#every now and then this fucking show tries to get out of its cage in my brain

[sammygender]

i’ve never been as angry on behalf of a character as i am for sam winchester

[ficmeouttahere]

are OQers these days as obssessed with the missing year as we were back then?

[s0fter-sin]

rash update, got another new cream and i have to be wrapped up in cling wrap so let’s see how this one goes

i’m so sick of fucking rashes, what the hell kind of symptom even is this just, “hey, we’re going to make you itchy fucking everywhere for no reason and you can throw as many creams as you like at them but they’re not going to do shit ���”

[enviedear]

nsfw billy headcannons (begging with tears in my eyes) 🤲🏽

billy bonney nsfw alphabet

how about an entire alphabet's worth? tbfh i just needed an excuse to do one of these for billy, plus i had a few billy smut hc requests!

request

a = aftercare

billy is sweetheart after. he cleans you up, is nice enough to don his clothes and run outside to the well to bring you clean water to wash off with. he'll be so gentle with the rag along your body, leaving little kisses in its wake. he holds you close afterward, mumbling sleepy sweet nothings into your neck. he's clingy after he fucks you proper, wants to keep you hitched to him. he feels safest and most as ease in this setting, and he tries his hardest to show you just how much it means to him.

"m'pretty girl, you're so perfect."

b = body part

he loves his hands. he's good with them and they don't look half-bad. in honest, he really didn't have a favorite until how long your eyes would linger on them. after that, he's constantly showing them off for you. fiddling his thumbs in your peripheral until you give him your undivided attention or running them along your shoulders until you're whining for him.

"what're you starin' at, honey?" he'd ask, wise grin plastered onto his face. you'd advert your eyes from his, "hush, outlaw."

his favorite innocent body part of yours is your eyes. he'll often compliment them, swear that they're like the stars above. to him, they are. you always look at him with geninue love and he feels undeserving. now, his favorite indecent part of would have to be your breasts. there i said it. he's a boob man. he wouldn't care about what they looked like or the size— he just wants to touch and watch them bounce when you ride him. he's obsessive, always reaching for them when the two of you are alone. and every time he takes you out to ride, his hands will work their way up to your bust.

"hold the reins, sweetheart." billy requests, voice rolling and deep. you furrow your brows, taking the reins, "why? what are—" you don't have to finish your question, feeling the gunslingers' rough hands against the soft flesh of your bosom, "jus' want to hold 'em, honey."

c = cum

billy likes to finish on your stomach. wants to watch just how much he can leak onto you, how well he can paint you with it. i think he gets his fix by seeing how much you can make him cum. you'll look up at him, blissed out and in a hazy afterglow, watching his face contort into pleasure as he releases, spewing his large load onto your tummy.

"see how much you get out o'me? m'good girl."

d = dirty secret

his dirtiest secret is how pitiful he is for you. if anyone knew how much he depends on you, his sweetest comfort, they'd surely use it against him. billy truly wants nothing more than you and a home, living out your days in bliss. he's whiney for you, touchy when you aren't getting the message quick enough. when he finally gets you to bed, arms caging your frame, he's whimpering and praising you for everything under the sun.

the outlaw pushes into you slowly, letting out a treble gasp, "fuck, feels s'fuckin' good sweetheart." you let out a breath, mouth slacking at the sight above you. he buries himself inside of you, whipering as you clench around him in an attempt to adjust. he lets out a longdraw curse, "wanna be inside ya' forever," a shakey breath, "i'll do anything for ya. anything."

e = experience

he's not doing too bad! before you, he had a few nice ladies, but he doesn't know everything or what to say all the time. it gives you the opportunity to be plenty of his firsts, though. he'll mostly take the lead in bed but if you ever try or say something new, he's flushing and flustered.

"you like when i do that?" you ask, staring down at billy, his eyes shut and ghost of a smile on his lips, "hm? let m'hear you, daddy." his brows furros, lips gaping, "sweetheart..." you grin, know you've got him right where you want him, "c'mon, gimme more." you watch his eyes roll back before he lets go, singing your praise and moaning into your ear.

f = favorite position

would you hate if i said cowgirl. he loves watching you on top of him, craves it. getting to see you come undone above him elicits something wild within him. he also loves the lotus, loves the way you grab his shoulder and press your forehead into his. he can't get enough of you and he feels so close to you when you're like that.

g = goofy

billy doesn't mind cracking a saccharine smile during the deed. he likes showing you that you're safe, that this whole exchange is safe. he never wants you to be scared of him. he's too amazed you're not already to ever jeopardize it. he won't be cracking any jokes while you're at it, but he doesn't mind being sweet for you.

h = hair

this is the wild west baby, lover boy's got some hair. he'll try to clean up whenever he can, but it's such a long hassle he usually opts not to. i don't think he'd necessarily be completely wild, but certainly has hair down there.

i = intimacy

so romantic. he just wants you to feel hoe much he loves you, how much you work him, how much he needs you. if he can't get the words out, he'll just show you. he's apt to kiss you everywhere he can, twice over. he'll mummer adorations on your flesh, basking in the entirety of you.

j = jack off

before you, i don't think he got to as much as he wanted. he's been on the run, hungry, and tired, the last thing on his mind is fucking his hand. and then after you, he doesn't really have a need to. if he wants pleasure he'd rather seek you out and wait until you want him.

"need something, billy?" you ask, smiling knowingly the tall man. he sighs, mirroring your own smile, "you, if you'll have me."

k = kink

he loves marking you up with lovebites. can't get enough of it really. he loves seeing the bruises on your pretty skin, a rebellious display of indecency. they're always given with the best intention though, his way of showing you and the world how good you make him feel.

also exhibitionism. not so much because he likes the thrill of getting caught, but because he's wild and isn't above having you outside. a stretch of meadow? he'll lay you down on the earth like you're the most precious thing in the world.

l = location

as he's a man on the run, a warm bed. nothing beats it. sometimes, he'll go for the great expanse of land that is the west, but usually, he wants you in a bed.

m = motivation

anything you do turns him on and keeps him going. he's sincerely obsessed with you. but your touch, with sinful intent or not, makes his brain go to mush. he loves it if you card your fingers through his hair, rub his back, or interlock your fingers with his. you're so beautiful to him, he always gets flustered by your touch. end result being the both of you high of eachother and sweaty.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

hurting you. he can't do it. he doesn't mind things like spanking or orgasm denial, because he never takes it far enough to harm you. his spanks are firm but light, his goal is to build your anticipation and not leave you bawling on his lap. he wants you to feel good, wants to be the reason you feel good, and hurting you like that doesn't give him that pleasure. he's a sweet lover, he'll be rough when it's fitting but never cruel.

o = oral

billy eats you out like a man starved. he's fully in it for you, but the way you sound due to none other than his mouth? that alone has him thrusting into the bed, roused purely by your own delight. he loves it when you want to reciprocate, he'll never turn it down. he loves the way you look with a mouth full of him.

"you taste s'good, sweetheart. want you to cum for me, let m'taste it."

p = pace

billy is mostly slow and rough. he'll fuck into you with deep and meaningful thrusts. he likes drawing out both your pleasures and tries to hold out until you're begging and pleading for him to let you cum. he also always tries to finish after you, he knows it draws out your orgasm and he finds nothing better than for you to feel good for as long as possible.

q = quickie

billy will take whatever you give him. if you want a quickie he'll give you one. i see this being the start of a great many of the times he takes you outside. walking along the road back to your home together and studying his pretty face, you can't help but reach out to him with a mischievous smirk on your face. billy will oblige you, taking you up against some poor ranchers' barn, whispering for you to stay quiet.

"hush, baby. don't want anyone to hear." billy whispers, faint smirk on his lips.

r = risk

being his girl is kind of the riskest part of being with him, but he's game for some risky activities. i could see him handing you his gun laid beside your sweaty bodies, forcing your hand to center the barrel at his temple. you'd be at a loss at first, even more so when he asks you to pull the trigger.

"what?" you gasp, hand going limp. billy doesn't stop his thrusts, "pull the trigger, sweetheart. if i'm to die it'll only be at your hands." you stay silent, stunned by his actions. he straightens your hold, "s'not loaded, honey," he smiles when you huff, bringing his hand down to your bulb, massaging gently, "but i meant what i said. you've got my life in your hands."

s = stamina

billy can definetly go for a while. he'll need quick between rounds, but you'd have to be doing a lot to wear him out. it doesn't help that he has a constant need for you. he'll try to get you to cum in so many different ways before he ever slips in, spending hours on you in complete devotion.

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

did they have easily accessible sex toys in the wild west ??? idk but either way i don't think so. i do see him being very confident (rightfully so) in his own abilities. (not that he'd be against them completely)

u = unfair

billy is always a little bit unfair because he loves to tease. he really doesn't think there's anything better than the way you look deep in the thralls of ecstasy. he'll work you up when he knows the both of you can't act on it, just because he knows it'll have you a complete mess later.

v = volume

billy is pretty vocal, he's not giving you ear-splitting moans, but he is giving you wanton whimpers and needy groans. he's a rambler mostly, prattling nonsense while he slips in and out of you. he talks you through the entire act too (looking at you, anon who sent that into my inbox ur so right) he'll be so quick to tell you you're doing a good job. he also growls when he finishes, teeth barred and eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"thats m'girl, let go, i got'cha."

w = wild card

i think billy would have a secret breeding kink. he'd be pretty resolved not to finish inside you, not until his life is stable he thinks, but he craves it. he wants as many little ones as you'd give him— wants to be a father so long as you're the mother. he just wants life with you, every part, so the idea is in the back of his mind everytime he's buried within you.

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

this man is six and a half, veiny, and with a banana curve. the tip is deep pink and the most sensitive for him.

y = yearning

he has a constant sex drive for you. if you want him, he's yours. he thinks about it at least a few times a doy, he can't help it, you're too good to not think of in his opinion.

z = zzz

billy likes to cuddle and talk before drifting off. he wants to make sure you're okay afterward, but also he just wants to be close to you. mentally and physically. i think he'd get his most peaceful sleep after he takes care of you, satisfied by your enjoyment and lulled further into sleep by your sweet hold.

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

[aunt-bridget]

Gender Gap. Part 2

I laid the latex maid outfits out for my new toy to look at. I had taken the liberty to include contrasting cages too. He gurgled a protest around the ball gag and I slapped him hard across the face. He whimpered a little bit and I grabbed his shrunken balls roughly….

“Now, you little streak of rat’s piss. This is what will be happening. I’m going to give you a choice. It will be the only one you’ll get while you’re in my company. Pick a dress and a cage. We’re going to film a little video and it will be uploaded to every account you have…..LinkedIn, Facebook, tinder…..Grindr. I say that, because you might get a lot of new followers who like sissy cunts.”

He cried in pain as I then spitefully twisted his nipples. When he stopped snivelling he grunted and nodded his head toward the black dress. It was predictable, but at least the cage would be nice and pink for my little whore. In truth, he would be wearing both at various points, but we had to start somewhere. I locked the cage on his disgusting cock and tugged it once in place. Another gagged yelp escaped his mouth and another slap followed.

I stood him up and forced the dress on his body. The glossy latex clung to him, with the skirt flitting out nicely at the bottom. I spun him around and inserted a matching pink anal plug up his ass. His eyes widened as the toy invaded his rectum and he slumped in resignation. I was disappointed, I was expecting this ‘alpha’ prick to put up a fight…..but he was cowed and humiliated already.

I produced the black stockings and put them on his legs….one of them was laddered….enhancing his look of a used slut. The high heels were too small, but I wedged his trotters in them and dragged him to his feet. He tottered unsteadily, more groans of pain emanating from his drooling lips.

“There. We’re almost done. But you look far too ugly and I want a pretty maid, don’t I? So, I think we need to see if I can perform a miracle and turn you into something even I might want to fuck.”

I grabbed the make up bag and started to apply the rouge and the lipstick. His lips were perfectly wrapped around the ball gag, making it easier to paint him into a tart. Next, the garish blue eye shadow, mascara and false lashes.

I stood back and checked my work so far. “My goodness, you really are a wanton sissy aren’t you? If I check your cage I wonder if you like it so far.”

Of course he had a mirror in his office and I shunted him over to look. He struggled and tried to curse at me….so I stuck my hand up his ass and started to manoeuvre the plug around. He shrieked like a bitch and guess what? The dreary little cock was straining in its prison. I chuckled and brought him back to the chair to continue his makeover. The auburn wig wasn’t quite his colour, but he looked presentable from behind at least. The setting up of the camera took time, but at last we were ready as I got him on all fours….crawling around his office and shaking his plugged ass for me. I lifted the skirt and the base of the squat plug was firmly on show, along with the cock cage dangling uselessly in front.

The leather slave collar was buckled on and I led him around the office a few times. When I bent him over his desk, i made sure his cuffs were tight. He saw me take the strapon and step into it….i did it slowly and deliberately just to give him time to beg….but it wasn’t going to change my mind.

The camera was set and so was I……the plug would be removed and there would be no doubt, the little slag’s mascara would be running down his face….

TBC

[arthurbristow]

The night air was cold and thick, heavy with the stench of sweat, dirt, and failure. The rain had long stopped, but the dampness still clung to the streets, making everything feel oppressive. 

The rest of the League had gone out on various errands — Twice had muttered something about scouting locations, Toga was off on her own twisted business, and Dabi had left without a word, his typical indifference hanging in the air. 

It was just you and Shigaraki now, and the atmosphere in the hideout was heavy, oppressive.

You sat on the edge of a broken-down couch in the dim, crumbling warehouse that served as the League of Villains’ temporary hideout, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. 

The aftermath of the botched mission hung in the air like a noxious cloud, and you could feel the tension simmering, thickening with each passing second.

Across the room, Shigaraki Tomura paced back and forth like a caged animal, his movements jerky and erratic, every step an explosion of pent-up anger. His red eyes glowed with a fury that hadn’t subsided since the mission went south. His fingers twitched, clawing at the air, brushing dangerously close to his neck as if he was barely containing the urge to grab at the skin beneath his collar and tear it apart.

They had failed. He had failed. The kidnapping of Bakugo had gone sideways — again — and now Shigaraki was teetering on the edge of a meltdown.

“I had him!” he snarled suddenly, his voice echoing off the walls of the dilapidated room. His boots scraped against the floor, the sound as harsh as his breathing. “We had that damn brat right in our hands, and they — those fucking heroes — had to ruin it!”

You flinched at the sharpness of his words but stayed silent. His fury was like a storm, wild and untamed, and you knew better than to step into its path without caution. Still, watching him unravel like this — it sent a chill down your spine. 

He stopped pacing for a moment, one hand coming up to claw at his white hair. “Every damn time… every single time we get close, it falls apart!” His voice was growing louder, more frantic. “Those damn heroes, they think they can just—”

“Tomura…” you said quietly, trying to find a way to ground him, to pull him out of this spiral.

His head snapped toward you, eyes blazing. “What?” he spat, his voice venomous. “What the hell do you want?”

You froze under his gaze. You’d seen him angry before, but there was something different this time — something more unstable. His frustration with Bakugo’s escape had compounded, twisting into a deep, festering rage that seemed ready to consume him. 

“I—I just wanted to help,” you stammered, your voice weak, the words clumsy in your throat. 

“Help?” he repeated, a mocking edge to his tone as he stalked closer, each step filled with barely contained violence. “You think you can help? You think anyone can help when I can’t even—” His voice broke off, his breath hitching in a ragged gasp. “This was my chance to prove it. To show the master that I’m more than just some kid with a quirk that destroys everything he touches. But of course fucking All Might had to intervene!” 

His face twisted in frustration as he dragged a hand through his hair again, fingers shaking. The movement was erratic, desperate, as if he could somehow pull the failure out of his mind if he could just grip hard enough.

The sight of him like this — so raw, so vulnerable under all that fury — made your chest ache. You wanted to reach out, to offer something — anything — to ease the madness burning in his gaze, but how could you? You weren’t sure he’d even listen.

“Tomura-kun,” you tried again, softer this time, more careful. “It wasn’t your fault. We’ll get another chance. We can—”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, but it cut through the air like a knife. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing beneath the curtain of his hair. “I said shut up.”

“I just… I just don’t want you to blame yourself.”

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Blame myself? Oh, I’m very aware of whose fault this is. It’s mine. It’s always mine.”

You stood from the couch, your pulse quickening, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch him tear himself apart. Still, against your better judgment, you stood and crossed the small space between you. He didn’t stop you, didn’t even look up as you approached, his eyes fixed somewhere on the far wall, lost in whatever thoughts he was keeping locked away. His hair was an unruly mess, strands sticking to his forehead, clinging to his cheeks. “Tomura, stop. You don’t have to carry this—”

His hand shot out before you could finish, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a vice-like grip. His touch was cold, painful.

Instinctively, your gaze darted to where his thumb and four fingers gripped your arm — but his fifth finger hovered, suspended just above your skin. So close. Just millimeters away. The threat was immediate, palpable. One flick, one slip, and you would decay into nothingness. Your flesh would turn to ash in an instant, just like everything else he touched.

“Boss…” you whispered, your voice trembling, but you didn’t pull away. Fear churned in your stomach, cold and sharp. “Please. Let me help.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly, his face inches from yours. “You think I care about your hollow words? You think your comfort means anything to me? And you want to help?” he spat, his grip tightening, though his fifth finger remained just shy of contact. His red eyes bore into yours, filled with rage and something darker, something more desperate. “You can’t help me. You can’t fix this. You think you’re different, but you’re not. You’re nothing, just like the rest of these morons are!”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. Without thinking, you moved even closer. 

His eyes followed you warily, but he didn’t pull away, not yet. 

Slowly, you reached up, brushing the strands of his white hair out of his face. The touch was gentle, and for a moment, he let you do it, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers grazed his skin. You tucked the loose strands behind his ear, your hand lingering for just a second too long.

His body went rigid under your touch. The air between you stilled, his crimson eyes widening ever so slightly in shock. His breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, the rage in his expression faltered, giving way to confusion. He stared at you, as though he couldn’t understand what you had just done, as though your gentle touch had cut through the chaos swirling in his mind. 

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You think you can fix me? That this—” He gestured to your hand. “—is going to make a difference?”

“I don’t want to fix you,” you whispered. “I just don’t want you to feel so alone, boss.”

Shigaraki didn’t move. He didn’t let go, either. His fingers trembled against your skin, the tension in his grip a constant reminder of the fragility of the situation. “Why?” he rasped, his voice hoarse, broken.

You swallowed, heart still pounding, but your voice remained steady. “Because I care. I’m here, boss. And I’m not leaving.”

His grip loosened, just enough for you to breathe again. “I’ve killed people, you know,” he claimed suddenly, his voice cold, detached. “I’ve wiped them out without a second thought. Innocents. Villains. Heroes. It doesn’t matter to me. Everything I touch turns to dust. I don’t deserve kindness of any kind.”

You stood your ground, even as the danger of his quirk lingered so close. “Maybe you don’t think you deserve it,” you said quietly, “but you do.”

With a shuddering breath, he let go. His hand fell to his side, his entire body sagging as though the weight of his anger and frustration had drained him. He looked away from you, his expression hardening once more, but there was a crack in the armor — a crack that hadn’t been there before.

“No matter how much you push me away, boss, I am not leaving. I believe in your cause.”

But Shigaraki didn’t respond. He turned away, retreating into the shadows, his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling at his sides as he mumbled something under his breath.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. But you didn’t let them fall. Not in front of him. 

And as you watched him retreat into the shadows, you knew that no matter how close you got, no matter how much you tried, the chasm between you would always remain. He was right. You couldn’t fix him.

Shigaraki was alone.

And deep down, you knew he always would be.

[satrs]

ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ꜰɪɢʜᴛꜱ.

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; Every Couple fights, but it's the make-up that lasts longer.

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ; Akaza x gn!reader(written with fem in mind)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ; 1.0k

TAGS; NSFW CONTENT! MDNI. unprotected sex. Fighting(like, literally lol). fingering. rough sex(?). choking. dom!akaza.

Every couple fights sometimes, it's natural. There is a spark that gets lit, and an explosion of curses and spits of venom follow, until it eventually dissolves into tiny fragments in the air, bringing the argument to an end.

But with you and Akaza, it was different. You two didn't fight how some think you would- those typical clashes were very rare between the both of you. When the both of you fight, then you fight. Quite literally.

"You never learn." A surprised gasp escaped you as Akaza swiftly overpowered you and with a blink of an eye, a huff forced itself past your lungs as your back made contact with the ground, him tackling you firmly to the ground, a smug smirk creeping on his lips.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to break free of his grasp with all your might, his firm hold showing no sign of letting go. "Fuck you." Your venomous voice made him chuckle in return, one hand sneaking its way to your waste, fingers running teasingly across it. "You would love to, right?"

You gritted your teeth as you let out a grunt in defeat, cursing under your breath as you lifted your head from the ground, attacking the red-haired's lips.

You could feel his cocky grin on you, taking the chance of him being distracted as your hand sneaked free from his hold, leg wrapping around his waist as you swiftly threw him over, now on top of him, caging him underneath you.

His expression turned into one of amusement, only irritating you further. "Can't you stay serious even once?" He bit his lip to contain the smile that was threatening to creep up his lips, knowing you would slap him across the face if he would give in to the temptation. But oh how he loved to tease you.

He shrugged his shoulders in a playful manner, your vein visible on your forehead as you leaned down, hand taking a firm hold of his chin, flashing his fangs in the process. "Don't fuck with me."

He was quick to place his hand back on your hip, thumb gently stroking it as he looked up at you, eyes tinted in lust. "But I want to." His grin soon turned bigger as he saw a small smile on your lips.

"You're such a pain." You leaned down, capturing his mouth in a kiss as he sighed into your mouth in contentment. "And you love it." He could feel the grin against his lips, grip on your hips tightening as he felt your grip release and your fingers glide along his exposed chest.

His groans turned higher in volume as your hips grind against his growing bulge, moans escaping your lips by your clit bumping against it. Akaza's hips began to stutter up into yours, pleading with you to do, something.

"Say please." Your words and your cocky grin caused his eyebrows to twitch, a questioning look on his face. Your grin only turned bigger at that, stopping your movements to help his memory on the leaps, an annoyed sigh leaving his lips at your actions.

"Get going already." The grin on your face is still prominent, a light chuckle escaping your lips. "What's the magic word, Akaza?" He took your inattention as an opportunity to take the initiative of the situation and throw you over again, this time holding you down by the throat to immobilize you.

His fingers dug into your throat so you are still able to breathe, but too uncomfortable to try any tricks. The antagonizing feeling of his fingers around your neck and his other hand creeping its way into your pants, teasing you made your breathing rapidly increase. "F-fuck, knock it off."

He showed no sign of letting go, hand in your pants now making quick work to your underwear, his fingers already plunged in your hole, your moan causing his already hard cock to twitch in excitement. "What's the magic word, Y/N?"

You remained silent, displeasing him, which caused him to stop his movements, hand around your neck slightly tightening, cutting off some of your oxygen. "P-please." He grinned at your pleas and almost in an instant he stripped the both of you out of your bottoms, groaning as he stroked his erection, alining it to your entrance.

Your lower lip was captured between your teeth as he bottomed out inside of you, his hand back on ýour throat, an animalistic groan leaving his lips at your walls embracing his aching length.

"This turns you on? Me choking you?" You whined in protest, eyes screwing shut as you felt his cock drilling in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours. "Don't even lie." His grip on your throat was still prominent, bringing you up near his face, his eyes examined your expression as he whispered against your lips. "Can feel you sucking me in like a fucking vice."

A strangled moan came from your throat, walls tightening around him as he pistoned his hips in and out of you, grunts and growls leaving him as he smashed his lips against yours.

You could feel yourself nearing your release, tightly gripping around him as your breathing turned ragged, clawing your fingers into his shoulders. "Fuck- I'm so close, Akaza." He let out a breathy laugh at that, smashing his hips harder against yours. "You're gonna cum? Me too baby."

With one more thrust of his hips you came, face twisting in pleasure, his grip around your throat only letting you breathe in and out to an extent. He soon followed you down the path of pleasure, grunting as he stayed snuggled deep inside of you, painting your walls with his hot cum.

A loud laugh rang through the air as he soon regained his breath, letting go of your throat as you coughed and sharply inhaled air, tears prickling at your lash line from your previous orgasm and his grip.

He looked down at you, an animalistic look in his eyes as he flashed his fangs at you. "I won,

Want a rematch?"

©︎𝐊-𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐒. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[k-n0-x]

༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid-Chapter 4·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N: Hey guys! I managed to get this chapter out early coz I am so hot and amazing at everything my social life is at an all time low and we have Easter break. Some foreshadowing if you guys can guess, but keep it to yourselves for now. Mommy issues y/n? That’s a first 😨😨😨😨. This chapter is also Lucifer basically being: “No, you’re so sexy haha don’t cry”

Also, the slow burn is burning now! YAYYA 🎉

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Enjoy! <3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

You sit on the patio of your home, feeling as though you’re rotting away. 

It’s been 5 days since Adam’s full blown out tantrum, but it feels like it’s been 5 lifetimes. 

A cockatiel lands on your table, its bulging inky eyes staring at you, vying for your attention. 

You laugh, and give it some crumbs of your leftover toast from breakfast that you couldn’t bear to finish.

The bird eats them graciously, and flies away, you watching enviously. 

Oh, how you wished you were that bird. Carefree, and not trapped in the gilded cage that you are in. 

If only… 

Bzz bzz

Your phone rings. The contact Mom glows on your screen. 

Unwillingly, you swipe right. 

“Hey mom, what's up?” This woman never calls you, unless there are three instances; she needs you to get her something of monetary worth, wishing you a happy birthday/any other significant holiday, or-

“Darling, there's something I need to talk to you about. A little birdie told me that you've been stepping out of line recently~” 

Ah yes. The third instance. The times when your actual fucking personality shows, even for a sliver of a moment, and how it  could potentially hurt your ‘relationship’ with Adam. 

“Mom, it's not that big of a deal. I just was feeling rough recently, and-”

“Well it doesn't matter what you feel does it? What matters is that you honour our family. Being married to Adam is what's best for you. You acting outwardly is seriously jeaprodising your relationship, and I am just trying to help you stop before it's too late,” Your maternal figure’s sing-song-like voice turns sharp in an instant, like it could cut through butter. 

“You were always a wild child, a disappointment, I am trying to help you-”

You interrupt. 

“How are you helping?! Belittling me, treating me as some sort of– some do Ill?! I have tried, given my whole entire fucking life, trying to please you in every way, but somehow, it's never enough! And when I do fuck up, suddenly I'm a failure in your eyes?!” 

Silence.

“You better mind your language young lady,”

“NO! I will NOT mind my FUCKING LANGUAGE. I will  swear when I want to, and I will do whatever I FUCKING WANT! I AM DONE WITH YOU AND YOU- YOUR WAY OF THINGS!” 

You press the end button, calmly. 

You storm up to your bedroom and closed the door. Calmly.

You look at the bookshelf, always so perfectly clean, scarce of dust. 

Perfectly clean, no imperfections. 

You let out a cry of irritation and just start throwing out books, ripping the pages of each, crumpling sheets of paper, sobbing hot angry tears while doing so. 

When that was done, you just bring the entire bookshelf down with a bang, and you stomp on it until you feel a sharp pain in your foot, surely that's a splinter right there. 

You stumble over into your bed and scream and cry in your pillow, amongst the mess.

You submerge yourself in your pillow even more, until your anger numbs away, leaving you with a throbbing pain in your head. 

Absolutely drained from your outburst, you drift off. 

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Everywhere is foggy. 

You look around, looking for anything of use, when your attention is turned to a glowing light, placed on a rusted pedestal. 

Since it's the only thing that piques interest, you touch the fluorescent ball and yelp when it scorches your hand.

“Ow,” you pull your hand away and decide to look for anything else. 

As you trek through the nothingness, you  feel like you're being tugged down by an anchor, or treading through quicksand. 

Suddenly, the ground gives way under your feet. 

You’re falling. 

The cold air whistles through your ears. 

You try to fly with your wings, but nothing; it feels like they have been ruthlessly ripped from your body.

You feel as though you're being stretched, squished and deformed like play dough, until you hear and feel something cracking. As you fall, you look towards the light. 

At the entrance of the hole, there are many, unidentifiable figures, just, staring at your downfall. 

You want to scream and cry for help, but it feels like your mouth has been cemented shut. 

A faint noise calls your name, which sounds closer and closer each time as you fall helplessly. 

You make a successful-ish attempt to turn on your stomach. 

In your horror, you see a halo, cracked and muted of its previous glow. Your halo.

Not that far below you, there are hot red coals. 

Oh God. 

The voice becomes louder and closer and you hit the ground with a scream. 

You jump up, to find yourself back in the dump that is your bedroom, slicked with sweat. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! Are you alright?” Emily, who was tentatively paving the way to get to your pathetic self. 

“Emi, hi… Yeah, just eh, rough day,” you smile weakly at the Seraphim, who’s concerned expression shows that she doesn't believe you, but she doesn’t want to put you under pressure.

“What’s all of this?” Emily motions to the wrecked room.  

“Adam pulled a tantrum again?” 

“Huh? Oh that, nono, sorry uhm,” you pause to clean the room as it was with the snap of your fingers.

“Why are you here Emi? Do you need something?” You wipe your eyes, but your bloodshot eyes are still apparent. 

“No, I just wanted to hang out with you, but I can come back if it's a bad time,” The Seraphim stumbles over her words as she looks up at you, slightly flushing.

“No, no you can stay. I’m just a little bit shaken up, but yep you can stay. Uhm….” you trail off. 

This place is feels really constraining

You need an escape. 

“Hey Emily, wanna go on an adventure?” You put on a face of newfound enthusiasm. The Seraphim just had that effect on people.

“Of course! But er, where?” 

“Shh, it's a surprise, now let's go!” You push Emily into the portal you made and go in yourself. 

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Woah, this is what it's like?” Emily says as she looks around the hellish landscape like a lost puppy.

She snaps out of it when you drag her out of the way of a thrown carcass headed towards the both of you. 

“Yeah, let's head inside,” You manoeuvre her into the hotel. 

The lobby is more populated than your last visits to the establishment, though all faces are familiar. 

“Emily, meet Angel, Husk Alastor, Charlie, who you know already, and-” Your voice dies down in your throat at the sight of the Demon King, with his strapping jacket and top hat. 

What is going on with you today? 

“And Lucifer,” You motion to the King, who gives you both an acknowledging nod. 

Your heart misses a beat. 

“Well uh, there's one more but I don't know where she is… WOAH NIFFTY!”

The little scamp runs towards the Seraphim with a knife about to stab her with malicious intent. 

“Niffty, no. No stabbing any more angels we talked about this,” Angel grabs the knife from the housemaid and throws it in the trash can. 

“Ugh, not a bad boy,” Nifty grumbles and begrudgingly rushes off to god knows where. 

“Well everyone, this is Emily, not sure if Charlie has told you about her but-”

“Is she your kid?” Angel asks. 

“I’m sorry, what? Oh no, no she is not my kid pff,” you say. 

“Huh,”

“Well as I was trying to say, Emily here is another person on our side,” You give Emi an encouraging squeeze of the shoulders. 

“Well this is quite the improvement. Salutations! Pleasure to meet you,” The radio demon greets himself, extending his hand to shake Emily's. 

She takes it, though cautious. 

She turns to Charlie and warms up to the amicable face. 

“Hi, Emily, er obviously you know who I am,” The princess of Hell welcomes her, as some of the other Hotel residents go off doing their own thing. 

“Oh yes. Y/N told me about you, obviously we've met before, but under less casual circumstances,” Emily scrambles for conversation. 

Obviously, they need a little push to loosen up with each other. 

“Charlie, maybe show Emily the garden? Or maybe the entire hotel for that matter. Emi here has been dying to have a look around,” 

“Oh yes! Let me show you some of the suites, I decorated them myself,” Filled with giddiness, Charlie beckons the Seraphim upstairs.  

Emily turns to you, unsure. 

“Go on, don't worry, I'll be waiting here!” You give her a persuasive smile and shoo the pair upstairs. 

Now you had some time to kill…

“Hey!” 

“Agh!” You jump at the voice of Lucifer. 

“Geez, am I that scary?” He laughs and puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Pff as if-” You snicker and give him a playful shove back.

“Anyway, how've you been? How's the old rusted machine been?”

“Are you always going to make digs and remarks at my husband in an attempt to get all three of his wives in your pants?” You raise an eyebrow sarcastically.

He sighs, feigning sorrow. “You know me too well. I thought it was the perfect plan, but clearly I'll have to tune it a bit,” The demon rattles on, but your brain fixates on the one word he said. 

Perfect. 

Something you try so, so hard to be, but apparently isn't enough for your mom. 

If your mom doesn't love you as you are. 

Well, what's to say anyone can? 

“Well, what do you say, Butter-Duck? You have to find a nickname for me, but I'll call you that regardless, hmm?”

His question brings you back to the conversation. 

Which, leads you to ugly, fat tears. 

Lucifer’s face contorts into panic. 

“Wait, I'm sorry, it's was a rubbish nickname, sorry I thought it was funny-” He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“No, no it's not that,” You rub your eyes, your voice croaky. 

“The reason is quite silly, really, it's fine, I'm just being stupid hahha,”

Lucifer is not convinced. 

“Listen, you helped me out the other day, and even though I'm not good at this comforting stuff, please, at least let me listen,” He gives you a weak, gorgeous smile, one that is enough to make you stop crying about. 

Okay, it's really becoming an issue of you being distracted by…

Him.

“Well, just an argument with my mom; basically just her saying how much of a disappointment I am and-” your voice creaks.

“And?”

“And I suddenly just don’t feel like her daughter,just a burden she has to put up with, and then what’s the point of all of this if you're not perfect,” 

And breathe. 

You put your face in your hands. 

“I’ll never find love,” 

“Hang on, but isn't Adam your husband? Don't you love him?” 

“No, I don't. It was a marriage purely organised by my parents. Completely transactional,” you mutter dejectedly. 

“Shit, that really sucks. Listen, I know it's hard to hear, but you need to hear it. Nobody is perfect. No one. That's what makes people interesting. And your mom wanting you to be that is far from perfect of her. Not sure if you're aware, but we're in Hell, right now, amongst many people who are basically morality rejects. But you, you're a Winner. Not in the physical sense, but also metaphorically. And for what it's worth…” Lucifer takes a moment to mull over his next words. 

“Many people love you, like Charlie and, that Seraphim, Emilia?”

“Emily” You amend. 

“Anyway, that's besides the point. The point is that you have many people that adore you, and that's what matters most,” Lucifer comes closer and stiffly puts his arms around you, which you return. 

“Thank you, Lucifer,” You sniffle into his shoulder. 

“No problem, anytime. You are my friend after all,” He gently smiles.

Your heart flutters. Friend? As in, person he considers more than an acquaintance? 

“So, what's this about a Butter-Duck?” You tease. 

“What? I thought it'd be a cool nickname for you,” He huffs. 

“Alright, alright… Let me think of a nickname for you then… Lulu!” 

He grimaces. “Ugh, that sounds like a name for a baby products brand!”

“Oddly specific, but if it annoys you more, all the better!” 

“Ugh, you're like worst than some sinners here I swear,” 

“Who said Angel’s can't be jokesters too?” You give him a wink. 

He coughs, a rosy red complexion appearing on his face.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Emily and Charlie come back into the lobby, to you and Lucifer making small talk on the couch. 

“Ready to go?”

 Emily nods. She goes to hugs Charlie, which is reciprocated. 

“Well, I’ll see you around?” You squeeze the demon’s king hand. 

He looks at you, and nods, hesitant to return the gesture, as if you were glass. 

“Yes, I will,” 

As you and Emily leave to make your way back to Heaven, you could've sworn you heard Lucifer whisper three words. 

“I love you,” 

You turn back with a questioning expression, but all that was on his face was nonchalance.

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 2,194~

Taglist:

@dionysusismypatrongod

@glowymxxn

@froggybich

[queerdeans]

"Season's Change" — a #Suptober24 ficlet

Day 1: Autumn

When Dean crawls his way to Lisa’s, his face and body healed from the fight with Lucifer but everything else still shattered, summer is already beginning to take root in Cicero, Indiana. The heat of the months that follow feels only right, as Dean’s mind is halfway in the world he’s found himself in, a suburban life, and halfway in Hell, where Sam is locked in a cage with Lucifer and Michael. The flames of it lick at him; the chains from his own time in Hell burn his skin, he swears he can feel it.

After the initial shock of his arrival wears off, Lisa takes some time to set down ground rules: it starts and ends with don’t do anything crazy, Dean. She doesn’t know all of the details of what he’s been through, just how close the world came to ending for her and Ben and everyone in their little suburb; doesn’t know that Dean’s been scraping by on blind hopes, deals with every kind of devil they make, and prayers to a falling angel for the past two years; doesn’t know that he has no idea how to do this picket-fence, apple-pie life.

But she does know the shapes of these things, the weight of them as he sinks into bed with her. She knows that he struggles to hold them; that at any moment they may topple over, and that they might hit her as they drop, or worse, they might hit Ben.

Dean knows it too. He tries to keep it together, he really does. At least, he does when he’s not sneaking into the garage to grab weapons out of the Impala, or gathering ingredients for the latest spell or ritual he’s found in a dark corner of a library or a page so deep in the internet’s web that he’s not sure he’d ever be able to find it again. You could call it a last ditch effort, but he left last ditch miles back, and now he’s in his own territory of hopelessness.

He’s normal. He is. When he’s not creeping out to a crossroads with the knife in his hand, ready to carve up whatever son of a bitch is brave enough to show its ugly face without giving him what he wants. When he’s not dropping to his knees at the bedside, as Lisa tucks in Ben in the next room, folding his hands in front of him, bowing his head, and trying to find words to say a prayer, one that would make sense, one that would reach Cas’s ears. One that might ask what he wants to ask: did you put me back together wrong, there in the cemetery? When you fixed me — what did you leave behind?

In early June, the morning after Dean’s summoned a demon and offered anything, any damn thing, in exchange for Sam’s escape from the cage, Lisa tells him that Ben’s been asking for burgers. And she’s got work, Ben’s at day camp, but Dean’s got the day free — or so she thinks, though his plan involves a follow-up with the crossroads bitch from the night before — so why doesn’t he go to the grocery, grab some chuck, throw it on the grill?

What ensues is a long, hot day of fighting with the fucking thing. First he goes to the store and argues with himself about the meat, which to choose; same with the buns, same with the fixings. Dean loves a burger, of course he does, but he’s never just made one from scratch. Never wandered into the local Kroger to grab ingredients so he can whip them up — where? Outside of the shittiest motel in every backwater town in America that’s got a monster problem?

When he gets back with the stuff, he opens up the grill to check it out, and sees that it’s in deep need of a clean. Even Dean can tell that. So he spends awhile scraping off the char, wiping down the grates, and while he’s out there in the backyard, he notices it needs a mow.

So he mows it. And then he notices the gutter’s loose on the end, so he gets up on the ladder and fixes that. While he’s up there, he decides to stomp around on the roof a bit, check for any weak spots or leaks like he knows what he’s doing. He tries, really tries, to be domestic. To be settled.

It’s not exactly the summoning ritual he’d intended, but well, he’d gotten nothing from the demon the night before, and if he doesn’t grill up some perfect hamburgers tonight, Lisa might throw him out. As much as he feels like a fly trapped in a box and trying to accept it as home, he knows this stability thing is good for him. It’s giving him a springboard from which to figure out his next move. And it’s not so bad; he likes Lisa, likes Ben, likes who he pretends to be when he’s with them.

When evening comes, Ben arrives in a howl of excitement, Lisa traipsing in the door behind him. Dean goes to fire up the grill, ready to make them both happy, because it’s easy and he can do it — better than stopping the damn apocalypse, yeah? — only there’s no gas. He curses, Lisa reprimands him lightly for doing so in front of Ben, and it’s back to the grocery store.

Despite all Dean’s best efforts, the burgers come out hard that night, and Ben calls them hockey pucks and throws his on the ground. The adjustment to living with someone new in the house has been difficult, and Lisa tries to tell Dean this, but well, he doesn’t have to hear it, does he? He feels for himself how difficult it’s been. He apologizes to Ben, then takes him to the Burger King down the road. When Ben dons the paper crown, Dean smiles and takes a picture with his phone.

That night he takes the Impala for a long drive, but he doesn’t go back to the crossroads. He can’t handle two failures in one day. He just fucking can’t.

The summer swelters on and on. His new life gets in the way of his grasps at the old one; he doesn’t have the time for the research, rituals, and other things he needs to try to help spring Sam out of the box. Ben goes to batting practice at the local Little League diamond on Mondays; he has swim lessons at the community pool on Tuesdays; Lisa teaches a late yoga class on Wednesdays so it becomes ‘Dean Night,’ which is synonymous with chicken nuggets for dinner and a movie Ben probably shouldn’t be allowed to watch but enjoys thoroughly; Thursdays the neighbors come over and they all talk about work, and kids, and things like the economy; Fridays, he learns, are good for date night, and he understands the groove of Lisa’s favorite restaurants within a few months; Saturdays and Sundays are variable, sometimes with birthday parties for Ben’s friends, sometimes with outings to museums or amusement parks, but always something to fill the days.

By July, Lisa’s gotten him a job. By August, he’s spent every spare moment, cashed out every credit card he has, and has nearly gotten himself killed a dozen times over trying to unlock the Lucifer box. By September, his exhaustion is palpable, and the grass is growing long again, and again, and again.

The change to autumn is the first full seasonal change he spends in one place since he was four in Kansas. He’s there to see the daily temperatures steadily, blessedly, drop. He helps pack Ben’s lunch for his first day of school and listens to a blow-by-blow account of the day when the school bus drops him off at home. He’s there when Lisa pulls out the autumnal decorations, the felt pumpkins that she places on the bookshelf, the spider web that she strings across the front porch railing, even the witch’s hat that she sets on the dining room table.

Dean tells her that witches don’t really wear those hats, but that they do love a disgusting little pile of bones. And she shoots back that she’s not going to put a pile of bones on the table.

He’s there, still, waiting for something to happen, waiting for a real shift to come, waiting to feel satisfied with this new life he’d wanted, when the trees in the backyard drop their leaves.

It’s a Saturday. Ben’s with his cousins for the weekend and Lisa has a yoga retreat. She leaves early, kissing him on the cheek as he lays in bed, tells him to have a good day, to do something with himself. And he tries to think of what to do: is there a book he hasn’t gotten his hands on yet, is there lore somewhere that he hasn’t heard of? Could he call up Bobby (again) and take the earful of idjits if only it would get him an answer? But no, there’s nothing left to try. Not even Bobby can figure this one out, and he’s told Dean several times now to stop trying.

So he lumbers out into the mid-morning chill, grabs the rake and doesn’t look at the Impala, which he’s now covered up, trying not to tempt himself. He takes the rake and a bag and heads out into the yard. Last time he talked to Bobby, he’d be told to sit down and be happy with his life, that it’s the best one a hunter can hope to get. But how can that be, when there’s a gaping hole in the middle of it? When everything gets pulled in and disappears? Cas is blowing in the wind, Sam’s in Hell, Bobby’s tired of Dean’s bitching — what can he do?

The yard is covered in leaves. He starts in the northwest corner and decides to work logically. It’s physical work, but not difficult. Dean’s gotten soft in the past couple of months and he knows it. He should get a gym membership, only he can’t really imagine himself in that kind of environment. Used to be, the adrenaline of the hunt would carry his aching, tired body for miles; used to be, he could take any kind of punch and get back up. Now, though, as he rakes the leaves into ever-bigger piles, he wonders if those last punches he took were enough to knock him down — permanently.

As he rakes and fills up bag after bag, stuffing the leaves inside of them until they’re full to bursting, his thoughts are drawn toward Cas. Cas, who disappeared without a trace. Cas, who’s probably busy fixing Heaven, and good for him, only Dean wants him to come back now, wants him to lay his hand on Dean’s shoulder and see if he can take another go at fixing him. Maybe he didn’t get deep enough at the cemetery; maybe he didn’t realize there was more to do, more to sew back up.

He doesn’t pause, just keeps working, even as these thoughts spill through his mind. Cas, who’s made it clear that his real life is in Heaven, that his choice is to live with the angels while Dean mucks it out with the humans down here. Cas, who went through hell with him, who had him gasping for air in his own damn coffin, who could come find Dean at any time he wanted but hasn’t yet. Cas, who’s celestial and big and important and probably, right now, is glad that Dean’s tucked away nice in his little suburban life; safe, quiet. Cas, who doesn’t have to clean up Dean’s messes anymore. Cas, who’s probably relieved.

Dean keeps working until each leaf has been raked into a pile, until each pile has been shoved into a bag and carried out to the front curb. He works until the cold is beginning to get to him, to tingle his fingers and toes. He works until he feels something akin to that moment, at the end of a hunt, when everything seems to be teetering on the top of some divide; when it could fall one way or the other, when everything could change for the better or for the worse.

He’s tired of having one foot in his old life and one in his new; it’s time to pick a damn side, for his own sanity — to put that ahead for once, yeah? Sam’s not breaking out anytime soon, not unless something changes, and when it does, Dean’ll be ready. But for now, the only thing that’s happening is he’s driving himself crazy and wearing out his welcome with Lisa and Ben. His new life.

Dean ties up the final bag, and glances back toward the tree line, just for a moment, not sure why he does it. For a second, there, he’d sworn he saw something. He gets the strange feeling in the back of his mind, the feeling that there’s something important that he’s supposed to do, only he doesn’t know what it is.

He carries the bag to the curb and tosses it next to the rest, then heads inside. He locks the door behind him and heads upstairs, to shed his clothes into the laundry basket, to shower with the full-sized shampoo and body wash that he bought at the store weeks ago, to towel off with his towel, to go downstairs and take out his dishes and make his lunch.

Upstairs, in the bathroom, he pauses to look out the window one last time, to see the yard from above. It’s clear, the grass visible but dying, the leaves gone. It looks good. He smiles a bit, because it’s all he can do, and then turns on the hot water.

[charaznablescanontoyota]

throwing you "cooler passione meets one of the oneshot guys"

she thinks the car is abandoned until it dawns on her that the music isn't just scene-setting for the crumbling, dimly-lit manor; someone is actually playing piano down the hall. aggressively playing piano, even. technically there's not a note out of place that shoka can hear, but it sounds like the person playing is slamming the keys, pounding every chord out like they're fighting the piano itself. she clocks it eventually, anachronistically - there's a place in the world for the angry young man - and follows the sound to its origin point.

shoka rounds the corner into a drawing room lit by half-spent candles and finds both piano - a baby grand - and pianist - a hunched figure who doesn't notice her come in. she lets herself feel optimistic for a fraction of a second at the sight of a red hoodie, but it's washed away just as quickly as she watches the odd, reflective way the light bounces off the other teenager's face.

"didn't know jason knew piano," she says, when he's finished.

"he doesn't," mj says.

"oh."

shoka considers warping out then and there, killing the conversation before it can get any worse, but doesn't. she's trying to be better, or whatever. and jason apparently talks to his denizen-double, so there's a non-zero chance they end up comparing notes about her and her progress at some point.

"where's the real girl you were with?" she asks instead.

"which one?" mj asks, then makes a face, waves off the question. "don't answer that. they both got their exits."

"congrats to them." shoka doesn't bother sounding anything close to genuinely congratulatory. "so, what, you're brooding because you did the one job you're supposed to do?"

"i would have described it as enjoying my alone time, before you showed up," mj says. it's not as bitter as shoka suspects he wants it to be; his whole heart's not in it like jason's would have been. "don't you have better places to be? denizens to kill, or something like that?"

she shifts from foot to foot, restless. "i don't do that anymore."

"wow. congrats to you." there's the bitterness she was missing. mj's eyes flick towards her, over her hoodie and the high-collared shirt underneath. "i'm sure that's really bringing your number down."

shoka bares her teeth in a sneer. "what would you know about numbers, anyway?"

she's not sure if she means it to hurt him and make him leave, or to force him into a familiar sort of back-and-forth of pressing on each others' pain points. neither of these things actually happen; mj stares coolly at her in the ensuing silence, hands still resting on the keys of the piano.

"so," he says, finally, "i know you're half the reason i'm out here and not in the chrome car still, but i don't think you get to talk to me like that."

he's eyeing her like a zookeeper in a cage with a wild animal; no fear, really, just caution. as if she needed more evidence that she's not talking to a one-to-one copy of jason todd. shoka feels rage bubble up in her chest and throat like bile, tries to swallow down the urge to lash out and instead think of something non-caustic to say.

an apology might be a start. instead, she blurts out, "the conductor wants to get rid of the mirror car."

"so?" mj asks.

"so - i don't fucking know, maybe you had an opinion about it."

"as long as i don't have to go back there, i don't care," he says, with a small shrug. "what the conductor does is none of my business. why is it any of yours?"

"she - it's complicated," shoka says. trish is her business, whether she likes it or not, and not just because they made cat scratch fever together. not just because she enjoys proximity to power, either. though who knows how much of that she'll be getting now.

"does it have to be complicated?"

"you're doing the denizen thing on me," she says, jabbing a finger at mj. "i'm not one of your projects. you're not helping me get an exit."

he lifts his hands in surrender. "i'm just asking. as a..." she can see him mentally throwing out the word friend, and fishing for a better one. he frowns. "concerned third party who probably owes you a blood debt."

"case in point," shoka says. "all my relationships are complicated. so, yeah, it has to be complicated."

"you ever thought about trying an uncomplicated relationship?" mj asks. he could be making fun of her, but there's a note of real curiosity in his voice that says otherwise.

shoka grits her teeth and thinks of crumbling rooftops in the ruined city, blood smeared across the floor of the caboose, carrie looking at her with watery, accusing eyes.

"they don't tend to work out," she says, and circles around to the other side of the baby grand, shoving her way onto the bench next to mj. "play me something else, piano man."

he huffs through his nose, an amused noise that is so distinctly jason it throws her for a second, and does as asked.

[tytarax]

Can you do a yandere platonic Zamasu with kid Goten. Where Zamasu saw Goten as pure of heart and worthy for his eutopia.

Where now Goten has to try and escape a prison and nightmare made by two monsters.

One who wears his father’s skin, while holds power of the demonic of demons.

Power is useless now, because they keep him weak in cruel ways. Death is no longer available, due to them cursing him with immortality. It’s even worse that he is stuck to look young forever.

Although it sounds impossible, it’s just really difficult. He’s the son of Goku, he will break out of this cage and spread his wings…

Right?

You don’t have to do this, but if you do. Can it be a chapter base story. Just asking

A Prison of Eternity

Zamasu’s vision of a perfect world was unwavering—free of mortals, tainted only by their greed, violence, and ignorance. And yet, among the filth, he found a single soul unspoiled: Goten.

The child possessed his father’s sunny disposition, his unwavering kindness, and a heart pure enough to move gods. It was almost offensive to Zamasu that Goten existed, given the legacy of his mortal parentage. But unlike his father, Goten could be redeemed, molded into something divine.

When Zamasu made his decision to preserve Goten, Goku Black had merely smirked. “A trophy of purity?” Black mused. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll show him the same mercy.”

And so began Goten’s descent into a nightmare.

---

Goten sat in the vast, empty halls of the divine realm, his once-vibrant eyes dulled by years of captivity. He hugged his knees, staring blankly at the crystalline walls that glowed faintly with an ethereal light. The beauty of his prison was a cruel mockery of his suffering.

He had tried everything to escape. Every ounce of his inherited Saiyan strength, every trick and technique his father and brother had taught him—it all amounted to nothing. Zamasu and Goku Black had ensured it.

Black kept him weak through constant, calculated torment. He never used enough force to kill—no, death was a mercy they’d stripped from him. With immortality cursed upon him, Goten endured every lash of Black’s sadistic power, every mocking word designed to break him.

“You’re nothing but a shadow of your father,” Black had sneered once, watching as Goten struggled to stand after another punishing strike. “But even shadows can be useful decorations.”

Zamasu’s cruelty was different. His was cold, detached, and disturbingly paternal. “This is for your own good, Goten,” he would say, his voice filled with an infuriating calm. “The world outside would destroy someone as pure as you. I am your salvation.”

“Salvation,” Goten whispered bitterly, the word tasting like ash on his tongue.

Days, months, years blurred together. His body remained frozen in its youthful form, but his mind aged in ways no child should endure.

“Dad,” he whispered to the empty room. “Gohan... Mom... I’ll get out of here. I’ll find you. I’ll—I’ll beat them.”

But even as he said it, his voice cracked. Could he still believe it?

A/N: Will write the next parts later

Ps: Found this today, Goku you fucking psycho

@ultimate-percussionist

[xyla-xoxo]

High Concept Roleplay or Fantasy or Something I'm Dying For:

This is going to be a kind of game, it takes place in a kind of indoor maze, something cool with blacklight and neon paint and every corner is filled with cameras, there is a live audience watching and waiting.

At the entrance to the maze there is a waiting area and a locked door on a timer that will open at the game start.

I want to wear a cute little piggy outfit, nothing extream just pink arm warmers and stockings, a twirly tailed plug, an eared head band and of course a cute little piggy nose. Importantly tied to my tail by a little ribbon is a key to a paddle lock.

A cage is brought out, inside is a girl who is bigger than me, she is adorned in, call it, predator trappings and accoutrements, think Lion or Tiger or Wolf. The cage door also has a timed lock. But the most significant thing is that pred girl's gock is huge, rigid and hard as steel, pulsing and pointing like a pulsing missile. It is now locked inside a special chastity device that allows her to be fully furiously erect with no discomfort (from the device) but even with her hands free she still cant relieve herself.

She's already an agressive top by disposition, but for the game she has been kept restrained in holding for an entire week, constantly shown porn of me every hour she is awake and the restraints have kept her from touching herself. She hasnt cum for a week and shes had all that sense of arousal and denial associated with me and my body now.

Tonight they gave her viagra.

She sees me and her gock spits and spurts as she rattles the walls of the cage trying to get free.

My job at this point in the game is to make things worse.

I say hi to her mention how scary she is, how frustrating her cages must be, how she could tear me apart if she was out but shes not. Then I show off, i bounce my tits, I flick my tongue at her, mime a blow job, a hand job and of course shake and wiggle and jiggle my ass at her just out of her reach, laughing at her rage as she tries to reach through the bars to fuck me. Screaming threats of how she going rape my holes, how she is going break me on her gock. All the time shaking the bars she cant get through as her gock continues to spurt and spit at me like an an angey snake.

The game actually begins,the first alarm goes off, the door to the maze opens and I flee for my life away from her, my clit dripping constantly the whole time.

My advantage is that I get a 15 minute head start. Supposedly if I can get out of the maze before she catches me I win, but its dizzying and complicated.

Then comes her advantage once I enter the maze proper I have to crawl on all fours.

No such rule binds her, once she exits the cage into the maze she can chase me down like a marathon runner. The only restraint remaining being her chastity device.

I'm no closer to finding the exit when the second alarm goes, I try to move quicker knowing shes coming, I'm getting wetter with fear and lust, but it's hard to crawl so far the ground, its exhausting and hurts my knees.

It doesnt take her long find me, like an actual hunter shes tracked me down by following the trail I've been leaking the whole time.

[soupdeewoop]

favorite lines from "THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT"

your wife waters flowers, i want to kill her

All my mornings are monday stuck in an endless february

but you're in self-sabotage mode, throwing spikes down the road

we're modern idiots

You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate

i scratch your head, you fall asleep, like a tattooed golden retriever

sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me, but you told lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave

'cause it fit too right, puzzle pieces in the dead of night, I shouldve known it was a matter of time

'cause i knew too much, there was danger in the heat of my touch, he saw forever so he smashed it up

did you really beam me up?, in a cloud of sparkling dust, just to do experiments on, tell me I was the chosen one, showed me that this world is bigger than us, then sent me back where I came from

now im down bad crying at the gym, everything comes out teenage petulance, "fuck it if I cant have him", "I might just die, it would make no difference"

how dare you think its romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

my spine split from carrying us up to the hill, wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill

thinking how much sad did you think I had, did you think I had in me? oh the tragedy

i stopped cpr, after all its no use

two graves, one gun, ill find someone

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? i died on the alter waiting for the proof

i just learned these people try and save you 'cause they hate you

id rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin', ill tell you something 'bout my good name, its mine along with all the disgrace, I don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empire's clothing

there's a lot of people in town that I bestow upon my fakest smiles

my friends tried, but i wouldn't hear it, watched me daily disappearing, for just one glimse of his smile

another summer, taking cover, rolling thunder, he doesnt understand me, splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter, he was with her in dreams

little did you know you home's really only a town youre just a guest in

florida, is one hell of a drug, florida, can I use you up?

little did you know your home's really only the town youll get arrested, so pack your life away just to wait out the shitstorm back in texas

i need to forget, so take me to florida, ive got some regrets, ill bury them in florida, tell me I'm despicable, say its unforgivable, at least the dolls are beautiful, fuck me up, florida

go on, fuck me up

this cage was once just fine, am i allowed to cry?

what if hes written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

these fatal fantasie given way to laboured breath taking all of me, weve already done in my head

what if the way you hold me is actually whats holy?

they dont know how youve haunted me so stunningly, i choose you and me, religiously

if you wanted me dead you shouldve just said

crash the party like a record crash as i scream, "whos afraid of little old me?", you should be

i wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me, you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

you caged me and then you called me crazy, i am what i am 'cause you trained me, so whos afraid of me?

they shake their heads saying, "god, help her" when i tell 'em hes my man

ill show you heaven if youll be an angel, all mine

whoa, maybe i cant

i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed

if you know it in one glimpse, its legendary, you and i go from one kiss to getting married

you shit-talked me under the table, talking rings and talking cradles, i wish i could unrecall, how we almost had it all

youre the loss of my life

the lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night, i can show you lies

'cause im a real tough kid, i can handle my shit, they said "babe, you gotta fake it till you make it" and i did

lights, camera, bitch, smile, even when you wanna die

im so depressed, i act like its my birthday everday

'cause im miserable (haha), and nobody even knows, try and come for my job

and i dont even want you back, i just want to know, if rusting my sparking summer was the goal

you didnt measure up in any measure of a man

in fifty years will all this be declassifed?, and ill say, "good riddance"

i wouldve died for youre sins, instead i just died inside

so when i touch down, call the amateurs and cut 'em from the team

'cause the sign on your heart said its still reserved for me, honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

he jokes that "its heroin, but this time with an E"

you look like clara bow

this town is fake but youre the real thing, breath of fresh ait through smoke rings

the crowd goes wild at her fingertip, half moon shine, a full eclipse

youre the new god were worshipping, promise to be dazzling

beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours demanding more

you look like taylor swift, in this light, were loving it, youve got edge, she never did, the futures bright, dazzling

[hackedmotionsensors]

Thank you to the people who stopped by my booth this weekend at LACC!! I know I was a little down yesterday but I think I was just tired lol as you are when you've been subjected to light torture that is the LA Convention center LED overhead lights lol me the whole weekend "There are FOUR lights"

Anyway everyone who stopped by was absolutely lovely. Every now and then at cons you'll get someone really nasty or rude or a weird table neighbor but everyone was super chill and it was great.

however lmao

The con ITSELF what a NIGHTMARE lol I mean I've been to worse TBF. And they did provide us with table cloth, trashcans, a helper badge and an extra chair (a minimal request but some cons don't provide that).

But they also didn't have any designated exhibitor parking (not that unusual) but at LACC its 30$ a DAY. Then when we go to set up....the tables were not set up like a normal con. Normally cons put tables right next to each other in one long row and then you have a long open isle behind the tables OR the tables will be fairly close to each other but with a walkway behind and space to slide through on the sides of the table.

lol.....they put a bar with a curtain about two feet high in between EACH table. These are normally at the end to keep random people from going down the isles behind the tables. We were basically caged in at each table. There was no space for even a regular sized person but yknow I gots a lot of stuff in my wagon yknow? lmao But also to set up I have two big suitcases and a photo stand. Luckily the guys who were behind me were comic guys so they just had their big banners and didn't show up until like an hour before the con. But it was SO INCONVENIENT. But also...if I had some physical disability I wouldn't have been able to get behind the table! Even if it was just....being very plus sized or a broken ankle. Let alone if you had a wheel chair or crutches yknow? Plus having a METAL BAR with a curtain on it in between EACH table is a MASSIVE FIRE HAZARD. And by fire hazard I mean if there was ANY sort of emergency. A gun attack (bc security was...a mess lol), an earthquake (ITS FUCKING LA!!!???? HELLO!?!?), ANYTHING that would cause people to need to flee in a fast and orderly fashion we wouldn't be able to fucking GET OUT!

And then randomly on the last day the bars behind a few of the tables in my area were just...gone lol And I definitely tweeted about it being a fire hazard but I have no idea if they saw.

ANYWAY. The security thing was ALSO a joke. Bc on Friday set up started at 8 and I got there maybe around 830? 9? and I'd been there the whole day. I ran downstairs some time in the afternoon before the show started and suddenly there's a guy at the bottom of the stairs saying I have to go through the metal detectors.

I was ALREADY in the building......what??? So then I go through the metal detectors. Bc of course but also??? if I had anything I would have already done it??? And .....I VISIBLY DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING!?!?!? I was only carrying my keys. I don't have a glock strapped to my back lmao hello??? And then on Saturday I get there around the same time before opening but just barely bc again I'm trying to park in south parking which is just underneath where my table is and they made me go outside through security again. I was like....fine I guess but I'm already annoyed. Bc I tried to just bypass it lol Bc its fucking stupid like I'm an exhibitor. But they were so poorly managed they had EVERYONE walking out the same door so the regular visitors had to go THROUGH the industry and exhibitor security check. And then I had to go back all the way around to the front main steps (if you've been to AX its the dealers hall steps where everyone is cosplaying) and back around down to H hall where artist alley was. And I had a bag with me. So instead of me giving my bag to the bag check guy or having a separate one for people without exhibitor stuff they just had me walk through the metal detector anyway like dude I have a fucking ita bag on me~!!!!!!!!! Half of this stuff is METAL!!! And the same thing happened on Sunday except THAT check was moved to the front doors and EVERYONE had to go there. LIKE!?!??!? WHATS GOING ON LMAO. SO I tried to hand my bag to the bag check guy. I'm like its got metal in it? They're like no no just walk through. AND OF COURSE IT GOES OFF BC I TOLD THEM!!!!!! IT WAS METAL!!!!

And also during set up....they put artist alley near the back near the backdoors where there was a "beer garden" and food trucks and honestly the over priced quesadilla I had was really good but still....my poor wallet... But during set up as it got later in the day THE WIND started pouring in and knocked over a ton of set ups INCLUDING MY OWN. All my charms went flying bc my POS photo stand (I'm throwing it in the TRASH) fell over and all my prints were sliding around on the slide rails so I basically had to re-set up my entire display. So...thanks for that LACC as well.

AND THEN. On the last day LACC decided to not provide access to a freight elevator for artist alley. I'm not sure if the other end of the exhibit hall had to deal with this but since artist alley was down in the H Hall side of it there was ONE regular sized people elevator. And EVERYONE was trying to use it. We had to PAY to use the freight elevator. And the escalators which would have solved a lot of peoples problems who used suitcases like me....they were turned off the ENTIRE WEEKEND. They weren't even broken. They were just OFF. I guess they didn't want to pay for normal ass access to the floor. So the line to use the elevator was stretched from near the main entrance of dealers hall all the way down and back into H hall. And a bunch of us were like fuck it lets take the stairs but these are HEAVY cases of merchandise, prints, suitcases, photostands. ANOTHER massive ADA violation bc if someone has to wait that long just to use the elevator or try using the fucking stairs? Or if someone fell and hurt themselves taking their merch down??? The second suitcase when we got towards the bottom my leg almost gave out. I'm not like......super fit or in shape but I'm pretty sturdy but after a LONG THREE days of doing a convention I'm tired and hungry and frankly weak. Absolutely fuckin ridiculous.

This con was so fucking disorganized and a mess to attend. Like also I admittedly paid late but they still didn't tell me my table number until a few days before the con and they didn't TELL ME. They made me download THE FUCKING APP to get the information. Because they didn't put any of it on their website. None of the maps or artists lists were online unless you were like Scottie Young or one of the Hobbits lol

Will I do it again??? MMMMaybe????? Its a local con so its not like its hard to DO but its such a mess in terms of organization and the sales just aren't super hot bc yknow...lol its a local con??? and to be fair I had mostly vtuber stuff and not like....comic con stuff. But I'm getting better at my table display. I still need to make changes to get it perfect and I have to turn around and make merch for AI:LA as soon as possible TTnTT

I'm so tired OTL

[ibims1seb]

A forever caged bird

The Sypher Trilogy

Tw: mentioned noncon, mentioned punishment, mentioned starving, a hell lot of threatening and fighting, mentioned past abuse, mentioned war, mentioned mass executions, mentioned multiple whumpers, invasion of personal space, blood, a bit of forced to watch (their birds, but intelligent, so I’ll just mention it to be safe), team whump, if there is more, let me know!

Here is the Infopost for Tye Sypher Trilogy and Here you will get to the Masterlist :)

Chapter 0 || prev (this is Chapter 2 for now because I haven’t convinced myself to write chapter 3 yet) || next

Chapter 4

If there was one thing Azriel hated more than Malvik, it would be- no, wait, scratch that, there was nothing in this utterly forsaken world he hated more than Malvik. If there was one thing he hated almost as much as Malvik, it would be Winterson. Sure, the man didn’t start any wars for the hell of it, neither was he a sadistic, arrogant, and corrupt psychopathic dictator that executes at least 27 men and women every month simply because he could, but still. As said, there was nothing he hated more than Malvik, but damn, Pascal wasn’t making it easy to like him!

“So what, one of my people attacked that asshole out of self-defence and you’re just gonna go ahead and punish all of them?!” To say the younger man was pissed was an absolute understatement. The General and he had come to the agreement that his men would do labour and help the troops from the Southern Provinces as best they could for as long as none of them got hurt or treated like less than living, breathing, sentient beings. Now this piece of shit scumbag wants to implement mass punishment for the very well-justified mistake of a single person.

“Why, that is exactly what I’m planning! You’re catching onto me, darlin’.” Azriel hated that stupid accent, and he hated that grin, and the glint of gleeful entertainment he got, not from knowing Soldiers would be hurt, but from knowing he could rile the Strongman’s ex-protégé up so well. Overs forgive him, he *hated* Winterson sometimes! Most times!

“This is ridiculous! I’d understand punishing the woman that punched the bastard, even though I’d still say he fucking deserved it, but no one else did anything wrong! You can’t hurt them simply because you… why are you even doing this?!” Granted, screaming at the man who allows you the very basics more generously than he might have to was not a very clever idea, but fuck it, the Captain felt comfortable doing it! Okay, no, he wasn’t comfortable with how Pascal’s grin faltered slightly into a tiny frown, or how he stepped closer to him so menacingly while showing off his height in all its inhuman glory.

“I’m doing this because I can and have to. We agreed that your… Soldiers were to respect me and my troops as their superiors, and you can’t punch your superiors.” The older stated it so calmly, that it made a chill creep up his spine. How could this man do this?! His Medic punched a lowly Private because he touched her extremely inappropriately, and Winterson was going to punish not only her but his enter commando?! He saw the black feathers of Dextra and Sinistra fluttering with concern as they felt their owner’s growing rage and… hopelessness, but he couldn’t care less right now. They weren’t important right now.

“Hey, if I punched Malvik, you’d give me a fucking medal, how is that different?! He is my superior, technically! The man tried to grope her, why can’t you see the bigger picture here? You can’t punish her for wanting to defend herself, and you can’t punish people who had nothing to do with it! This is completely illogical!” When he felt tiny talons sitting down on his shoulder, he finally glanced at the black-feathered bird, seeing the silent plead to stop this, but he just couldn’t! He shooed Dextra away carefully, before turning back to Winterson, which he greatly regretted almost immediately.

The golden brown eyes held no spark anymore, his ugly smile turned upside down into an even worse scowl and he stood just millimetres away from entering Azriel’s personal space in the worst possible way ever, looking there, over him, like a predator that had been denied food for too long. But a predator of that kind would be desperate, Pascal wasn’t desperate. He was… angry. Utterly frustrated that a Prisoner of War was not only demanding something but questioning and criticising his decisions as a General and leader.

“Are you done, Azzy?” Of course, not even in this situation, he’d care to use his actual name instead of that stupid nickname. “Because I’m getting bored of hearing you screech over something you have no say in. Food rations will get limited and if you continue with his ugly attitude of yours, I’m going to make it a month and not just a week, do you understand?”

Oh, how the Captain hated himself for flinching and backing away ever so slightly without making it too obvious. He knew that it wasn’t even Winterson’s fault or accomplishment, but the years of conditioning and trauma he still hadn’t recovered from after he left the Army of Peace and practically defected. “I-..” did he have something to say? Could he find a rebuttal to get the General to change his mind?

“I’m surprised you didn’t even get it yet, this isn’t about the woman, or your Soldiers, or that scumbag that thought he’d get away with touching a woman like that, this is about you. The Private has been punished and will be sent back to the main base of operations, and now it’s your time to be punished!”

There it was. That one step too close, right into Azriel’s precious personal space. He took a step back as well but was immediately mirrored by the other man until he was backed into not only a literal corner but a metaphorical one as well.

“Did you honestly think I would continue to allow you to treat my patience and good grace as something you deserve? You are a prisoner of war! You are the son, adoptive or not, of the man I and my men fight against! You deserve nothing! And yet, I have been so kind and gave you respect, food, water, accommodation, and dignity! And you still think you can push my boundaries and fight me?!”

A pathetic squeal, almost like a desperate cry for help sounded from his lips when Winterson stepped forward once more and grabbed his hair, yanking him closer. Their faces were close, way too close for a person with claustrophobia and social sensitivity. The General's hot breath burned on the shorter’s cold skin, his golden brown glare piercing through those wide, night sky blue eyes. He stood over him it’s his whole, 6-foot-7-inch might.

“You don’t deserve respect or mercy, yet I gave it to you. You should start feeling grateful every once in a while, or I might mistake you for the bratty traitor you truly are.” Dextra and Sinistra watched with all the horror their intelligent raven brains could muster as their foster father’s head was punched into the stone wall of the office in the heart of the underground military base with one strong, skull-crushing shove. It didn’t crush his skull, luckily, not like that would have done anything anyway, but damn, it still hurt.

Azriel just gave another pathetic whimper as Winterson finally let go of his hair, letting the 28-year-old sink to the floor, the back of his head bleeding concerningly, but neither cared. He knew the older didn’t like hurting him, or anyone for that matter. He was a respectable and honourable man, but he was also extremely ruthless, so no matter how much he disliked bashing the Captain’s head against the wall or forcing a group of 29 men, women, and people to almost starve, it was a means to an end for him. And hey, the end justifies the means, doesn’t it?

“Four days, half the ration. Should bullshit like this happen again, I’ll make it ten days. The more you fight me, to more your Soldiers will suffer. Now get out of my fucking face, your blood is ruining my office.”

It wasn’t his office. This was once Azriel’s place of work. Before he and his commando got overrun by Southern Provinces Soldiers after Malvik cut off their supply and communication lines simply because that sadistic mother fucker wanted to ‘drop dead weight’. He knew that the entire team on Base 162 was just a garbage bin for the Dictator’s most untrustworthy Soldiers and liabilities. And that included his unruly protégé and ‘son’.

With shaking legs, he got himself up, leaning against the wall, for apparently a bit too long, if the growl from Winterson’s throat and the slight twitch of his hand was anything to go off of. He flinched back once more, before hurrying into the cold labyrinth of grey concrete walls and floor and towards the med bay. Sinistra and Dextra followed loyally, trying to ignore the big, bleeding wound on the back of their Master’s head and the light sway of what was most likely a concussion.

He made it to the med bay. The people there didn’t even try asking what the hell happened, they knew better. Not like Azriel would answer. They stitched him up, brought him to a small, private monitoring room, and let him rest. Rest for what, he thought to himself while the world around him got dark. The mess of black feathers gently took their place on the pillow and the end of the bed, sleeping close by and watching over him. Rest to relive the nightmare once more.

—————

Technically speaking, this is not Chapter one, but it is the first chapter (other than Chapter 0) that I was willing to write. More will likely follow, I have a lot of time and boredom right now, but enjoy the treats I give you now, please ;)

Please son’t be shy to ask me about anything concerning my person, characters, stories or world building and have a pleasant day, thank you for reading this :3

Masterlist for all my writing

[thedreamydemon]

*** Hi, I’m Johnny Knoxville and this is the Dick Cage ***

You decide to try something new and kinky with Johnny.

(I’ve never posted a fic on tumblr. I’m an ao3 babe and I’m on mobile)

**********

You were holding the metal cage in your hand, showing it to Johnny. The cage was lightweight and shiny with a tiny lock on it. The cage was dick shaped. It was a cock cage.

Johnny sat next to you in your bed eying the cage. He had a slight blush on his face. You’d never seen him blush before. “So uh, you want me to me to put it on and then, uh- and then what?”

“Well,” you started. Introducing a new kink was always so awkward. “I was thinking we could do like a control thing. Like orgasm control. You wear the cage and I hold the key and…. yeah.”

“Ok,” Johnny adjusted his sunglasses, nervously. “For how long?”

You shifted and tilted your head. “I’m not sure. Maybe just a couple of days to start.”

Johnny shifted his sitting position, subconsciously mimicking you. “Alright.” He looked you in the eyes and you looked back. The eye contact was intimate and unwavering, a trust establishing connection.

Then you crawled on top of the man and he smiled up at you. He placed his manly hands on your thighs. He was so hot, and you loved his style. Right now he was wearing a tight t-shirt with the Budweiser logo on it, expressing his love for beer.

“Let me make you feel good one more time before we put the cage on,” you suggested and Johnny didn’t protest. He laid back lazily as you made your way down his fit body to his happy trail. You undid his belt and pants. He already had an erection that was pushing up into the crotch of his dickies. You freed it. Then you blew him.

……….

The dick cage idea came to you last week during one of Johnny and yours sexual escapades. He was fucking you in your bed doggy style. He gripped your hips tight with his long fingers. The pain as he pinched your flesh possessively felt so good. His glasses fell off his face and bounced off your back as he rutted into you from behind.

You were both a little drunk. Flirtatiously you smacked his ass and told him to grab you a towel so you could clean his cum off your own ass. “Yes, ma’am!” Johnny replied playfully.

When Johnny came back with a towel, you were laying on your stomach, naked. “Well,” you said. “Clean me up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said again and he hopped in bed with you. He wiped his cum off your ass obediently. “Y’know? I kinda like when you’re bossy like this.”

“Oh really?” You rolled over onto your side. You eyed Johnny suspiciously. “It gets you off?”

Johnny smiled, he had the prettiest fucking smile. “Kinda.”

……….

Night 1 after caging Johnny’s cock, you got a text from him. You were at your place, and you assumed he was at his.

You read the text. What r u doing?

You were just laying in bed. Nothing

Can I call?

Nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes Johnny would call when he was bored or drunk or horny, or some combination of the three. You answered the phone.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Johnny greeted. You would never admit it to him, but you melted every time he called you ‘sweetheart’ or ‘sweetie’.

“Whats up, Johnny?”

“Ohhhh, not a whole lot,” his voice was even buzzier over the phone.

“Same here,” you hummed in response. “You just calling to talk?”

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed. You wondered if he was in bed. Then after a pause “I’ll be honest, I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Its this damn dick cage!”

He was already feeling desperate, and he’d only endured the cage for a few hours. You wanted to giggle. “Oh, you don’t like it?”

“Well, it’s not that I don’t like it,” Johnny let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just, I’m so fucking horny and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Aww,” you laughed. “Have you tried humping a pillow?”

“No,” Johnny sounded frustrated. “I need you, baby. I need you to help me get off.”

He didn’t have to wear the cage long before he was pleading for sex like some high-school boy.

“Have you considered giving yourself a prostate orgasm?” You teased.

You swore you could hear Johnny’s annoyed smile. “C’mon, sweetheart. Can I come over?”

“No. I have to go to bed.” Truthfully, you had time for him to come over, but you wanted to make him wear the cage at least a little longer. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow?”

“Ok.”

“Goodnight.”

……….

You were waiting for Johnny to come over, and you were thinking about how you would torture him. You would make him beg for you to unlock him, and give him some kinky tasks to do to earn his cock’s freedom. You just had to come up with some tasks…

You thought about wearing the key on a necklace in classic femdom fashion, but Johnny would probably just rip it off and unlock himself then have his way with you. The idea was enticing, but you didn’t want him to get off so easy. So you put the key in your nightstand. You picked out a pair of girly panties and put them in the nightstand too. A little surprise for later you thought.

You were lounging on the living room couch when Johnny knocked at the door.

You let him in, and immediately Johnny embraced you. He was kissing you as he kicked the door behind him closed.

You pushed him off you. “Oh my, you’re so eager!” You mocked him with a sly grin.

“Oh baby,” Johnny whined and he put his hands on your waist, squeezing. He pushed his tongue into your mouth. He was moaning, loudly, as he made out with you. His hands roamed your body greedily.

Johnny forced you back into the couch, his lips never leaving yours. The two of you fell into the cushions. Johnny winced and adjusted his crotch in a feigned attempt to make his boner less painful. “So are you gonna let me outta this thing?”

You leaned back so you could see Johnny’s face in full. “Not yet. You want a beer?”

Johnny ran his hand down his face, wearing a disgruntled expression. You were going to make him wait, and he didn’t want to wait. “Yeah. Sure.”

You grabbed the whole case of beer out of the fridge and set it on the coffee table. If you only grabbed two, you’d be making a trip to the fridge every five minutes with the way you and Johnny drank.

The two of you drank a couple beers and watched some tv. Johnny was obviously antsy. He couldn’t focus on the tv and he kept shooting you glances. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was going to feel when you let his cock free. Johnny tried to touch you and kiss you a few times and you swatted him away.

After one more beer, you decided Johnny had waited long enough, “lets go to the bedroom.” You stood up and grabbed Johnny’s hand. You pulled him from the couch and he followed you to your bedroom like a puppy dog.

You flopped on the bed and Johnny stood at the end of it. Waiting. “Get naked.” You commanded.

Johnny was giddy, “yes, ma’am!” He shed his clothes in a hurry. The only things left on him were a pair of black crew socks and the silver dick cage. It looked uncomfortable.

But Johnny’s body looked so fine. He was lean and fit and tall. You loved his tattoos and his happy trail leading down to his very sore, pretty cock.

You were so sure Johnny thought you were going to unlock him. Poor guy. “Hang on,” you said as you leaned over and started rummaging through your nightstand. You wiggled your butt around flirtatiously.

“Damn, you got a sweet ass!” Johnny complimented. Of course his eyes were glued on you.

You finished your rummaging and sat your ass back on the bed. You held up the pair of silky (and quite skimpy) pink panties you put in the drawer earlier.

Johnny smirked. “I like those.”

“Really?” You held the tiny garment out with both hands, to show it off. “I think they’ll look good on you.”

Johnny’s head suddenly hanged in disappointment. He looked back up with a flat face and half lidded eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Completely serious.”

“Hand ‘em over,” Johnny sighed. He was always a good sport.

You tossed the panties at Johnny. He looked silly as his long legs stepped into them. He pulled them on and adjusted the girly underwear the best he could.

Your hand flew up to your mouth to stifle your laugh. The panties would actually fit him nicely if it weren’t for the metal contraption poking out of the top and sides.

You swirled your finger in the air, “turn around.”

Johnny put his arms up and did a 360.

“Oh my god,” you gawked. “Your butt looks so cute in those!” The cloth barely covered half of his tight, little butt.

“Thank you,” Johnny made a cheeky kissy face. “What do I gotta do next?”

“Come here,” you patted the mattress.

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Johnny sat next to you in the bed. His legs stretched out. He really wanted to touch you, but he resisted. He’d play your little game for now.

You pulled your vibrator from your nightstand, your handy little drawer of kinky tools. “So you don’t think you can cum with the cage on?”

“I had a heck of a time trying last night.” Johnny admitted. Johnny had tried rubbing himself through the cage for some time, but he just couldn’t get enough stimulation to finish the job.

“Hmmmm.” You clicked your vibrator on and the familiar buzz started. “This works pretty good for me. Wanna see?”

Johnny looked at you like you were crazy for asking. “Uh… definitely.”

You pulled your pants off. You were already a little wet. Johnny watched vigilantly as you pressed the vibrator to your clit. “Mmm.” You cooed. “That feels so nice.”

Johnny scooted himself in front of you so he could get a better view.

“So,” you hummed and let out a showy little moan. “Did you try humping a pillow like I suggested?”

Johnny’s eyes didn’t move from between your legs. “No.” Johnny licked his lips. “None of my pillows were sexy enough.”

He turned his head toward one of the big plushies on your bed. “She looks pretty cute though.” He grabbed the pink dolphin plush roughly.

“She is cute,” you giggled as you continued stroking yourself with the vibrator. You could already feel yourself getting close to the edge.

Johnny started rubbing the stuffed animal against his crotch. “Yeah. She’s real cute.” He purred. Then he stared you in the eyes and he started humping up into the plush as he pressed her down.

“Hey!” You feigned offense. “What are you doing to her? She’s a virgin.”

“Oh she is?” Johnny grinned suggestively. He changed positions so that he was on top and he started grinding your pink dolphin into the mattress.

“You’re a pervert!” You scolded Johnny. But you liked the show he was putting on.

“Fuck.” Johnny growled he pressed into the plush hard and gyrated into her thoroughly. “I think she likes it.”

You just moaned and watched Johnny. You watched the muscles in his arms contort with his actions. You watched his pantie covered ass flex up and down. He looked so naughty and so hot in all the wrong ways as he fucked your stuffed animal. You kind of wanted to be her.

Johnny moaned a little too. He bit his lip. He did seem to be feeling genuine pleasure.

And god. Your vibrator worked so well. You were on the edge. “Johnny, I’m cumming.”

Johnny turned his head to watch you come undone. He was still humping the plush as your eyes squeezed shut and you reached orgasm. You felt dirty making yourself cum in front of this man. Your pussy contracted and you wished Johnny’s dick was in you. You caught your breath as you came down.

“Jesus Christ,” sweat formed on Johnny’s forehead. “Sweetheart, let me clean that pretty pussy up.”

“Ok.” You smiled sweetly with lazy eyes. “Lay on your back.”

Johnny did as commanded without hesitation. He threw the plush to the side and you caught it. “Nu-uh.” You said as you mounted Johnny’s face, vibrator still in hand. You sat on him so that you could see his body. “I want you to cum on her.”

Johnny groaned as you set your pussy on his mouth. He started licking with vigor immediately. He was being very thorough, his tongue ran through every crevice, cleaning up every drop of your girl cum. However, the more he licked, the more there was to clean.

You forced the pink plush onto Johnny’s crotch. He gripped it and was humping into her again. You tirned the vibrator back on and ran it down Johnny’s body, starting at his chest, down his belly, causing him to wiggle and moan under you. Finally, the buzzing wand reached the sweet spot.

You ran the vibrator along the side of Johnny’s cage. He liked this a lot. His body shivered and he let out a shuddering sigh of satisfaction. His hips bucked up aggressively.

And holy fuck you were about to cum again. “Johnny, you can’t cum yet. You have to make me cum first.”

Johnny nodded his head. His tongue zoned in on your clit and within minutes you were cumming on his handsome face. His nose was teasing your entrance as you grinded into him.

You dismounted and sat on your knees at Johnny’s side. You were still vibing his cage and he was still humping your plush. He looked kind of pathetic.

“So do you think you can cum like this?” You pondered.

“Yeah,” Johnny breathed. He was rubbing himself and humping erratically. He’d lost any sort of rhythm he had before. “I’m close.”

You turned the vibrator off. “You are?”

Johnny smiled. Not a happy smile, an irritated one.

“Tell me you’re my good boy.” You teased.

“Please,” Johnny’s eyes were closed. He couldn’t look at you, he felt shameful but some perverted side of him liked it. “I’m you’re good boy.”

“Aww,” you cooed and you turned the vibrator back on. You stroked the cage up and down.

“Holy fuck,” Johnny huffed. “Don’t stop.”

And of course, you turned the vibrator back off.

Johnny groaned. “Evil bitch,” he muttered.

Johnny had never called you a bitch before. But in this context, it made you feel kind of powerful. You didn’t know Johnny could get so sexually frustrated. “What did you call me?”

Johnny whined like a dog. “Please,” still humping the plush. “I’m sorry. Just let me cum, please.”

You wouldn’t be too evil. You turned the vibrator back on. “Since you asked so nicely. But this cage isn’t coming off anytime soon after that mishap.”

Johnny whined again. He threw his head back and pushed his hips up. His body shook and his chest turned red as cum spilled from his cock. Most of the liquid made it through the bars of his dick cage and onto the pink dolphin plush.

“What a good boy,” you cooed.

You watched Johnny lay there with his eyes closed. His body was limp, and his chest was heaving. “How long are you gonna make me wear this thing?”

“I don’t know yet.”