#getting out of a writers block

[writingwarden]

Sooooo, Hozier's new album huh?

[nanaslutt]

insatiable

ʚ synopsis: Choso accidentally discovers that you can squirt and he’s determined to make you do it over and over again

ʚ cont: fem reader, rough sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, mating press, dirty talk, he talks you though it, inexperienced choso, unprotected sex, cumming inside

ʚ note: another brilliant ask from 🌱 anon <3

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

The position he currently has you folded in is one that has you seeing stars behind your eyes. Your legs are folded against your body while Choso drops the weight of the bottom half of his body down onto your pelvis with each thrust, making his cock assault your sweet spot deep inside you to no end. It felt like your organs had molded to make room for Choso's cock.

His hard pelvis crushed yours each time he thrust into you, his hot skin smashing against your clit, making your walls spasm and squeeze around him ruthlessly. "God, you're so tight-" Choso gritted through his teeth, his hot breath tickling your neck as he whined and groaned against your skin. Each time he bullied his cock into your walls, you felt something coil itself tighter and tighter in your stomach.

It felt deeper and more intense than your usual orgasms, but you were being fucked with such force that you were unable to utter any words, only able to squeeze your arms tightly around your boyfriend's neck and cry choppy moans as he humped into you ruthlessly. "O-oh shit-" Choso's eyes twitched and his eyebrows furrowed as your jaw fell open, mouth forming a big O shape as the ball of tightness in your pelvis burst.

Choso placed his hands on the undersides of your knees and pushed his body up, allowing him to look at the mess you were making on his cock. His eyes opened in shock, his hips not even slowing a bit as he fucked streams of a white liquid out of your cunt. The feeling of you gushing out around him made him bite his lip between his teeth, his balls throbbing as he watched you have an orgasm like you never have before.

You gasped and breathed heavily as you struggled to come down from such an intense high. You placed your hands over your face, mortified and aware of what you just did. Choso paused his hips, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt throbbing around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm as he struggled to comprehend what just happened. You'd never cum like that before.

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Choso's face, sliding down his bare neck. His eyes were wide as he stared at your ruined cunt, a little swollen on the outside the force of his thrusts. His abdomen and balls were coated in your cum from when you squirted all over him, the liquid dripping down onto the mattress and joining the wet mess under your bodies.

"What… what was that?" Choso asked, slightly out of breath from how rough he was going. He kept you folded in that intense position, just using your cunt to cockwarm him as he waited for you to respond. Choso stared at your cunt for a few beats longer, and when you didn't respond he dragged his eyes up your body to find your face, which was covered by your hands. "Hey," Choso spoke, releasing the hold he had on one of your thighs, letting it fall over his own as he grabbed your wrist, trying to pull your hand away from your face.

"Baby, what was that? It was so hot, can- can you do it again?" Choso asked, replaying the moment you squirted on him over and over again in your head. You dropped your hands from your face and grabbed his wrist, averting eye contact. You felt your face burn with embarrassment at the thought of explaining what squirting was to him. It wasn't his fault he had little experience in bed and had never watched porn before.

"I just came… that's all." You tried to lie, not wanting to face the mortification of the conversation. Choso cocked his head to the side and looked down between your legs again. The wet spot underneath you had grown as your liquids had seeped into the sheets, making your mess look even worse. "I've never seen you cum like that," Choso responded, a bit skeptical. He felt his cock throb inside you, he wanted to make you do that again, he needed to.

"Fuck Cho…" You cursed, your face scrunching in discomfort. Choso wrapped his arms around one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder, keeping your appendage snug against his body. His cock jolted inside you as he pressed himself deeper, making sure the two of you were as close as possible. "Then, you can do it again right?" You reached out and placed your hands on his lower hips, resting them there.

You shook your head in embarrassment, not wanting to squirt again. "Why not?" Choso asked, almost sounding like he was pouting. "Cho, I squirted, that's what that was." Even after your explanation, Choso still had no idea what that meant, but he did know that both he and his dick liked the sound of it. "That's only happened one other time… when I was touching myself. It's so messy and embarrassing." You explained.

Choso's eyebrows furrowed together, he didn't understand why you thought it was embarrassing. You sure looked like you were feeling good when it happened, so why was it so bad? And the mess? Choso was never one to care about something like that, especially in bed. He fucked sloppily and came buckets all over you every time you had sex.

There was another thought Choso was having though. He was irritated that you had squirted without him, and hadn't told him you had done or could do such an amazing thing. "Well, I think it's hot. I wanna see you do it again please." Choso said, not giving you any time to respond before he pulled his hips back and fucked half of his cock back inside you.

Your nails dug into his hips at the unexpected stimulation. The man above you started at a quick and fast pace, the same one as before. "W-wait Choso-" You tried to cry but your moans fell on deaf ears as Choso's arms wrapped tighter around your leg, keeping you sturdy and close in proximity as he abused your cunt with his cock. You threw your head back against the pillows in pleasure, already feeling something start to well up inside you again.

Choso turned his head against your leg and opened his mouth to press sloppy kisses and lickes on your skin. His eyes were shut tight, eyebrows furrowed together as he molded your pussy to shape his cock. "A-ahhh-" Choso groaned in pleasure against your leg, biting the flesh there before pulling away and cracking his eyes open, looking down at your disheveled form.

"H-how, how do I make you squirt again? Will this help?" Without warning, Choso used one of his hands to rub quick, sloppy circles against your clit with his thumb, his other fingers and palm spread out on your thigh. "God wait- Choso not there-" You gasped, shaking your head back and forth against the pillow, gritting your teeth together.

Choso's choked moans could be heard in his throat, his ragged breathing making you feel dizzy from how hot he sounded. "Y-you're getting tight again, are you gonna squirt?" Choso asked, leaning forward over your body. He placed his hand next to your head to stabilize himself as he continued fucking into you, his thumb ruthlessly rubbing back and forth against your sensitive clit.

"Choso f-fuck, c-choso-" You could do nothing but cry and whine his name as he fucked you in that deep angle again, your one leg folding over his shoulder and dangling weakly by his head, your body limp from all the pleasure he was giving you. "Please squirt again, I wanna see it, I need it." He begged, adjusting his hips against yours so his cock was drilling impossibly deeper inside you.

"Don't be embarrassed i-its, okay, I got you, please just cum." Choso's words were doing wonders on your body. The same feeling of that tight, deep ball was forming inside your pelvis, reading to be released all over Choso and his cock once more. Your eyes could barely stay open as your body took in all the pleasure your eager boyfriend was forcing on you.

"Oh god- oh god-" You winced when you felt it ready to release, you bit down hard on your teeth, your lips parted to show your strained expression, your body going rigid against him all the while Choso kept fucking into you, working you right up to your breaking point. "Yeah, y-yeah yeah-" Choso groaned along with you, fighting the urge to not blow his load before you came.

His eyes were glued to where the two of you were connected as he waited to see that liquid gush from your cunt again. His jaw fell open in a silent scream when your cunt constricted tighter than the first time and that same liquid from before squirted out from around his dick. "Goddd- yesyesyes-" Choso groaned from between his teeth, shaking his head back in forth in disbelief as you squirted all over him.

Not long after you came, Choso followed your lead. His hips stuttered and paused against your cunt, pushing his cock as deep inside you as possible as his balls throbbed and he released load after load of his cum inside you. You shook and spasmed against him, feeling your insides grow warmer as he filled you up with his seed. Your leg slipped off of his shoulder, allowing him to collapse fully against your body as the both of you shook in the aftershocks.

You wrapped your arms around Choso's neck and whined when he weakly thrust his cock in and out of you, using your cunt to milk his balls dry. You were just starting to catch your breath before you heard Choso mumble something against your neck quietly. "Huh?" You managed to force out, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion when Choso pushed himself off your body and placed his hands on either side of your body, looking down at you.

His hair was disheveled, his face all the way down to his chest bright red, and his chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. "Again." He said, louder this time. Your eyes widened in shock, surely he couldn't be serious, your body felt like jello, you didn't know if you had anything left inside you to give. "N-need you to do that again, just one more time." You swallowed harshly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for Choso's unsatiable cock to drill you all over again.

You felt him twitch inside you, already back to life even though it felt like he had released all he could give you from his balls. You winced and whined when Choso slowly pulled his cock out before pushing it back inside you, relishing in the warmth and gumminess of your now cum soaked walls.

The mess on the bed underneath you was not twice the size, and it was about to get worse when you felt Choso's cum force itself out from around his cock and drip down your ass, joining the mess. Choso found your eyes with his and waited for you to say something as he continued slowly pushing himself in and out of you "One more time." You whispered, holding your finger up in front of you, trying to look stern, but failing. A satisfied grin spread across Choso's features. "One more time." He repeated.

[starmocha]

Hide-and-Seek [Sylus + Daughter ★ 1247 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Sylus shows his daughter a fun trick. A/N: Hi, hi, I’m going to try to work on the LNDS men + their kids series again. (the plushie trend going around is giving me baby fever again :’))

“…Daddy…Daddy…”

Sylus groaned softly as he woke up, hearing a tiny voice just outside his bedroom calling for him. He blinked his bleary eyes, looking at the clock. It was almost nine in the morning, but for the Onychinus leader who followed a nocturnal schedule, that meant that he had not slept for too long. He could hear the voice outside his bedroom door getting louder, hearing a little girl crying, and he instantly recognized who it was. He immediately bolted up and gotten out of bed, racing to the door in a flash.

He opened the door, his eyes softened as he saw his little girl sitting there holding tightly a Grumpy Crow plushie and wiping her eyes as she cried softly, “…Daddy…Daddy…”

He immediately scooped her into his arms, smiling softly as she buried her face into his neck, crying harder as she clung to him. He rubbed her small back and shushed her gently. “Baby, why are you sitting there crying? What happened?”

The little toddler sniffled. “I can’t find Lukey…and Kier-Kier…”

Sylus raised his brow in confusion. “What do you mean? Are they not watching you?”

Sylus closed his bedroom door and walked over to his bed, sitting down and setting his daughter on his lap. He wiped at her eyes and shushed her softly again. “What do you mean you can’t find Luke and Kieran?”

The girl continued to sniffle, wiping at her runny nose furiously. She hugged her plushie tighter. “We’re playing hide-and-seek…”

Sylus immediately understood.

“I can’t find Lukey and Kier-Kier…and…I got scared…”

“Oh, baby.” Sylus immediately held his daughter closer to him. “Do you want Daddy to help you find them?”

The girl looked at her father confused. She sniffed.

Sylus smirked. “Daddy has a fun trick. Do you want to try it?”

Forgetting her tears, the girl nodded excitedly.

“Alright, hold onto me tightly now, my little birdie.”

Dropping the crow plushie, the girl wrapped her little arms tightly around her father’s neck again, and then within a flash, Sylus used his Evol, disappearing from the room, leaving behind only a faint mist of energy.

In the next instance, he reappeared in the hallway, his daughter’s giggles resounding loudly down the long, empty corridors. He shifted her in his arms and they both looked around. “Not here,” Sylus mumbled thoughtfully, hearing his daughter echoed his words. He smiled and tickled her, hearing her delightful laughter again. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He just wanted to greedily pocket all of her laughter and smiles for himself.

He kissed her forehead. “Alright, where should we try next, baby?”

The girl hummed thoughtfully. “Kitchen?”

Sylus nodded. “Alright, kitchen it is,” he said, and they both vanished in another mist.

A moment later, the father-daughter duo reappeared in the kitchen. Sylus could faintly hear an unfamiliar noise nearby. He motioned for his daughter to be silent and she obediently covered her mouth with her two little hands. Sylus had to refrain from laughing at her adorable behavior. He whispered softly so only she could hear him, “Let’s try the pantry, baby.”

The girl nodded and clung to her father as they teleported from the kitchen to inside the pantry. A moment later, Luke let out a scream.

“That’s not fair, Little Miss!”

The girl giggled. “Lukey!” She held her arms out for the younger man and Sylus let her jumped over to Luke’s arms.

“Jeez, I didn’t think you would join in on the fun, Boss.”

“I didn’t think you two would let my daughter cry alone in the hallway.”

Even though Luke was wearing his mask, his demeanor changed the moment he heard Sylus’ words. He looked down at the little girl in his arms and apologized to her. “I’m sorry, Little Miss, were you scared?”

“A little…”

“Kieran and I will do better next time,” he promised. He smiled when the girl wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled closer.

“Ah—Lukey, cookie!”

The two men watched the girl, confused. They followed her hand motion and looked at the shelf behind Luke to see a jar of white and pink-frosted animal-shaped cookies with little pastel-colored nonpareils sprinkles.

“Boss?”

Sylus crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, amused when his daughter turned and gave him her large, pleading puppy dog eyes. “Alright, just a few,” he said as he walked over and grabbed the jar on the shelf. He opened the jar and held it out to his daughter, watching with a smile as she happily and greedily grabbed as many as her little hands could hold. He lowered his voice and kissed her forehead as he spoke, “We won’t tell Mommy.”

He laughed when she held out a tiger-shaped cookie for him. He opened his mouth and let her feed him the cookie. It tasted sweeter than normal, Sylus thought, smiling as his daughter turned and held up a giraffe-shaped cookie for Luke, pushing up his mask enough to feed him.

“Well, thank you, Little Miss,” Luke responded, chewing his cookie.

“This one is for Kier-Kier,” the girl said, holding up an elephant-shaped cookie. She looked at her father with a pout, “Daddy…can we go look for Kier-Kier?”

“Of course, baby,” Sylus said as he took her back from Luke.

“Try the foyer,” Luke suggested, and Sylus nodded before disappearing once more.

In the next instance, Kieran’s scream could also be heard within the base.

“B-Boss?! Little Miss?”

“Kier-Kier!”

Kieran instantly caught the little girl that jumped over to him. He appeared surprised when he saw her holding something in her hand to him. “What’s this, Little Miss?”

“Cookie!”

Kieran seemed to smile under his mask as he took the cookie from the little girl. “For me? Little Miss is the sweetest,” he said as he lifted his own mask enough to eat the offered confection. “Yummy.”

“Alright, baby,” Sylus said, walking over and patting his daughter’s head, “It looks like you won this game of hide-and-seek.”

The girl giggled, looking shy. “Daddy helped…”

“Little Miss knows how to use her resources,” Kieran quipped.

“Smart little birdie,” Luke’s voice joined in as he walked into the foyer, clapping in approval.

The girl seemed to blush from embarrassment at hearing all of these proud praises. Suddenly, everyone heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching from outside. Sylus smirked as he reached over for his daughter again.

“Oh? Is that Mommy?”

The girl nodded excitedly, recognizing the sound of her mother’s motorcycle. “Mommy’s home!”

“She’s very early today,” Sylus quipped. He whispered to his daughter mischievously, “We should go greet her.”

The girl clung tightly to her father again, her own mischievous smile identical to his as they disappeared from the foyer.

A moment later, a third scream was heard at Onychinus base that morning.

“Sylus!”

With a laugh and as dark feathers drifted all around, Sylus gathered the two most precious girls in his life into his arms, mumbling softly into his wife’s ear, “Welcome home, sweetie.”

“Welcome home, Mommy,” the little girl piped up, mimicking her father’s tone. She snuggled in her parents’ embrace before pulling out a cookie to Sylus’ uneasiness.

“Lion for Mommy!”

“Baby, where did you—Sylus, it’s only ten in the morning!”

“Come on, baby, let’s leave. Mommy is baring her fangs at Daddy.”

With that, Sylus disappeared again in another mist, leaving his wife yelling after him in the courtyard as their daughter giggled and snuggled closer to him.

[jethrowest]

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

[wandasfavv]

Inexperienced!Wanda Headcanons

Stuff after Keep It Steady !!

Soft/fluffy:

- Sometimes Wanda asks you to help the boys with their math homework instead herself after she’s looked over it, stumped and with a cute look of frustration from not understanding the “newer generation’s” way of doing it.

- Wanda insists to pack you lunch in spite of polite rejections you give her and just shoves it in your bag without you looking before you leave and find it when you’re already back at your own home the day before you have work.

- After some time and more messages between you two, she gets in the habit of using emoticons and sayings that you use that wouldn’t fit her usual old lady persona.

- When Wanda misses you on nights you’re not saying over, she has to hug a pillow instead while bothering and trying to call you only to hear your voice as she doesn’t have much to say other than repeating how much she wants you with her.

- She’s obsessed with kissing your neck anywhere you two are, and it’s her favorite spot because she gets to have better smell of your perfume or scent.

- She’d randomly grab your hand in a gentle motion and put it in her lap to hold and slightly mess with whenever you’re sitting beside each other.

NSFW:

- After getting into a relationship, you two got deeper into figuring out sex and other kinks that both of you are too shy to tell each other about.

- Wanda realizes through the stuff she looked up that she is interested in a lot, especially in having a mommy kink that she’s also way too nervous to mention. (Seen more in part 2 soon)

- But she would fantasize about it so often that sometimes the first part of the word would slip out until she covers it up with a muffled moan.

- It’s hard for her to control herself and trying to be gentle due to too much worry over hurting you in any way.

- Although, she happens to also get really turned on whenever you slightly tear up or make any sounds of pain when she “unintentionally” gets rough and leaves sooo many marks.

- Wanda loves to overstimulate you and make you cum for more than you can remember. And it’s a plus to see the aftermath when you’re clingier and more dependent on her caring for you.

- She’s considered more of a dom at times when the moments are initiated by her, but whenever you initiate, she goes under being a bit submissive and does anything she can to make you feel good.

- Always praises you the entire time like -> “Uh-huh there you go baby.. you sound so pretty for me when you take it.” And “Shh sh, I got you. Just a little more, you can do it. You always do so well for m- mm fuck… you’re so fucking good for me.”

[nhoirr]

It was the year of spring when you got the most lamest confession you've ever heard.

all from a man you'd never expect—nobody ever did expect that GOJO SATORU had the time and capacity to fall in love.

what a surprise, because he was too.

"go out with me," he states more than questioning.

like a giddy normal teenager that was not the most handsome man in the world—the, gojo satoru asked you out.

infront of everyone; without shame, oh but full of smugness that makes you want to reject him just to see his pride fall.

but perhaps the from shocking event did the thought not come to you that day, not when the pressure was all time high.

"This.." you start and the crowd quivers in their boots, boys and girls alike already demanding their victory from the bet, "this is what you greet me with after ignoring me for weeks, satoru?" the said man stiffens with his posture, and as if the bouquet of flowers he held felt the shift of the atmosphere—it dramatically wilted.

"oh, c'mon that was just—" he knew reasoning was futile when he gulps the words down his throat again, catching the way you glare.

and you spin your heel around. guessing with how he hangs his head low, you think he's discouraged enough to let it go and take the rejection.

but the man you knew was always so annoying, so stubborn.

you hear a call of your name but you don't snap your head like your-all-time-secret-is-out kind of surprise, but it's because the dumbest man spoke the dumbest words you've ever heard.

"I, the heir of the gojo clan, am insanely inlove with you!"

the crowd goes eerily silent, like time was frozen but not in a romantic way. It was embarrassingly awkward that you could hear the sound of a pin drop.

"what?" you spat out in disbelief, not comprehending his words and he takes it as another sign to repeat himself to you.

"I lik—" you stop him from talking by slapping a hand to his mouth, glowing eyes shimmering with the brightest smile known to man, "yes yes, don't repeat yourself!" you exclaim almost immediately.

your breath hitches in your throat the moment you feel his hand grasp your wrist, the one that covered his mouth and he points a finger to speak, muffled by your hand, "dso yu asekpt?" you could faintly make out the words he said—do you accept?

it syncs with the voice echoing at the back of your head ever since he confessed.

and yet, the answer always remained the same.

so you drop your hand from his mouth, catching the way his eyes follow your every move—perhaps enough to notice the hesitation, and he worries for the words you'll speak with such an expression.

quickly he starts before you speak, "Its fi—"

"I like you," he gets cut off, jaw slacked and unmoving in shock.

he blinks once or twice, but the crowd reacts before he can, waking him enough to respond back.

with a lopsided grin and dusted cheeks, he speaks again too—he thinks could be lost to the noise of the crowd, but with how close you were, he thinks you'll be able to hear even a whisper.

"I like you too."

©nhoirr — DO NOT COPY NOR PLAGIARIZE MY WORKS!

thanks for tuning in for another episodic brain riot of mine that goes no where!

want more? check out navigation for latest posts. <33 (shameless self-plug because.)

[happy74827]

I have to stop going to the movies because my obsession of fictional hot men just keeps growing…

That being said, who wants some Colt Seavers and Tom Ryder fics? 👀

[l0v3tast3]

ghost with a cute lil succubus gf :3

mdni! f!reader

simon loves having a succubus as his girlfriend. he loves when he's finally coming home from a mission and barely has the door closed before you're jumping into his arms— it's sweet and romantic at first, kissing him deep and slow and clinging to him, but it doesn't take very long to turn dirty. your legs are wrapped around his waist and it's just too easy to grind your soaked pussy against his growing hard-on, too easy to sink your nails (claws) into his shoulders and suck on and nip at his neck.

simon loves having a girlfriend with a long devil's tail topped with a heart and little horns poking out of the top of her head to match. he loves pulling your head back and rubbing around the bases of your horns, feeling you melt while he walks you both to the bedroom. you'll whine and beg for him to touch you more, more, more, and of course he obliges. simon lowers you to the bed and puts his hands and mouth everywhere. he sucks on your nipples while you're whimpering and (futilely) trying to push him down further. he leaves indents of his canines down your belly before he's kissing your thighs.

simon loves to get you desperate for him and especially loves how easy it is to do. it's basically your default setting around him— until he's rubbing the tip of his cock against your pussy. up and down from your hole to your clit and back, "y'think you deserve my cock? huh?" muttered while his free hand is keeping your hips from bucking up. you're nearly teary-eyed while you beg and plead until he shuts you up by finally pushing into you. you can take him, you're meant to take him, and still, by the time he's buried to the hilt inside of you, your eyes are rolling back and claws are leaving more scratches on him than he had gotten during his last deployment.

simon loves hearing your vocabulary reduced to whiney pleas and praise— "fu-ck- i missed your cock- missed it so much- ah-!"— and other mindless babbles. he loves how your capacity to speak noticeably diminishes with every new way he manhandles you; hunched over you with a hand on the headboard as leverage, then lifting your lower half to meet his hips as he kneels, then folding your thighs to your chest in a breeding press that makes you go nearly limp. "missed this cunt," he'll groan, "made just for me, right, princess?"

(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ likes, comments n reblogs are always appreciated!!

[mr-snailman]

casey and alan discover the real cause of their problems XD

[sugoi-writes]

Invictus - Alastor x GN! Reader (Fluff / Comfort)

A/N: Ahh, depression! Here is a little piece that hit me across the face while I was trying to recoup. Mentions of Alastor's regrets/angst, his mother's death (briefly/sparingly), reader is struggling mentally. I hope this can bring some comfort to folks who are going through it rn!

(lightly proofread, and made in heat of the moment, so sorry in advance!)

"...do you ever wish that you weren't the Radio Demon, Alastor? That you weren't the person you became?" 

Alastor blinks, looking up to you from across the table. What an absurd, curious question to ask. You were always full of these ideas, ones that perplexed him to no end. But when he saw the look in your glazed over, simmering gaze... he decided that humoring you would be best. 

"...come again? I don't quite understand the question, dear." 

Hands were fidgeting below the table, chest feeling tight as you formulated your next sentence. You felt like your ribcage was being crushed by a hydrolic press. The grueling, agonizing pressure from your anxiety was threatening to make you keel over. And for a moment, you thought you might give in to the feeling. Thank the stars for Alastor's reciprocation in this conversation. 

"Like... Do you ever hate the place you're at right now? As a person? Do you ever wish you could start over again? Turn a new leaf? New name, new face, new space.... I know you think 'redemption' is bullshit, but..." 

You continue to avoid him and his steely eyes, a sad smile gracing your forlorn face," If you had a chance to... Not be yourself. To start over and lead a different life... Would you?" 

Alastor's mind pondered many things. The reason he was sentenced to rot hell. The reason that his mother died. The way that he was raised, the people who he fratenized with in life. The accursed deal he was entangled in. There were many things that made him who he was. There were things that even he regretted. But for all intents and purposes, he was exactly who he needed to be... But he could always be more. 'More' would never be enough, truly. 

And so Alastor took a sip of his coffee, eyes down cast to the newspaper in his other hand," ...I suppose anyone would like a chance to start over. For menial reasons or otherwise." 

You didn't notice the way he smiled, your eyes still down cast to your trembling hands. 

"But if it's all the same to you, darling... I rather like the person you are now." 

Your eyes developed hot tears, threatening to cascade down your flushed face at any moment. Alastor sighs heavily, setting his newspaper down on the coffee table. 

"Invictus. Have you heard of the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley?" 

You blink, a few tears tumbling down your cheeks," I... Can't say that I have, honestly." Alastor hums in acknowledgement, manifesting a parchment out of thin air. 

"Would you care to hear it?" 

You make eye contact with Alastor, his smile simple, unforced. His face hung perfectly neutral as he waited for your permission. You, of course, had no qualms about hearing his voice. 

"O-Of course... Go ahead." 

Alastor cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair as he began. 

"Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul." 

A part of you smiled on the inside. Unconquerable.... This was definitely Alastor-coded to you. You didn't comment on this as he continued.

"In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed." 

You feel the tension in your shoulders disappearing, slumping forward as your body finally relaxed. Something about his voice, the evenness and clarity of his tone made you react physically. You couldn't put your finger on it... But he soothed you. He always had. 

When Alastor stood, your eyes widened, watching as he started to advance towards you. 

"Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid." 

The filter over his voice thickens, typically a telltale sign of Alastor's emotions fluctuating. Was he frustrated with you? Cross with you? You should have known better than to talk to him like this... God, what an idiot you were. But Alastor didn't feel this way. Alastor strode directly to your side, a hand settling on the top of your chair. With a flick of the wrist, he dismissed the parchment. He was quoting the poem from memory now.

"It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll" 

Alastor leans down to you, his free hand going to your shoulder. He shakes it gently, his radio filter fizzling out. His voice was left raw and bare, only for you to hear. His smile reached his eyes as he continued, his gaze not wavering from yours. 

"I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul." 

A comfortable, round silence fell between the two of you. You were conscious of his warmth, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. You were aware of his heartbeat, strong and steady like a metronome. You were aware of his stature, bent heavily at the hip to match your height. Your felt his eyes, kind and sincere, searching yours for a spark. You felt your heart flutter for a moment, as the weight of the poem and it's meaning settled over you. 

"What a lovely poem, Alastor," was all you could mutter, voice dry and brittle from your fragile, emotional state. 

"Of course. A powerful one, at that. I reflect on it often when I feel an inkling of... Doubt. Trepidation." 

Alastor, the one-and-only Radio Demon, having self doubt? What a troubling thing for him to entrust in you. 

"I encourage you to remember it well. And, you must reflect on it when these feelings of regret and anguish wash over you. I find that it can be very helpful; illuminating. It can remind you of your importance; your agency in your afterlife." 

Alastor, in a rare moment of tenderness, pats the top of your head, letting his fingers curl and run through your hair. 

"Shall we talk about anything else that troubles you, darling?' 

You blink, still reeling from the poem, it's gravity, and the kindness being showered upon you," N-No I.... No, I think I feel much better now. Thank you, Alastor." 

The Radio Demon accepts your answer, giving your hair a playful ruffle. He stands back up to his full height, his hand retracting from you slowly. 

"Anytime, dear. Though I think it's time to get a head start on the day, hmm?" You look up to the Radio Demon, who already has a cup of coffee summoned for you. You smile, graciously accepting the offering. 

"Of course... But... Could you... Y'know?" You tilt your head torwards Alastor's free hand, asking for more contact. Alastor sighs dramatically, before granting you more affection. Just look at how hopeless you were... It was almost too much.

"I suppose a minute or two more of this wouldn't hurt, would it?" 

[writingwarden]

Most of the day I have been researching Plant Language and the meaning of different flowers and their color variations.

Please drop your favorites and their meanings please.

[gojipink]

killing the cockroach for you

ஐ ft. kaeya, diluc

ஐ summary. inspired by real events T^T

ஐ warnings. none, SFW

Kaeya 

you’re frozen in fear the second your eyes lay on the biggest cockroach ever known to man that's just hanging out on the wall, 3 feet away from kaeya’s office doors. You shuffle towards his door using the tips of your fingers to quietly knock on his door, fearful that any loud sound or movement would result in the bug scurrying away. “kaeya…? kaeya help, please…” inside his office, kaeya hears the fear saturated in your hushed voice and is immediately on high alert. Dropping everything and rushing to open his office doors, “y/n? whats going o-,” you shushed him and held out your arm to stop him from making any more sudden movements. His face is twisted with concern and reaches out to grab your arm trying to get you to come inside his office, “angel, talk to me you’re worrying me here.” 

“there's a stupid big cockroach right next to your door, please come kill it,” you practically beg. 

kaeya’s shoulders sag as a sigh of relief rushes out of his body, a small laugh bubbling out of him, “what, my princess can’t handle a little bug? needs her strong knight to get rid of the scary monster?” 

in any other scenario, you might just say forget it and opt to deal with the situation yourself to save yourself from kaeya’s never-ending teasing, but this? this is different. 

you roll your eyes, “yes, yes, i need my very strong and handsome knight to come save me from this vile creature, now will you please get your butt out here and kill this thing?” 

kaeya snickers to himself slipping out of the doors as you quickly duck behind him and into the sanctuary of his office, “what would people say if they saw such a highly esteemed adventurer quaking in fear over a- oh gross. oh y/n, that’s actually disgusting. look at the size of that thing!” 

“why are you inspecting it? kill it!” 

“i don't want to get cockroach guts on my boots!” 

“kaeya, if you don't kill it right now i'm never visiting you at your office ever again.”

he sighs in defeat as he finally lifts his leg up, “the things i do for you…”   

Diluc 

diluc sprints out of his home office the second your shriek rings through the mansion. “y/n?? y/n, are you okay?”  he calls out while taking the stairs two steps at a time. he finally reaches your shared bedroom where he finds you standing, hugging yourself goosebumps littering your arms. you look up at him eyes wide and glossy, “i was just wanting to grab something from the bathroom but i looked down and saw a really big cockroach in the sink and i couldn’t-” a shudder rips its way through your body as you recount the events. diluc rubs a soothing hand along your back and presses a warm kiss to your cheek.

“it’s alright, my love, i’ll get it just wait out here for me.”

You quietly nod as diluc enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. 

a second later diluc pops his head out, “you said it was in the sink?” 

your heart stops and you stare at him wide-eyed, “is it not there? diluc, please don't tell me it's not there anymore.”

“no, no, it's here i'm sure. it’s just not in the sink at the moment.” 

“what?!” 

“however! however, i will find it and get rid of it i promise, love.” 

quick to ease your nerves he disappears back inside the bathroom while you nervously chew on your bottom lip.

a couple of minutes later you hear a loud smack and then the toilet flushes. diluc opens the door and gives you a reassuring smile, “it’s gone now” 

you peek at the sink behind him to make sure there is nothing else in there, “you promise?” he chuckles wrapping an arm around your shoulders gently leading you out of the bedroom, “darling, i wouldn’t dare lie to you. though i will say, i’ve seen you take on horrendous beasts and come home drenched in mysterious fluids. i’m a little surprised that-” 

you whip around to face him a deep blush of embarrassment covering your cheeks, “don’t you dare make fun of me, diluc” you huff out. 

diluc raises his arms in mock surrender as he smiles at you, “all i was saying was that i think it's nice i can be the one to save you from time to time. you’re so fiercely independent, im glad you allow me to shoulder the things you're too afraid to face. like bugs, for example.” you narrow your eyes at him, “you are making fun of me, you're just making it sound good!”

[passivenovember]

thinking real hard about Billy and Steve finding each other years after they've settled into themselves.

Billy's gone to therapy and he lives in a little house on the shoreline. Steve makes it to California. Doesn't have the six nuggets, yet. He's working insane hours at a job that isn't very lucrative, but he never had to sell his soul to his old man--

So. Point is. They're happy. Content, almost.

And then they find each other.

--

Steve's burning a pot of water when the phone rings.

It's like a knife through the air. A thorn in his side, pain and annoyance ramping up to an 11 as he yanks the receiver from the wall. "Yeah, now's not a great time," He says, because the goddamn smoke alarm's gonna start wailing any second now, and Steve's neighbor is real trigger-happy when it comes to alerting the fire department. "Look, I'll call you--"

"--Why answer the phone?"

Steve would know Billy's voice anywhere, the rough and tumble drag of someone who used to live fast and hard but doesn't, anymore. "I," Steve says, "I don't--"

"--It's like. Why answer the phone if it's not a good time to talk?"

"I don't like being impolite."

Billy hums, smoke and lightning on the end of the line. "So, you weren't waiting for me to call?"

"No," Steve says. But he was. Has been since high school and all the weird, boring, disheartening years that followed until Billy appeared at the dive bar on Saturday. Like a vision. An angel.

"Damn. And here I was, taking a full 72 hours to figure out what I should say," Billy tells him.

Steve can hear a smile.

Aches to taste it, but-- "That's kinda lame, Hargrove."

"So what?"

"So. You're kinda lame, I guess."

Billy laughs at him, then, high and bright. It shoots confetti into Steve's kitchen, the curling tendrils nearly catching on fire as Steve comes back to himself. He pulls the pan of water and dumps it into the sink, killing the flame on the stove.

"Yeah, I'm a disaster. Maxine tells me all the time," Billy says, "It's just. How weird, y'know?"

"What? You?"

"No, you," Billy tells him, chuckling again. "Fell outta the sky, or something. Into a shitty dive bar."

"So did you--"

"--Fell outta my dreams."

"So did you," Steve says, and his stomach twists. Tumbles. Washing-machine guts still soiled with the bloody red spots of a decade-long crush.

"Huh. You're kinda forward, Harrington."

Steve shrugs, face burning. "Long as I'm not as lame as you are."

"Dude, I didn't say you weren't lame."

"Sure, you didn't."

Billy's next laugh Steve feels in his gut, heat pooling behind the thatch of curly down at his pelvis. "Still such a bitch, pretty boy."

"I'm just being honest. We aren't getting any younger, I'm not really interested in playing it cool, anymore."

Something rustles as Billy shifts his weight, "You were cool, once?"

"Ha-ha."

"I don't wanna play it cool, either," Billy tells him, as serious as a heart attack, "Look, can I be honest? You mind?"

Steve nods and then remembers Billy can't see him. "Go ahead."

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Steve peers through the kitchen window, trying to imagine Billy somewhere on the edge of town with sunlight in his hair. Smoking in bed, naked gold until the duvet pulls him under hips first.

"Harrington, I need to see you again."

"Need is kind of dramatic."

"Maybe I'm feeling dramatic."

"Thought this was honesty hour, Hargrove?"

"It is. Honestly? I wanna kiss you," Billy tells him. "At midnight. In the pouring rain because I was too chicken-shit to do it after our first date."

Steve focuses on not swallowing his tongue. Damn near fails. "Was that a date?"

"No, it was bigger. It was the stars aligning, the start of--"

"--God, you are feeling dramatic."

"When can I see you?"

"I dunno," Steve says, fiddling with the lip of the sink, "When are we expecting rain?"

"Not sure."

Steve can hear his smile. Aches to sink into the softness. "I need a window to commit."

"Tonight. I'll make it rain."

Steve snorts, light as air. "You're crazy."

"I've had ten years to plan for this, Steve."

"Alright, lemme--" Steve pads over to the refrigerator, peering at his Kittens and Firefighters calendar. May is covered in birthdays, vacations, late nights at work, and roll-over plans from April, all hacked into the cardstock in striking red.

Steve groans and flips to June. "--Can you still make it rain in a month?"

"A month," Billy demands, "Fuck. You're hot shit but I didn't think--"

"--I have a full-time job. And friends who want to hang out when I'm not at work, but since I use all my energy at work I cancel on them, and things get moved around and--"

"--You can't make an exception for the guy who wants to eat you out?"

The pages of the calendar flutter, May settling heavy in the room. Steve swallows and his throat clicks. "Uh. My friends--"

"--Aren't gonna eat you out."

"They would. If I asked them to, at least one of them would."

"I'm not really loving that idea, pretty boy," Billy says, teasing. "What about over a lunch break?"

"You want to eat my ass over a lunch break?" Steve snorts, "I'm not a hooker."

"What's wrong with--"

"--I'm not," Steve says, "And even if I was, I'm not cheap. You couldn't afford the hour, and we'd need more than that, anyway."

"What about a sleep over?"

"A sleepover?" Steve says, turning from the refrigerator. "Like, where I come over to your house and stay until the morning?"

"Or I come over to yours, yeah."

"But--"

"Actually, let's do yours. Maxine's place is getting fumigated, so she and Lucas are staying in the guest house."

"You have a guest house?" Steve doesn't remember mention of that during their first date, but. He was distracted.

Billy laughs, "Bet I could afford your hour, pretty boy."

"I thought," Steve says, twirling the phone cord around his hand, "In high school, I remember you telling Becky Gordes that you don't do sleepovers."

"I'm gay."

"Okay, but what about Eddie Munson? The whole school thought you were fucking him, did he ever sleep--"

"--No, my dad would've killed both of us," Billy tells him, and. Something in his voice makes Steve's blood run cold. Makes him believe it.

So he shifts gears, "But. Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Who said anything about a sleepover tonight," Billy says. Steve imagines the look on his face. Shit-eating grin bright and sharp and beautiful as always. "Unless you want me to come over tonight?"

"I never said that."

"I can work wherever I want. I don't have to go in at all, if I don't want to."

Steve pads over to his junk drawer, digging around for a red pen. "What does Saturday look like for you?" He bites the cap off, holding it like a straw in the curl of his tongue.

Billy laughs, "I thought you said you weren't free until next month?"

Steve chews on the cap for a moment, pen shaking over the cardstock surface of his calendar. He imagines Billy like he was that night. Different but exactly the same. Charming and soft in a way that only comes from the toil of regeneration. Years and years shedding skin.

He'd been funny and smart. Quick wittted.

Sweet. Like cotton fuckin' candy.

Steve remembers not wanting the date to end, not believing that the universe would give him Billy with no strings attached and laying awake that night, hoping Billy would call, and that they'd get their chance, and now--

"Shit. What the fuck am I doing?" Steve asks, but it comes out garbled and messy and wrong. Comes out sounding like, she whale the food ham ding dong.

Billy laughs at him, again, anyway. "What?"

Steve spits the pen cap onto the counter. "You really want to eat me out tonight?"

"Damn--"

"--Because. I was too fucking stupid to realize what was happening between us in high school. Or. What was happening to me when I saw you in high school, and this is important to me," Steve says in a rush. Fuck being subtle, right? "We're not getting any younger. And I haven't slept with anyone for a long time, much less someone who I've wanted for as long as I can remember, so if you're going to come over here and fuck me--"

"Or talk," Billy says gently. "We could talk more. Get to know each other."

Steve listens to the static on the other end of the line.

"I want to get to know you again, Steve," Billy says.

And Steve cracks. Like a bowl in the microwave, curdling under pressure and heat. "Alright, just. Do you have a pen and paper?"

"For what?"

"My address," Steve says, leaning against the sink, "I want to get to know you, too."

"Tonight," Billy asks, digging around for something.

"Tonight," Steve says. "What the hell."

"Great."

"You've got something to write with?"

"Yeah," Billy says, sounding like he's barely holding it together. "Yeah, just. Whenever you're ready."

--

That night, after, just as Steve falls asleep in Billy's arms--

It rains.

[luxbub]

rafe would never admit it but those short videos you keep sending him with the slides and photos, with the caption “us”over them—hello kitty and batman. “every batman boy needs his hello kitty girl” secretly has him folding his insides ready to lay at your feet. and the little shit won’t even admit it. “Rafey, look at us.” hello hello kitty and batman again, this time at least he can see your grin from beside the phone, looking up at him and shit when he just grunts in response, but you can’t tell me there no butterflies kicking the shit out of his stomach in the moment. shit maybe rafe even giggles when he sees them. kicking his feet and squealing like a little girl with a crush, on the inside tho, batman never cracks up after all. he is so not a little girl with a cursh.

never.

[hotwings0203]

“Daddy?”

You moan and weakly toss your head to your left as you hear the cellar door open

Tw: noncon, blood, kidnapping, abuse, whipping, the usual shindig

His chuckle reverberates throughout the dark room, and you can’t help but flinch at every footstep coming down the rickety steps. Your head is pounding, your heart seems to be caught in your throat and the dingy light in the cellar keeps swaying amidst the draft.

His figure descending towards you makes you nauseous, but you're not dumb enough to fall for his good-natured demeanor as he descends and approaches towards you.

Full eye-contact, a smile as best as you can manage it, and body turned toward him.

As if the chains wrapping around your body like some fucked-up gift wrapping allowed you any mobility anyways .

"Hi there, princess," he coos at you before squatting in front of your weak and bound form, lifting your chin up at him gently with his thumb and forefinger.

You hum quietly and try to swallow the cotton that seems to invade your mouth at the dark humor in his eyes.

"You miss me?"

Nodding as vigorously as you can, you scrunch your eyebrows together and pout your lips the way you know hope melts him. The healing cuts across your forehead and cheeks sting as the scabs are pulled taut with the way you're manipulating your facial expression, but if that's the price to pay to satiate put off his sick desires, then so be it.

"I-"

You cough and desperately try to wet your lips with your tongue to get rid of the raspy warble, and instead attempt to don a soft, higher pitched voice.

He doesn't like it when you give him the impression he's neglectful.

"I m-missed you daddy. Wanted to have your arms around me and feel you, and, and.."

You trail off hopelessly as you scramble for what else he'd want to hear, but in the time your hesitation settles uneasily in the air, his hand has already reached around behind his back to produce a strange black silk bandana.

"Yeah?" He simpers at your panicked expression seeing the new toy. "Guess you can't have missed me that much if you stopped screaming for me."

Your face falls.

That sick fuck

He slaps your face, hard, and violently rips your thighs apart. You yelp and flinch as he cups underneath your knees and brings them up next to your head.

Your legs shake at the strain of being folded in half after being immobile for so long, and you feel the threat of a severe cramp creeping in your calves. He merely grips your legs tighter and shoves you harder against the wall, practically slamming his hips against your own at the easy access.

He grinds slow and deliberate, almost painfully as your lower half buzzes from the attention. You sob as you strain your head to the side to avoid his leering grin right in your face, hair falling over your eyes as a temporary shield to his sadism.

"Aww, look at you. You that shy? I thought I fucked it out of you the first couple times, but I guess the lack of attention really did wonders for you."

"Daddy, please," What you're begging for, you have no idea, but you know your silence will enrage him further.

As he's done so kindly to remind you about.

His raspy growls continue right in your ear, words hot and fierce as you wince in terror. "What, I leave you down here for two days and you only need me for bathroom breaks? For food? What if I just cut that all off, huh? Would you need me then, you ungrateful fucking brat?"

He seethes and suddenly gnaws your ear.

"No! Nonononono daddy, m-my throat hurt after calling out the first couple of hours, I promise!" You wail as he continues to painfully rut and grind against your sore mound.

"Nah, don't start begging now. Your punishment hasn't even started. This is just warming you up, my pretty girl," he breathes into your open and wet tear-stained mouth as he deftly undoes your wrist shackles. His mouth never leaves yours as he lifts you up tightly against him and carries you to the other side of the red room.

The second he places your unsteady feet on the floor he grabs the ropes swinging lightly overhead and immediately starts tying your chaffed wrists again. Even though you're standing now, you feel as though your position bound now in the middle of the room is even more vulnerable that when you were sitting against the wall.

"I'm sorryyyy," your sobs wrack your body as he lets go of your now-bound wrists. Your balance is lost as you let go of your weight and let the ropes hold you up. And yet, you're still not even sure what you did to piss him off.

"Yeah, just like that, keep screaming for me pretty girl," he mutters under his breath as he stalks around the room looking for something.

"I thought the waterboarding and knives were enough to get it through your thick head, but I'll spell it out for you...on your body"

His rummaging around the room stops as he positions himself behind you, much to your terror. At least when he's in front of you you can protect whatever part of your body he's targeting.

All you hear is the pathetic sound of your own sniffles and his heavy breathing.

You make one last attempt before submitting to your own fate.

"Daddy...I thought you couldn't hear me. That's why I stopped calling for you. I-if I had known you could hear me I wouldn't have stopped!" The rest comes out in a rush as if he'll silence your excuses, and your dry throat feels as though it's ripping in half.

There's a very pregnant pause before you hear a shuffling behind you, and he starts to peel your flimsy, dirty nightie off of you.

Your lip wobbles as the silence continues, and he begins to shove his hands up your body, first trailing up and over your hips, past up your sides, and then cupping your bruised tits. You hiss slightly as his thumbs press into your sore nipples as his palms massage the globes in circles.

His breathing picks up again as you do nothing but whimper at his violations, his hips having a mind of their own and rubbing up against your bare backside. You have no idea when he took his pants off, but you definitely feel his unsheathed member dragging hot and heavy over your asscheeks, teasingly releasing precum over the skin.

"Oh, I'm not mad at you baby. I'm gonna let you continue your silence. In fact-"

His rutting and ministrations stop as he seems to have worked himself up to a climax, and you gasp lightly as you feel a cool silk fall over your eyes. You feel him secure it snugly behind your head, and moments later you hear the sound of duct tape being ripped from its coil. Sure enough, your mouth is covered, and you're rendered mute, immobile, and blind within a matter of minutes.

He voices your terror. "Like a lamb waiting for slaughter," he croons as he places his palms flat against the hollow planes against your torso your breasts, pressing you closer into his uncovered erection and chest. It seems as though he can never get close enough to you, even within his grasp.

"Spread your legs." And now his voice is monotone, devoid of the lilt mere seconds earlier.

You're too terrified to do anything but obey, hoping if you react well enough this punishment will also end in minutes tops.

You smell rather than hear the leather first, with its pungent factory scent drifting up to your blood-caked nose, making your nostrils wrinkle in disgust.

And then, you feel it.

He places the bottom of the handle of the whip firmly against your poor widdle clit, and starts grinding in circles, imitating the way he was earlier when you were in his arms.

You squeal against the moist tape and thrash, your wrists aching something fierce as the ropes holding all your weight above prove to be unyielding, merciless.

He laughs cruelly at your distressed state, and continues to rub your bud faster. He rambles on like a madman, and you feel like your ears will bleed with the filth he spews.

"Yeah, yeah, you like that? You want it that badly, slut? I'll make sure you never stop begging me, begging me to love you, to hold you, to fuck you like you need me right now," all the while he rubs his member over your asscrack and cover you threateningly.

His other hand yanks your hair to the side, and he lowers his grinning mouth to the unblemished nape of your neck, fighting for balance against your skin as you try your utter best to thwart his evading teeth.

He bites and sucks at your skin like you're nothing more than a chew-toy, all the while moaning lewdly and growling like a fucking dog.

All the sensations inflicted on your poor, abused body cause your hips to rock in their own rhythm against the handle of the whip, which hasn't stopped its incessant stimulation.

There's a tense moment of re-adjustment as he shifts the handle to his other wrist to prevent his own hand cramps, and he stops his rutting as well as his assault on your neck.

While he straightens up to continue the torture, you however, have not stopped bucking your hips amidst the handle stilling on your clit.

You let out a wail of frustration- at him, and being violated like this, and needing to cum because of it.

When he realizes your hips are actively still bucking and chasing the revoked high, he barks out an incredulous laugh.

"Seriously? And here I thought this was punishment. You sick little freak, you're not supposed to be enjoying this."

And sure enough, you feel the handle shift from stilling against your clit to pushing inside your quivering hole. You moan loudly at the feeling of the lightly ribbed tool rubbing agianst your puckering walls, albeit a bit painfully.

You can hear him exhale in awe as he angles the handle at a place that makes you jump and lift your hips as best as you can just to lower them against the shaft. he keeps it there, letting your buck your hips and work for it yourself, teasing you by bringing it lower and finding yourself unable to drop any further due to the short leash above your head.

But hes a kind master, and soon begins fucking it up into you himself after the sight of your drooling, empty pussy isn't enough to simply satiate himself by molesting your tits.

The squelching sounds of your wet cavern and your girlish moans, along with the sight of your ass shaking from his spanks are too much for him, and he yanks the handle out of you yet again right at the cusp of your climax.

"Not yet baby," he rasps, wiping literal drool off his mouth. "Daddy's gotta feel you cum around his big, fat cock," and with that whisper, he plunges three fingers back inside you. He shudders at your needy howl, and begins dillgently pumping inside of you.

With you distracted on creaming his digits, he grips the slippery handle of the whip and cracks it against your ass.

You whine and thrash again, your orgasm yet again ripped from you, but he merely pumps his fingers faster.

"Louder," He growls.

He lets it crack on the other cheek, marveling at how tight you squeeze around his fingers while the skin blooms a beautiful blood-red.

You scream this time, sure you can taste blood from your parched throat. It's exhausting your body at this point, the pleasure and pain mixing into one while he has his way with your battered skin.

He lets the leather taste your skin once, twice, curving it around your sides to let it lick your tits, making them jump deliciously and creating small rivulets of blood in its wake, behind your knees to make you buckle and fall painfully further on his pruning fingers, on your back to make you writhe.

And finally, when you do cum at his thumb finally, mercifully swiping across your long-forgotten bud, he makes sure he positions himself in front of you to hear you, loud and clear, like you were supposed to the first time.

[birbleafs]

Most people tend to point out how badass Alhaitham is here (true). But what I like and appreciate a lot about this scene is how it also shows that Alhaitham cares enough for the general public's safety (including the Ayn Al-Ahmar members he'd agreed to fight with just moments before) that he rushed in to disable Mizri's corrupted Akasha terminal to stop his rampage. Alhaitham didn't actually need to do so either (he's not the Matra; public security isn't part of his job as the Scribe) since Mizri was attacking his own members. But Alhaitham still crossed that distance just to protect the other members of the faction once he'd realised what was happening, and he didn't even draw his swords out against Mizri. **Edit: I would like to also point out how there's a note of concern and urgency in Alhaitham's voice that you can hear clearly both in the JP dub here and in the original CN voice. It can be argued, of course, that he only did this knowing that Mizri had the Divine Knowledge Capsule, and because he'd wanted to steal it. Still, Alhaitham could've kept his distance as Mizri continued lashing out at his men, and during the chaos and confusion, he could've easily filched the Capsule too before letting the Matra deal with the group's in-fighting while he slipped away with it. But he chose to jump right into the fray instead and risk injury to himself by going against a berserk Mizri.... though, I suppose Alhaitham had probably already decided that risk is extremely low and reasons that "I'm a very good fighter and I've a Vision, so I was never in any actual danger" or something along those lines. Because he's just annoying like that lmfao. This also makes that one iconic, quotable quote of his "I'm merely a feeble scholar" all the more hilarious.... What a lying liar LOL...

Still, I'm willing to accept his (modest lol) rationale, that in terms of sheer brute strength and perhaps without any help from his Vision, Alhaitham isn't as physically strong as the most jacked Eremites—he did preface the above line with "Compared to the mercenaries...", after all lol. He's simply a very efficient fighter who excels at using speed and agility to his advantage.