of it to slick down a part of one of his contraptions. It exploded, as those kinds of things do, into a mass of bubbles and sweet scents, earning him the nickname of Soap.

John Price(37) is a trainer. He was an older viking whose battle seemed all but over when a dragon took his arm. He was still the same, just more experienced, and 10 years older.

He's had a few apprentices, his most recent being a younger man named Kyle Garrick(28), or commonly referred to as Gaz. If you ever ask why he's called that, Price will mutter something about it being "need to know", and he'll sick a particularly nasty dragon on you the next time you train with him.

There's a common pattern amongst Price's protégés.

Most of the times they're outcasts, alone. Gaz's parents were killed in a dragon attack when he was a child, but he didn't consider himself alone. He had plenty of friends, of course he did, there's Soap...-

No but totally, he was fine. He's fought dragons! Sure, he hasn't killed any yet, and sure, Price has saved his ass more than once, but he's come out unscathed!

Most of the time.

But Price's most famous protégé, or shall I even say very close ally, was the Lieutenant: Simon Riley

From the stories, Simon Riley was a man who fought dragons like no other. They both learned from each other, Price and Riley. He was a beast of blades and man, they slayed more dragons together than the entire village combined.

It would be a lie if I said that the two boys didn't look up to him, a lie if Price didn't see Riley in each of them.

It would be an even bigger lie if he hoped they didn't turn out like him, either.

Neither Gaz, nor Soap had ever met Simon Riley.

He was killed in one of the worst dragon attacks the village had seen in its entire 300 years of history.

They descended from the heavens, flying warriors sent from hell, carting off men and cattle, snapping them up in powerful jaws and flame. Price was one of those men, it was how he lost his arm. He was also the only one to survive a personal attack of that scale.

Riley had thrown everything he had to save Price. There were tricks he had up his sleeves, some that not even Price had known, that he used to get the Captain back when even he thought he was done for.

All they knew was that Simon Riley had been killed that night in place of John Price.

Those parts of the stories were left untold.

It wasn't a sensitive subject, but Price had a tendency to shatter the glass he was holding if someone asked one too many times.

It had been ten years since Riley's disappearance. His name was inscribed on the village memorial in the square, a remembrance statue to all the greatest warriors in the village's history.

It was a particularly late night when Price had let Gaz go early, as the dragon tournament was coming up, and he wanted the man to get some rest. That's how both Gaz and Soap were out by the bluffs overlooking the ocean. It was hidden through a mile of brush and trees, but tonight was one of the first clear nights since the winter, and they were excited to see the stars.

It wasn't until stars had started blinking out, half the sky was black, that they realized something was wrong.

"Dragons...." Gaz breathed suddenly, as mouths began to light up, hundreds of feet in the air above them. "It's dragons!"

Gaz pulled Soap to his feet and they began running like their lives depended on it, which in this case, it did.

Their lungs were already sore, their voices hoarse as they shouted to a few men on the outskirts.

"Swarm! Swarm!"

Vikings readied their weapons, and minutes later, the beasts shot overhead. Flashes of red, blue, greens, and yellow, silver glinting unnaturally in the moonlight.

There had been rumors about dragon riders. Those who had tamed the beasts, or maybe found a common ground with them.

There was nothing more dangerous than a man-tamed dragon.

"It's Kingfish!" Someone down the hill had shouted, and Gaz's blood ran cold.

There were whispers about a man they called Kingfish, one who hid in the shadows with armies of the scaled monsters, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting villages and pillage them for himself. No one knew his real name, where he came from, or where the nest was. But everyone knew that once Kingfish set his sights on a village, they were as good as dead.

They saw Price leave his house, half armored, but a fire in his eyes as he heaved his Warhammer behind him, disappearing behind the body of a massive dragon that was scaling the watchtower down by the water.

"Soap! C'mon!" Kyle shouted, dragging his friend down the hill. The Blacksmith paused at his shop window, pulling a few weapons away from the sill and into his arms. They kept running. Soap passed an axe to Gaz, and they ran first to a house that was lit aflame. A few people were tossing buckets of water, while a woman pulled arrows at a Whispering Death.

Farther away, they heard the crunch and splintering of wood, and Gaz looked over in horror to see the watchtower fall, both the dragon and Price going with it.

"No!" He had screamed, all but dropping his axe as he started running like mad down towards the docks. "Captain!"

"Gaz!" Soap was shouting behind him as a trebuchet fired, throwing a large stone at some dragon above him. "Gaz, look out!"

Large, leathery wings kicked up a storm of dust around him as he was tackled to the ground, rocks digging into his knees and elbows as he fought to get the beast's claws out of his shoulders. It pressed his face into the dirt as he struggled to fight against it. It cut through his shirt, digging straight into his skin. He cried out, fighting against it, but his movement was impaired, he wasn't able to swing his axe around to-

The dragon opened its mouth and screamed, the shriek going directly to his ear drums, and springing the worst headache he'd ever had, his head felt like it was going to explode, he couldn't feel his shoulders. Gaz squeezed his eyes shut, praying to Odin to make it stop, make it-

A dagger sunk directly in between two of its center scales, shocking the dragon into dropping him as it turned on its next enemy. Someone was shouting, but Gaz couldn't get his eyes to focus enough on the figure.

They were waving wildly at the dragon, now weaponless, and shouting for its attention. The dragon cocked its head to the side and stepped over Gaz, who was struggling to stand to his feel, his whole equilibrium thrown off from the noise.

And he glimpsed the the mohawk just behind the scales as the dragon lunged forward, grasping Soap in his claws and shooting off into the air.

"No!! Soap!!" Gaz shouted, chasing after the dragon as it flew. He could just see the outline of Soap, struggling, screaming as the claws pierced his leather armor, sinking into his chest. He was too high, and there was nothing Gaz could do, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't try. He shoved past people, ran through fights, passing the dark clad enemies of Kingfish's men, all while shouting for his friend, never once taking his eyes off the Whispering Death that was slowly growing smaller and smaller in the night sky.

An arrow pierced his shoulder and he cried out, stumbling, but he kept going forward, ducking behind a house. "Soap! Soap!"

A fireball exploded the wall next to him and he hit the wall hard, his consciousness leaving him before he even realized what had happened.

Soap was helpless as he squirmed, gasps being torn from his chest with the leather apron that fell away into the ocean below. He was gonna die, this was it. He couldn't see the island anymore, but he wasn't giving up. And yet this wyrm of a Whisper wouldn't let up, only shrieked until the pounding behind his eyes made him too lightheaded...

He wasn't sure what was happening when he woke up from a faint, but he sure as he'll knew he shouldn't be plummeting to death, rocketing towards the sea below him in a free fall. "Och! Shi-i-i-ite!" He flung himself onto his stomach, spreading his arms and legs apart to catch the air. His braid had come loose, whistling around his ears as the moonlit waves approached him too quickly.

Something else snatched him up like he was free prey and he shouted out again, the wounds on his chest screaming from the strain. His hands scrabbled at the beast's nails that wrapped around both his shoulders, carrying him like he was precious cargo. This was a different dragon, unfortunately for him. It was red, from what he could see, with long claws and a pale underbelly. There were antennae like appendages that dropped off the sides of its head, fading from red to orange to yellow towards the end, like leaves in autumn. But what jarred him the most was the straps of a saddle that tucked underneath its belly, and wrapped up the sides. There were a few ropes attached to the tail and- oh fuck he was falling again.

"No no no no-!" He shouted, flailing in the free air, before he hit something hard beneath him. But he wasnt.... dead...? No, he was sitting-

He was sitting on a dragon.

There was a man who sat in front of him, blond hair peaking out of his hood and helmet. Most of the helmet covered his face, save for the dark brown eyes glaring at him from behind it. In the darkness, the moon light shone off of the raised texture of pale skin that Soap could see, before smoothing off. He'd seen scars like those around the village, but only rarely. People like him never usually survived dragon's fire.

This person wasn't wearing black like Kingfish's men were. Instead, he was wrapped in a camouflage of browns, greens and furs, similarly to the dragon. He was tense, his shoulders bunched up as he glared at Soap, radiating a dark, or in other words, mysteriously powerful energy.

It occurred to him, then, that he wasn't staring at just a dragon rider.

And it occurred to him, then, that they had been wrong.

This.... this was Lieutenant Simon Riley.

[aceouttatime]

My newest disaster man. This one’s sci-fi flavored and inspired by the idea that humans are microfauna in scale comparison to the rest of the universe! (More info below the cut!)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Species: Human

Age: 32

Height: 72’ (6’2 without suit)

Pronouns: he/him/his

Planet of Origin: Unknown

Occupation: Starship First Captain (Currently employed by the Alliance Research Collective)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Description:

Captain of the Starship Neoma-03R, Tyr’Vaughn is a rather mysterious man. No one, his crew included, has seen his face, nor do they know much of anything about his past. He speaks Common eloquently, but he speaks his native tongue, an unidentified language, when talking only to himself—it’s a nasty habit he’d developed over the years. Vaughn is courteous but curt, professional in a distant manner with a repressed, but fiery, temper.

Vaughn has access to technology that has since been lost to time; his mech suit allows him to grow to a size and scale proportionate to the rest of the sentient, organized universe. Humans in general are uncommon and are either overlooked due to their size, viewed as nothing more than a peculiar, exotic species or actively sought out by those who know how best to use their size against them. Typically, humans only take part in organized space travel via becoming mechanics or, even more rarely, engineers, as their innovativeness, creativity, and size lend well to those lines of work.

Tyr’Vaughn finds the treatment of himself and those like him deplorable and thus is on a personal mission to: A. become the first human to rise in the Alliance’s space force, exploring the galaxy to his heart’s content and B. find answers about the suit’s tech in hopes of bringing opportunity and power to the last few like himself.

He just can’t let anyone see him suitless, lest he be found out for being human. And small. Because who’s ever heard of humans being treated with even a modicum of respect?

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[gjorg-of-drangleic]

Dark Souls lore is like being given 100 pieces to complete a 500-piece puzzle with no guarantee that they even belong to the same puzzle in the first place. I say this lovingly – it's an essential part of what makes this series so compelling to me.

On a loosely related note, Creighton the Wanderer being Schrödinger's Serial Killer is so fucking funny to me and I need to share my thoughts.

For those who don't know who I'm talking about, Creighton is an NPC you first meet in a location named Huntsman's Copse, in DS2. He's locked up in a cell and somewhat pissed off about it. When you free him to initiate his questline, he says:

"[...] I am Creighton, of Mirrah. I travel from land to land to hone my blade. [...] I joined forces with a man on the way, but he was no more than a back-stabbing knave. He took the first chance he had to try and off me. I decided to set a trap for him here, but then I got trapped myself. I can't believe that I was so dense. Thank the stars that you came along. You be careful of him. Pate, I think he said. [...] I've seen his type before. He kills entirely for the pleasure of it. I'm sure I won't be his last victim. The man's better off dead, I tell you. He's a slick talker, so don't let him fool you. [...] Watch out for the slimy rat. And don't you believe a word he says. I'll find the common footpad, and put an end to his roguery. Heh heh."

If you've played DS1 before, this might sound familiar to you. Indeed, you may think of Pate as DS2's stand-in for Patches. By this point in the game, there's a good chance you've encountered him already, and while you haven't been pushed down any cliff this time, you did end up locked up and surrounded by hostile hollows. I'd argue that this being the likeliest order of events is the game priming you to feel sympathetic towards Creighton once you reach him, as by then, the both of you would have been tricked by the same man. You might even feel so sympathetic as to overlook how immediately eager to kill Pate he is. And, if we're going down that route, metacontextually, you might have thrown Patches off that cliff as retribution yourself back in DS1.

You then find yourself speaking with Pate and Creighton back-and-forth at different locations, with Pate indirectly putting you in additional danger, and Creighton sounding more and more eager to kill the guy. The questline ends when you reach the Brightstone Cove of Tseldora, where you find them both fighting, and are given the opportunity to intervene to save either one by killing the other.

Now if this was all the questline was, there wouldn't be much to it, would there? Creighton is a bit bloodthirsty but, you could reasonably argue that his motivations are understandable. Why ever side with Pate in this? He almost got you killed twice! The man's clearly dangerous! Well, you see – after you're done helping either one, they both gift you a key leading to a trapped chest which explodes when you open it! That's right, even Creighton. "Ooh, that'll leave a nasty scar!" he says, if you survive the explosion. Now why would Creighton who remained friendly throughout end up doing this to us? Another DS2 character, Cale the Cartographer may be the key to understanding his motivations. Here's what he says.

"Ah yes, there is something I wanted to tell you. I was born in the land of Mirrah. Mirrah is also the home of an infamous killer, a 'knight' in name alone. He was locked in the dungeon for multiple murders. But shortly before his execution, he managed to escape. And the other day… I saw a fellow with a striking likeness! And then! And then… Wait… Well… I think he looked rather similar… N-no, it's true! I saw just such a man, I swear! I believe his name was…Cr…Cr…err Cray-something… I believe… They shared…some resemblance, I… I think…"

Cale tells you this back in Majula – the Firelink Shrine of DS2 – after you meet Creighton at least once. Our wandering friend has been a serial killer this entire time it would seem. DS3 would also agree with this statement. He is featured there as an NPC invader who attacks both the Ashen one and Sirris of the Sunless Realms. Here is what his armor set and weapon descriptions from DS3 tell us.

Creighton's Steel Mask: Attire of Creighton the Wanderer, a notorious deserter who fled an order of Mirrah Knights. Despite the mask's being a symbol of a criminal sentenced to death, Creighton never removed it.

Mirrah Chain Mail: Formal attire of the honorable knights of Mirrah, featuring their heraldry, a stag set against a blue field. Oddly, it was a dishonorable deserter who wore this attire most religiously.

Dragonslayer Axe: Axe favored by Creighton the Wanderer, infamous deserter of the Knights of Mirrah. Called Dragonslayer's Axe for the lightning that pulsates within its blade, but Creighton used it to slay men.

This all seems pretty damning. Helping Creighton in Tseldora means helping a serial killer. Pate may have tried to kill us before but, it's not like we were ever actually in any danger. What's a couple of hollows to a big strong undead like us, right? Helping Pate it is then? Killing them both? Walking past them and leaving them to it? At any rate, not helping Creighton! There. Problem solved.

You fool. You think we’re done? We haven't even started. I present to you his DS2 armor set descriptions.

Creighton’s Steel Mask: Atypical steel mask. Belonged to Creighton the Wanderer. Its design resembles that of the knight order of the eastern land of Mirrah, but with some odd differences that catch the eye. Perhaps it is a finely-crafted imitation.

Mirrah Chain Mail: Belonged to Creighton the Wanderer. Its design resembles that of the knight order of the eastern land of Mirrah, but with some odd differences that catch the eye. Perhaps it is a finely-crafted imitation.

Now, reading this, you might point out that this seemingly contradicts part of Cale’s statement as well as the DS3 item descriptions. I wouldn’t say so out of hand. One could reasonably argue that Creighton could very well have infiltrated the Knights of Mirrah by wearing a replica, thus in a manner of speaking, indeed belonging to that Order, or at the very least, being perceived as such by the wider public. Though I will admit that wearing a replica of a mask marking oneself for the death penalty, even in a different land, is rather shortsighted. Anyways, what of his axe, which I have conveniently omitted here? Well, I did so for a reason. We stumble across DS2’s Dragonslayer Axe nowhere near Creighton unlike in DS3 where we would obtain it after defeating him. In fact, until DS3, the Dragonslayer Axe being Creighton’s was unconfirmed. Besides… Have a look at the item description for yourself.

Dragonslayer’s Crescent Axe: The beloved black axe of the gallant Shieldless Lothian, formerly of Forossa. No warrior matched the ferocity of unbeatable Lothian, but he abruptly retired from the battlefield and was never heard from again. Some say that he grew tired of the frailty of human foes, and set off to slay the legendary dragon.

“Who in Gwyn’s name is Shieldless Lothian?” I hear you ask. No worries, I got you covered.

Ring of Giants: [...] Lothian was born a peasant, and died a general. His determination and diligence were unmatched, especially on the battlefield, where he earned his name by choosing to fight without a shield.

Annnnd, that’s it. That’s pretty much all we know. Let’s unpack all of this, shall we?

The Dragonslayer’s Crescent Axe belonged to a certain Shieldless Lothian of Forossa, a man who abandoned the battlefield to go chase after dragons, but also somehow still died a general. And this axe is seemingly now in the hands of Creighton of Mirrah, serial killer. Are we to understand that Creighton is actually a man named Lothian? That he faked his death? Or that he killed Lothian and took his weapon for himself? Or that he merely wields a replica of Lothian’s axe? Yea. Remember what I said about the puzzle pieces and all that? 

I’d like to briefly move the focus back around to our cartographer friend. I may have omitted to tell you earlier that, prior to speaking to you in Majula, Cale was actually located in a location called the Forest of Fallen Giants, which Creighton never sets foot in during the events of DS2. However, it does happen to be the location you first meet Pate in. Speaking of Pate, here is what his spear description has to say.

Pate’s Spear: A long spear wielded by Pate. This appears to be a very ordinary spear, but seems to have accumulated power over the course of countless battles. It is not always advisable to stand out. Especially if you have something to hide.

Now, this is so vague it could mean anything. But if one were to decide for whatever reason to have the most charitable read on Creighton’s character, they could conceivably argue that Creighton is an – albeit strangely revengeful – innocent man who was framed by Pate, who is the true serial killer of Mirrah. We know that Pate and Creighton have traveled together a while. We know that Pate is a dangerous manipulator who seemingly has a pattern of purposefully leading people to their death. Creighton meanwhile only shows resentment towards Pate, who supposedly almost killed him. He is also consistently friendly to us, up until the last moment, with the chest, though who knows if that was intentional? Maybe Pate is the one who boobytrapped it! Speaking of Pate, he’s the one to be present in the Forest of Fallen Giants, while Creighton isn’t. Pate might well have met Cale there who’d have recognized him, and in turn, he’d have introduced himself as Creighton to protect his own identity, with the lie still not cleared out by the time of DS3. One might also point out that Creighton has a distinctly Cockney accent which isn’t shared by other Mirrah characters like Lucatiel or Cale, which could hypothetically make sense should one accept the idea that Lothian and Creighton are the same person. Whilst speaking to us about Pate, Creighton says “[...] For the good of the world, and for my own honour. I won't let that bastard live another day.” One may wonder what good a serial killer would have to present himself as honorable and selfless, all the while not bothering to tone down his bloodlust at all when speaking to us. It’s stupid, in a weird authentic sort of way.

Do I believe this theory? Not really, no. I don’t think Dark Souls has the kind of character-driven narrative that thinks so deeply about its characters beyond how they best serve the overarching themes of the story, how they best contribute to building that specific “Dark Souls” atmosphere that makes those games so special. Ultimately, we have no evidence of Cale and Pate actually interacting with one another. Cale calls Creighton a killer, and it’s later on confirmed by his DS3’s weapon description. I can’t think of any reason why the game would lie to us over what is ultimately a very minor character, even within DS2. The slight discrepancies between DS2 and 3 can be explained away by time, or just, different people having worked on the games. I’m just a bit too pragmatic to believe that there would have been such a convoluted process involved for building up this non-character into a complex double fake-out innocent man. I think both Creighton and Pate were intended to be awful in DS2, probably as a way to hammer home that the world is broken, and good people, like your friends in Majula, are a rarity to be cherished. Still, I appreciate that the series allows for the above kind of badshit thinking to emerge to be honest. It’s fun! Trying to rebuild the puzzle with much of it missing is fun! People coming to different conclusions is fun!

Anyways, we all know Creighton was hired by Licia to kill Pate as part of an intense multidimensional war between the Covenant of Clerics and Patches.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

What would be a moment with SO, that would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise couldn't help but say the rare "I love you."?

Each version of Ganondorf and Demise would have a unique moment with their significant other (SO) where they let their guard down, allowing them to express the rare and powerful words, “I love you.” Here’s what that moment might look like for each of them:

Wind Waker Ganondorf Moment: The Stormy Night

Scene: It’s a stormy night, the wind howling outside as Ganondorf sits by the fire, his SO nestled against him. The usually calm and contemplative Ganondorf feels the warmth of their presence, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world he’s so used to. His SO is tracing the lines of his hand, a simple yet intimate gesture that brings him an unusual sense of peace. They talk softly, sharing stories and memories, the storm outside making the moment feel even more isolated and personal. As his SO looks up at him, eyes full of trust and affection, Ganondorf feels something stir deep within him. The words come out before he can stop them, a rare confession that surprises even himself. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, the words carrying a weight he doesn’t often allow himself to feel. It’s a vulnerable moment, one that shows just how deeply his SO has touched his heart.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf Moment: After a Fierce Battle

Scene: Ganondorf has just returned from a fierce battle, his armor still stained with the remnants of war. His SO meets him in a secluded part of the castle, worry etched across their face. Without hesitation, they begin tending to his wounds, their touch gentle despite the tension in the air. Ganondorf watches them in silence, feeling a strange mix of pride and something more tender as they fuss over him. As they finish wrapping a particularly nasty cut, they look up at him, their eyes soft and filled with concern. In that moment, Ganondorf’s usual arrogance falters, replaced by a deep, unspoken gratitude. “I love you,” he says suddenly, the words surprising even him. It’s not something he’s accustomed to saying, but seeing the care in their eyes, he realizes just how much they mean to him. It’s a rare admission, one that carries the full weight of his emotions.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf Moment: A Quiet Night in the Throne Room

Scene: Late at night, when the castle is quiet and the world outside is still, Ganondorf and his SO sit together in the throne room. His SO is curled up beside him on his imposing throne, their presence a soothing balm to his otherwise restless mind. They talk about the future, about hopes and dreams, things that Ganondorf doesn’t often dwell on but finds himself discussing with them. As the conversation drifts into silence, his SO leans against him, their head resting on his shoulder. Ganondorf looks down at them, his usually cold heart warmed by the simple, peaceful moment. It’s then, with the weight of the night and the quiet intimacy between them, that he softly mutters, “I love you.” It’s an unexpected declaration, one that he rarely gives voice to, but in this moment, it feels right.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf Moment: After a Victory Celebration

Scene: Ganondorf and his SO are alone after a grand victory celebration. The music has faded, and the revelry has died down, leaving the two of them in a moment of quiet triumph. They stand together on a balcony overlooking the conquered lands, the moonlight casting a silver glow over everything. His SO, still glowing from the celebration, turns to him with a smile, the pride in their eyes unmistakable. Ganondorf, usually so focused on power and conquest, feels a deep surge of affection for the one person who has stood by his side through it all. As they lean against him, he wraps an arm around them, pulling them close. “I love you,” he says, the words surprising even him with their sincerity. It’s a rare moment of softness, one that shows the depth of his feelings in a way that words alone rarely can.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf Moment: After a Personal Revelation

Scene: Ganondorf has just shared a deeply personal story with his SO, something from his past that he rarely speaks of. It’s a memory that has shaped him, one that carries a great deal of pain and regret. His SO listens without judgment, their presence a comfort as they silently offer their support. When he finishes, they reach out, taking his hand in theirs, their touch grounding him in the present. Ganondorf looks at them, seeing the understanding in their eyes, the acceptance that he rarely finds in others. In that moment, the words come to him unbidden, a rare confession that surprises even himself. “I love you,” he says quietly, the vulnerability in his voice belying the strength he usually projects. It’s a rare glimpse into the man behind the title, one that his SO is privileged to witness.

Demise Moment: After a Moment of Weakness

Scene: Demise, the embodiment of hatred and destruction, rarely shows weakness, but there’s a moment when he allows his SO to see the cracks in his armor. It’s after a particularly intense battle, one that has left him more drained than he cares to admit. His SO finds him alone, still brimming with residual anger and exhaustion, and without a word, they approach him, their presence soothing the storm within him. They don’t try to fix him or offer platitudes. Instead, they simply sit with him, their silent support doing more than any words could. As the tension slowly ebbs away, Demise feels something he rarely allows himself to feel—peace. It’s in this moment of quiet connection, when the usual rage subsides, that he turns to them and, in a voice rough with emotion, says, “I love you.” It’s a confession that carries the weight of his existence, a rare moment of softness from the being known as the Demon King.

[finniestoncrane]

Like An Animal

Dano!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 4.5k an arrangement for anonymous fetish sex goes completely wrong when the sweet, shy guy you vibed with online is nasty little edward nashton 🐀💚 kinks are so multi-faceted. it's fine if this is interesting/arousing/scary/healing for you! you're normal, and you're completely valid 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: non-con, dubcon, cnc elements, violence, threats, intense fear, this is nasty shit sodon't read if it makes you uncomfortable duh

It was an interesting arrangement. Beneficial to them both, as they explored the darker sides of their desires in completely privacy. She was amazed that he was the type. When he had answered her request for a partner in specific activities on the forum, she was already prepared to have to block several fake replies, some un-practiced boys trying to be daddies, men just desperate to have sex who would have overlooked her specifications around kinks and rules. But this one was different, formal, slightly reserved, but knowledgeable in the ‘lingo’ enough to let her know he might have enough experience. His questions were respectful, unemotional. Straight to business kind of, which was ok. It was actually her preference.

As someone with very little social skills outside of sex, it was difficult to approach someone in the first place, let alone get to a situation where she could ask them for exactly what she wanted. But, on the forums, it was transactional, formal. Everything could be pre-arranged with very little need for speaking when it came to the act. There had been several acts with the two of them now, and it was safe to assume that he was keen on the task-based nature of what they did together.

After the first few “dates” (basic vanilla sex to understand each other’s bodies and potential limits) they had an open discussion together, before deciding to explore the more intense kinks that they shared in common. He lamented that wasn’t experienced physically, which had been obvious at first, but that he knew what he liked and had done extensive research on the topics.

“I like to learn…to research.”

It was odd, she felt so attracted to him, despite his frankly plain appearance. He was average height, average build, average haircut, but his face was soft and round and filled with a naivety that drove her wild. So, they discussed moving things forward. Tonight was the big night, and it was her choice of activity.

He had arrived exactly on time, another habit she picked up on. He was organised and punctual, which only served the structured and emotionless nature of their ‘affair’. She liked that about him. Efficient, conscientious, respectful of her time and any boundaries. It was easy to feel safe with him, part of the reason she was so willing to allow him control this evening. And he was obviously prepared, dropping down his rucksack with a heavy thud, as his ‘tools’ settled on the floor at the bottom of the bag. She invited him into her dimly not romantically lit apartment where they met each time. Usually, he was dressed as though he had been working a 9-5 at an office. Suit trousers, a plain and ill-fitting shirt, boring tie, standard dress shoes, a navy blue puffer jacket shielding his thin body against the Gotham weather.

But tonight he looked almost militant. Prepared for action. He had on a green jacket, black combat pants and large combat boots. She took it in, interested more than anything else. Perhaps it was easier for him to get into character for what they had planned. She searched for the answer in his green eyes, obscured from her questioning by the lenses of his glasses. He coughed when she didn’t say anything, clearing his voice and stammering over his first word before relaxing into himself.

“I’m really glad that you wanted to try this. I’m…excited.”

“I’m glad too, it’s maybe a difficult thing for some people to enjoy, or to accept that they enjoy. But it’s the same as any other kink. Consenting adults working out their fucked up trauma some way or another, huh?”

He didn’t respond, he just gestured to the bathroom.

“Oh, go ahead! I can go get ready in the bedroom. I’ll see you in there, just come in when you’re done.”

She left him standing in the hall, and he watched her disappear into the room, closing the door behind her. She was wearing a t-shirt and some jeans. She hadn’t prepared at all. Not like him. He picked his bag up and went into the small bathroom. He settled the bag on her narrow sink counter, taking out the items from within it. Leather gloves, a roll of duct tape, a carpet tucker just for the threat, and the mask. His mask. He lent on the sink, knuckles white as he gripped the underside of it with his fingers, trying to stabilise himself.

While I’m here…

He rifled through the cabinets, quietly, searching for secrets about her. He had used the bathroom before, but always quickly. This time he had a reason to be in here longer. And, taking his time to be as silent as possible, he eventually found a stash of medicines, one of which he pocketed. A bottle of sleeping pills. Just in case he thought to himself. He donned the mask, fixing his hair underneath and placing his glasses back on top. Three deep breathes in and out as he looked at himself in the mirror. He could feel himself hardening just at his own image. He was a God in his regalia.

This is the practice run. How strong are you? What do you need to do? How best can you get them under control? And then, the reward for your efforts.

He gripped the door handle with his leather clad hand and took one further deep, slow breath before exiting as quietly as possible, standing outside the bedroom door and letting the anticipation linger, painfully, on his mind, body and soul.

She had been waiting, sitting on the bed, for him to finish in the bathroom. No flush, no sound of running water from the old, rusty pipes in her apartment building. She wondered what he was doing, but considered his position. What she had asked him for was intense, and though he was clearly interested and had been reading up on it, it must have been nerve-wracking for someone so inexperienced to build themselves up to this. To a rape fantasy. Not everyone could get on board with the idea of humiliation and violation, and she supposed it might be harder for the person dealing the punishment even. It was a moral and ethical line for some people, and she knew from experience that even if someone was interested in it, feeling able to participate was a whole other thing entirely.

She flipped over onto her stomach, reaching for her phone and making sure she hadn’t missed any texts from him. Maybe he just left? She hadn’t heard the door though, but he might have been trying to sneak out. Disappointment settled in her chest, she had been building up to this for months, desperate for it from the moment she met him. He was so meek looking, the idea of him even pretending to be able to exert any power over her, she was intensely hungry for that level of humiliation. Being degraded by someone she could easily beat up. Pathetic, she mewled softly as she felt a burning in her crotch, her chest tightening at the thought.

And then a sensation on her skin, around her ankles. Tight and forceful. She was turning herself round, aided by the grip, and as her eyes adjusted from the brightness of her phone screen to the darkness of her bedroom, a shape began to take form at the bottom of the bed. He was standing, hands pressed around her ankles, squeezing tight and easing up slightly. Not enough for her to be able to slip loose, she noted.

He's really getting into this.

“Hey are-”

He tugged her body and she fell off of her elbows, flat on the bed, air escaping from her in shock, anticipation. When she lifted her head to look at him, he placed one finger in front of the mouth of the mask, signalling her to be quiet. Her stomach clenched, thighs squeezing together as she realised how well he was at actually taking a controlling position. He loomed over here, the sensory combination of his endless stare combined with the scent of leather and plastic, his quick change from boring middle-manager to the perfect villain was sending her mind racing. She closed her lips together, squeezing them tight for emphasis so he knew she was prepared to be a very good girl.

She was so willing, her eagerness to please him, and to be pleased herself, was obviously clouding her judgement. He was certain that any normal person, anyone not so drunk with lust, would have should have taken one look at him and screamed. He hoped he was a vision of terror, and that she was just so interested in having him inside of her greedy cunt that she was willing to overlook the danger.

It's also possible she’s just that stupid, he laughed to himself. But he wanted to check. It would make it more satisfying for him to know the answer, as was his way.

“This is what I want. Is it what you want?”

“Well, yeah, you know that. We talked about it.”

“Ok. Well, I’m going to get on top of you now. I don’t want you to talk until I ask you to. Unless you need me to stop. Then you can use our agreed words. For now, though, I just want to feel you under me. I want you to get familiar with the weight of me. Test your strength.”

At her nod, he positioned one knee on the mattress, pressing down slowly and testing the strength of her shabby looking bed. It would do. He began to crawl towards her, settling his whole body onto hers, flat and still, his head turned away. She was looking up at the ceiling. It was awkward, it should have been embarrassing, but it felt strangely good to have him on top of her, effortlessly holding her to the bed. Stuck.

“I want you to feel like you’re in danger. I want you to struggle. Ok?”

She nodded, silent still, obeying his earlier commands, hoping to enthuse his sense of control. She lifted her hands to her front, between their bodies, palms flat against his stomach, and pushed, trying to lift him off of her. She grunted in faux effort, tiny whimpers as she pretending to struggle with him. She was enjoying this more than she had even thought possible. Pathetically grateful at the opportunity, she began to make a light weeping noise, more fake efforts at lifting him from her despite it being the last thing she wanted.

“Do you feel safe with me?”

She nodded, panting lightly, unable to get a full breath under his weight.

“I’m going to force myself inside of you, do you want that?”

It was all she wanted, all she could think about. A more enthusiastic nod this time. She opened her eyes to stare at him and smiled. She couldn’t see his face under the mask, but his eyes were wide. Very telling. And they weren’t reciprocating the smile.

He’s committed. Because I can definitely tell he’s enjoying this.

His length, hardening, rock solid against her thighs, twitching occasionally and tapping against her entrance as it did so. He moaned as she shifted below him, trying to get more comfortable.

“I want to make you feel good, you understand? I want you to be happy. I want you to enjoy this. I need you to tell me you trust me. Say it.”

“I trust you.”

“Struggle then.”

She wriggled her arms up to his chest, pushing lightly. Weak mewling poured from her lips, rehearsed and forced in an attempt to entice him further. Forcing her way up to his shoulders she grabbed the jacket and gave a playful shove. She yelped, pretending that the effort was too much, that he was just too big and strong for her. She wanted to feel him twitch at the noise. But it had the opposite effect to what she wanted, and her smile dropped completely as his hand, gloved and warm, made sharp and fast contact with the side of her face.

“Don’t pretend. Push me. Make some effort.”

She was taken back, but she had asked for degradation. Violation. And while she wasn’t sure he would have been able to commit to it, the slap had been very effective. It felt raw, emotional. Unrehearsed. She pushed harder, and a small pang of panic flitted through her mind as she realised that even giving all of her effort, he was actually too strong to push off of her. He was deceptively heavy, and oddly strong. He sank down harder onto her, seeming to weight more through sheer will power alone. The grunts were real now, as she used all of her force to try and shift him even slightly.

He groaned and grabbed her arms, holding them flat on the bed, straight above her head, his hands grasping the flesh just above her underarms. And so she resorted to using her legs, writhing and kicking from under him, thrashing in a way that was forceful, but careful not to hurt him.

“You’re not trying, are you? You’re making it so easy for me, too easy. Given up? Keep pushing, it’s not as much fun if you’re not struggling.”

She stopped for a moment, considering sulking at his attitude. She was trying, but he was too strong. He had overpowered her, which was the goal, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it.

“Struggle harder, use your legs you whore! You’re just lying there and taking it. Come on!”

Teeth clenched, seething at the insults, she thrashed her legs out, actively attempting to hurt him.

“That’s it! You’re so pretty when you struggle. Thrashing only makes me harder, but you better not stop.”

He pressed down on her, harder if that was even possible, panting heavily. His breath grew louder, hotter as he leaned his face to hers, planting a surprisingly tender kiss on the corner of her mouth, sloppily reaching for it in his haze, licking at her cheek and biting her chin. He followed the curve down to her neck, sucking and biting at it as he lay his body flat, still, on top of her. Occasionally bucking his hips into her when she let out a little yelp at the pain his teeth were inflicting on her tender skin.

He shifted, one hand on her arm still held above her head, the other hand on her hip, pushing it painfully into the mattress.

“Push me off.” He was commanding, serious. She gave a shove, straining against him to be able to put her weight into it.

“You can’t get me off, huh? Push harder, come on.”

She tried, with all her might, one last great heave, her whole body trying to arch off the bed and throw him off balance. But he didn’t budge, and she flopped back down in resignation, disappointed that she couldn’t offer him the fight he obviously wanted. She hoped he could still get off, that he wouldn’t call the whole thing off just as it was getting to the good part.

But instead, he sat up, straddling her. He pushed her shoulders, thudding her against the mattress again.

“Imagine being so pathetic” he spat the words out, “that you would let me hold you down without putting up a fight. Such a stupid little slut.”

Her abdomen tensed at the words, blood rushing to her cheeks, wetness forming in her underwear. She wondered, hopefully, how many times she might cum tonight. She was broken from the wishful thoughts as she heard a tearing sound from above her. He was ripping off a piece of duct tape, staring at the length he held from arm to arm. The way he held it, stared at in appreciation. It seemed ceremonious, like a ritual.

“Do you trust me?” She nodded. It was strange, but if anything, she trusted him more now than she had before. And she was desperate. This was all she had wanted for so long, a fantasy she had been building for years, never able to achieve a real orgasm because the lingering promise of what could have been, of this exact situation, was always there just out of reach. And now it was here. And she did trust him. She trusted him to deliver her pleasure. She trusted his abilities. She trusted their safe words.

“Grab onto the headboard.”

She took two of the spindles in her hands and he wrapped the duct tape around one wrist, tight and painful. She winced at it, but felt her clit throb in reaction. The other hand was wrapped swiftly after, and with nothing to push him with she began to twist her hips around under him, friction pressing against both of them, pushing them together, the heat unbearable.

“Oh Y/N this is…this is perfect.”

It was bliss to hear him call out-

Your name.

They hadn’t used each other’s names. They didn’t refer to each other at all, and the only time they had was when they confirmed their usernames to each other. Her username which had no tie to any other account, or her real name, or her email address even.

So how did he know? How did he know your name.

Panic twinged in her veins and her blood ran cold as she contemplated how safe she actually was right now. But before you could open her mouth, convinced already that saying the safe word would be futile, her mouth was covered with one, and then two, and then three strips of duct tape. Her breath was secured, trapped in her mouth. She had no option but to swallow it, eyes watering and wide at the fear now settling in her stomach. This wasn’t what she wanted. She let out a muffled whimper that led to a heavy sob, and from above her, settled on her abdomen now, she could hear him begin to laugh, stifling it as he began a tirade of fury aimed at her terrified face, spit frothing and hitting her as he spoke with an intense ferocity.

“Oh, poor Y/N. You poor, dumb thing. I lied to you, you fucking idiot! You’re such a stupid bitch, I almost felt sorry for you, actually. How were you to know? But then I thought you know what, normal women, respectable women don’t invite strangers into their home to fuck them, let alone ask them to tie them up and do bad and naughty things to them. So, if you think about it, you kind of deserve this.”

He smiled down at her, wiping his thumb under her eye and bringing it to his mouth to taste the tear on his tongue. His hands, still gloved, ran up and down her, and he shifted down her body again, straddling her, cock hard and pushed up against her thigh. He pressed his whole body against her, desperately, hands all over her arms, holding her against the bed, moving to her wrists where he teased at the duct tape, laughing at her.

His movements were clumsy, with a complete disregard to her body, laying underneath him. He kneed her as he shuffled down her body, sitting on her legs to keep them still. But yet, he demanded more from her.

“Come on, push me off of you! You’re not even trying, it’s like you want this. Is that it? You want it this way?”

She was shaking her head, desperately trying to find within him the reasonable man she had thought existed. But through the steamed glasses, there was nothing beyond the mask, and she became sickeningly aware that he had been in disguise the whole time.

“I know, there’s no point really. You can struggle as hard as you want, try and prove to me you don’t want it. But I know you do.”

He was unbuttoning her jeans, fumbling with his gloved hands. He snarled, growling as he pulled them down, little by little.

“And do you want to know something?” He was breathing heavily, panting at the effort he was exerting to remove her jeans as she squirmed. He grunted as he yanked them down, shifting them under his own body in an effort to keep her legs trapped beneath him.

“You’re not going anywhere!”

With a swift and rough movement he had pulled her jeans down completely, underwear coming down with them. He grabbed at them, pulling in an effort to rip them off, cutting at her legs as they refused to come off in the dramatic fashion he had hoped. She moved slightly, trying to shift and make it easier for him, but stopped in her tracks, like a hunted animal, as he groaned and pulled out a switch knife, quickly and all too carelessly slipping it under the fabric and pulling it up, cutting them in half, the fabric falling onto the bed below her. She was panting silent breaths. The nerves, visible on her face, her body, on the way her gasps fell out of her mouth. It all turned him on and he had to refocus on what he was trying to achieve, before he lost it and shot his load right there, watching her stare at him in terror, exposed. Soaked.

“God, you’re a mess, look how wet you are.”

He ran a finger up her slit, the sensation of the leather warm and rough. He retreated, both hands now slapping her thighs and grabbing them.

“I want to feel you. Skin to skin.” He bites at the gloves, pulling them off with his teeth. The way he moves is so animalistic, it pains her to know how arousing it all is.

“I want my fingerprints on you. If they find me, God I hope this is how they find me, I want them to find me. I want everyone to know who I am by finding out that you’re a pathetic whore who let me fuck you senseless.”

She whimpered at his words, tears falling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She was ashamed of how much she was enjoying this, but she was entirely terrified, genuinely convinced that these moments were going to be her last. And part of her was ok with that, was trying to lean into it. Self-preservation? Her brain trying to numb her feelings? She wasn’t sure, but the tears poured forth despite trying to remain stoic in the face of her attacker.

“You’re so pretty when you’re crying. And you sound so good, so weak and small and desperate. Do you feel trapped?”

There was an effort of refusal, shifting below him and attempting to wriggle free from under his weight. He grunted, hands pushing her thighs apart as he settled between them, her legs unable to close over as he spread them out with his knees.

“I’m going to cum inside of you. I’m going to leave myself with you. I want you to remember this.”

He grunted, shifting his own trousers down, growling with a snarl on his face as he grabbed at his cock and smoothly pressed it against her thigh, moving to run it up her slit, edging slightly between her lips. He twitched and his voice caught in his throat as he felt her cum on his head. And with a final moan, he thrust himself in hard. She let out a muffled yelp, despite being incredibly wet he had still taken her by surprise by the swiftness of his entrance, and the dull ache as he forced himself up to the hilt was followed by floods of pleasure she no longer wanted.

“Look at me. Don’t blink, don’t shut your eyes, just look at me.”

She struggled against him, body trying to force its way further into the mattress so give some space between her and his body, to prevent him from getting so deep.

“Hey! I need you to look at me, look into my eyes and tell me you don’t want this.” He ripped the duct tape from her face. It smarted, her cheeks red underneath, some skin from her lips coming with it, tiny flecks of blood forming on them.

“Tell me you don’t want this. Come on, say it. If you don’t want it, say so. Ask me nicely.”

“Please, please stop.” She began to sob under him, irritated that she had allowed him to get the better of her. Disappointment at the fact he hadn’t stopped, when she’d asked him so nicely. Shame that she’d though he would in the first place.

“Don’t cry, idiot. Why would you think I would stop? Can you not feel how hard I am? You’re clenching around me. You like this too.”

He was slapping against her, the sharp sounds echoing around the room as she whined and moaned around him. The vibrations of her sobbing and shaking sending him over the edge. He pushed into her, harder and harder, making sure she could feel every single inch of him sliding into her, deep and painful. Sharp pains dulled by a bruising ache as he thudded inside of her over and over again, carelessly and angrily.

“Please…please don’t.”

“Please no, please stop, please don’t.” He was mocking her. “Pathetic, begging me. Look at me!”

She stared up at him, resolving to maintain eye contact. He seemed close, pressure building and his rutting become more frantic and ill-paced. She was going to make him watch her, see her face as he came. Remember the fear he instilled in someone. Though, in the back of her mind, she knew that was more pleasurable for him than a punishment.

“Oh God, I’m going…to cum…” His voice was weaker, softer. And in a turn that took her by complete surprise, he brought his hands around her back and kissed her, lifting her slightly and holding him to her. The sickly sweet action made her stomach turn.

“Tell me you like it. Tell me…you want…this…Tell me…I’m good.”

She couldn’t get any words out between panting and sobbing. If anything, his swift change in direction to needy and desperate had only fuelled her terror more. He was entirely unhinged. A mad man, on top of her, inside of her.

“Tell me…you love me! Tell…me…you love…me! Look me…in the eyes…and say it…”

At her silence, he grabbed her throat, tensing his fingers against the sides.

“I love you” she managed to get out, gasping and wheezing against his crushing pressure. And at her words, he came. A high-pitched scream that sounded more like pain than pleasure. He was breathing heavily, air squealing in his throat as he panted, filled with complete ecstasy and maybe misery. But he managed to catch his breath and he lay back down on her, completely flat, cock falling out of her, cum spilling on to the sheets below her. She was pinned down again.

“I love you too. I’m so glad we met.”

He knew where she lived. He knew her name. She had let her guard down too easily, charmed by what she now realised was the mask he was wearing when they first met. This was his real face. A figure shrouded in green.

[ladydisdainblog]

My thoughts (and prayer) while I'm diving in Daisy Jones & The Six finale:

— The whole sequence with Nicky in a hotel hall showcased found family trope so well. That was the moment I knew the band's break up is about to be the most painful part of this melodramatic conclusion.

— I think we all enjoyed Simone's story so much exactly because it was a very pinpoint but nuanced narrative and there's no fillers or unnecessary drama.

— I'm so glad they didn't kill Teddy off. Yes, it was the very strong moment in the book, but with this amount of ups and downs another low point would be exhausting for this narrative pace.

— When Eddie exclaimed "Grandma!" I awww-ed so loud that my own grandma came to check if everything is okay😂

— Also Eddie being enthusiastic about new heavier music at the same time he's bitter about Cami is so 2007 of him.

— Ugh, I'm usually Billy's apologist however "She's my wife. I never gonna leave her" somehow felt like the most asshole thing in relation to both of women. Also, dude, this is your mother's house, can you stop being a whore for at least a second.

— Little kiss of Warren and Lisa in the background of a Pittsburgh farewell was so cute. My boy deserved all the good things and he kinda got it in the end. Still the love my life.

— Something something Billy being the oldest member of the band. Something something Roy Kent being the oldest member of FC Richmond. Smth smth boys looking up at Billy since the beginning. Smth smth little Jaime Tartt is idolizing Roy. Smth smth Roy being able to pass his life experiences as a lessons to younger mates and looking after them even when their are cocky shit. Smth smth Billy failling as a leader to read the room and prioritize people and him being a cocky shit himself. Smth smth about Eddie need for validation being constantly overlooked and him losing it even though he knows he's quite good.

— Everyone's costuming for the Chicago show was so fucking hot.

— "More Fun To Miss" scene was indescribably insane. I want to punch them both in a face, I want to put self exploding bracelets on their legs and forbid to move closer than 100 steps. I want them to fuck nasty.

— As great as Daisy and Cami's conversation was in the book, it's kinda cool that Daisy made the decision to let Billy go and come clean on her own.

— Look, here the thing: I don't like what they did to Billy and Camila as couple. But I do like what they did for them individually. And yes, Camila is way more jealousy and bitter, but it's also feels rawer and more real than a straight from a pedestal woman who never communicated her frustration and insecurities to her partner.

— In conclusion it's not perfect but very compelling adaptation with an absolutely phenomenal cast. I loved Riley since "Logan Lucky' and she was born for this part. I had zero expectations for Camila Morrone and she did justice to proud spirit of book!Camila even when the script was against it. And Sam, the actor you are... There's was no need to go that hard on this but I'm glad that he did.