#granted it's not like you hate the 'others'

[multy-d00dles]

It's very easy to categorize the overblot as a breakdown- but all of them have a different type of lashing out.

Riddle's behavior is a trauma response. He is not listening; instead, he is solely focused on himself, which is a reaction to not feeling heard compared to his mother. She is the person he fears the most, and although he hates that he loves her, he feels conflicted. She was supposed to help him grow, but instead, she only shielded him from the realities of life.

Leona is driven by fear. He’s afraid of finishing in first place because he’s so accustomed to starting from second. The thought of being vulnerable, admitting his fears, and acknowledging his struggles terrifies him. He is so frightened that he resorts to using dirty tricks.

Azul struggles with vulnerability; he avoids opening up or confronting his past. He remembers the child he was forced into hiding and a life of learning just to endure. This child has grown up to prefer lies over sincerity, believing that deception has brought him further in life.

Jamil is determined to gain control over his own life and choices. He feels this control is lacking due to his family's affiliation with Kalim. While he strongly desires control, this desire becomes unhealthy when it extends to others.

Vil is driven by his desire for recognition. He wants to be perceived as exceptional, a model that cannot be compared to others or regarded as inferior. He seeks to control how others view him to the extent that he is willing to manipulate their perceptions, which includes putting others down.

Idia struggles with trauma. He never overcame the death of Ortho or the events that affected him and his family. Forced to grow up quickly, he now finds himself unable to do many things that others take for granted. He struggles to communicate with people, suffers from low self-esteem, and experiences profound fear. This fear leads him to isolate himself in his room, as it feels like the only way he can cope with life.

Malleus explores the theme of loss—loss of a loved one, loss of oneself, loss of one's past, and loss of purpose. It reflects on the fear of change and the inevitability of things never being the same once someone you deeply care about is gone, even if it’s not your fault.

[taragreenfield]

It always baffles me when the argument or not shipping the characters are "they were just friends!", "they hate each other!", "they've never met!", "they wouldn't be happy together!"

Do you not have imagination? That's the beauty of fanfiction: you can do with those characters whatever you want, put them in any situations, even in a different universe and/or time period. You can explore different scenarios, both good and bad, difficult, sad and gut-wrenching, sweet and fluffy or downright insane. There are no limits. The characters are not real people, they don't feel anything and they will be exactly as happy or unhappy as the author chooses to make them.

Granted, you don't have to like a ship or any particular piece of fiction, but telling people they can't ship two characters together because you don't think they make a compelling couple is absolutely ridiculous.

this modern day fandom culture is killing me because we’re losing the art of shipping

these days you have to publish a dissertation and make a 100 page powerpoint with textual and subtextual evidence to back up the fact that you like seeing two characters together because apparently people can only ship what’s canon now

back in my day we used to be able to ship characters who never interacted,

we used to ship characters that didn’t even exist within the same media

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 for the first time

― luigi thinks of you in his cell. that's it that's the fic.

notes :: thank you for all the support to show my appreciation i would like to throw a rusty screwdriver into your hearts i love u guys!!

The thing they don't tell you about prison is that it's really cold.

No, seriously. It's really fucking cold, even here in NYC where it's already cold to begin with - it's like you're in the back of a deep freezer in a shitty jumpsuit, because you kind of are. It's cold enough that I have to curl up into a ball on my "bed", knees to my chest in order to try and stay warm.

And because I have nothing to do, I find myself staring at the white, emotionless wall, and doing that sort of thing is kind of a surefire way to get your mind to wander. One of the tried and true methods, if you will.

It's lonely here. Sure, the inmates like me, they're nice, but I mean... I'm not really in the mood to socialize with anyone. This whole ordeal has sucked the energy out of me. I've been being thrown around the country for days, ever since they found me.

I don't even want to think about what's happening outside of this place, either. I'm sure people have lots of thoughts and things to say about what I did.

I wonder if she saw it.

The news, I mean. Of course she saw it, who didn't? I bet her and all my old classmates and friends are probably talking about it, about me, what I'd done - right now. Trying to pick apart my motive, maybe grieving about the life I'd thrown away. Guess I had a lot ahead of me.

Can't help but wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's disappointed in me. Or maybe proud. Why am I thinking so much about what she thinks of me? It was one fling, from ages ago, I can't even remember when... at one of countless parties, and yet I still see how she looked underneath me so clearly.

It wasn't really just a fling. I talked to her about it - about how the system was falling apart (if it was ever together to begin with) and I felt the need to put all this privilege I'd been granted to good use. How I felt like I had to do something. She told me about herself, too, how she'd been fucked over time and time again and how she knew countless others who felt the same way.

Actually, yeah, we spent a lot of time together, thinking back on it. She'd come over on those cold winter nights I remember so fondly and we'd keep warm together, whatever way we could find. She was kind of... below me, I guess. Lower class. Not that I cared that much, though. Didn't make her any less of a lover.

And then I went radio silent. Then I figured out exactly what that thing I had to do was, and I put all my effort towards it. I didn't have time for love anymore. I had to take the chance I'd been given and fix things.

So I started leaving her on seen, stopped answering my door, even when she'd yell that she knew I was there, stopped showing up at the places I'd loved before, I stopped everything. Dropped off the map and left nothing but a ghost in my place.

She probably hates me.

I'd like to think that maybe this brings her solace... that maybe the idea that "it wasn't because you did something wrong" made her feel better, but I doubt it does.

When I get out of here, if I even do, she'll probably have forgotten all about me, because everybody forgets. I'll be old news by the time that day comes, and everything we did, everything we wanted to do - would just be a hazy memory.

I still remember seeing her for the first time. I remember the way her eyes pierced through my soul, and I remember how it made me feel inside.

I wonder if she remembers that too.

[youhideastar]

Fangs of Fortune: A Primer

I keep hoping someone funnier or better with images than me will write a primer for this show, but I haven’t seen it yet, so it’s looking like I’m going to have to be the propaganda I want to see in the world.

Fangs of Fortune is a 34.5-episode drama that takes place in Ancient Fantasy China, split between the human world and the Wilderness (home of the yao/demons). You can watch it on iQiyi or YouTube. There will be some spoilers below, mostly for early episodes; photos here are from official production stills/promos. As far as I can tell, Fangs of Fortune is a (successful) attempt to get a m/m romantic pairing past the censors by giving the dudes a(n also-queer) female love interest as well, which is neat. The show cares way more about the characters than about the plot, so I’m going to follow suit, starting with…

Zhao Yuanzhou, a.k.a. Zhu Yan

30,000-year-old suicidal Great Demon with suave DILF energy, sky-high self-confidence, and rock-bottom self-worth. 8 years before the show opens, he was possessed by malicious energy and killed a ton of people, including the only living relatives (father and brother) of this guy:

Zhuo Yichen

24-year-old swordsman and demon hunter (head of the Demon Hunting Bureau, in fact), who wears the most beautiful costumes of all time, has sworn to avenge his family, and happens to be in possession of the only weapon that can kill the aforementioned Great Demon Zhao Yuanzhou—if only he knew how to use it.

On the dynamic between Zhao Yuanzhou and Zhuo Yichen, which is the driving force of this show, I can’t do better than this post and this post – please go read them, you will not regret it. In the meantime, please enjoy some homoerotic violent hand-holding.

Zhao Yuanzhou shows up at the Demon Hunting Bureau very sexily and offers to teach Zhuo Yichen to use said weapon, if Zhuo Yichen will (a) swear to kill him with it once they’re done, and (b) in the meantime, let Zhao Yuanzhou join the demon hunting crew. Specifically, he demands to be paired up with this lady:

Wen Xiao

Scholar, demon hunter, Zhuo Yichen’s sort-of foster sister, and technically the Baize Goddess, guardian of the Wilderness… but when her predecessor as Baize Goddess died, she couldn’t complete the transfer of her powers to Wen Xiao, leaving Wen Xiao unable to do the job, and sickly to boot. Wen Xiao compensates by being smarter, more socially adept, and more mentally healthy than everyone else in this cast… although I will grant that’s a low bar to clear.

While recruiting a crew to go after a pesky water demon, Wen Xiao runs into…

Pei Sijing

Stoic archer who recently retired from demon-hunting after she had to kill her own brother; target of Wen Xiao’s very persistent affections.

Here they are being cute together:

Congratulations, you have now met the polycule! There are also two comic-relief teenagers (with obligatory difficult backstories) and two villains, one of whom is boring and will be ignored, and one of whom is Zhao Yuanzhou’s human-hating mall goth demon ex-boyfriend Li Lun, as seen below:

There is not really an overarching plot: in general, the plot is driven by the desire to get Wen Xiao fully powered-up as the Baize Goddess so that she can fix stuff that has gone wrong in the Wilderness, but after a certain point, most plot arcs are driven by problems caused in the previous plot arc. The writers are way more invested in putting the characters in Situations that will crunch them up against each other in interesting ways than in having a coherent plot or worldbuilding. Fortunately, they are very good at writing these characters reacting to each other in Situations, so it works out.

Why should you watch this show? First, it is delightfully gay and there is great fic for it, which you will get more out of if you’re familiar with canon (but don’t let that stop you from diving in now…). Second, the writers are really good at building compelling relationships between characters, romantic and otherwise, and in particular, they have a gift for writing two-character dialogue scenes and cute banter. Third, damn, this is maybe the most visually beautiful show I’ve ever seen in my life. The costumes, in particular, are unbelievable.

Are there downsides? Yeah, candidly, you are going to spend a chunk of the first third of the show sitting through long flashbacks that I call The Ponderous Tragic Backstories of the Het Guest Stars when all you want to do is get back to the main characters. Don’t worry, the whole show is not like this. It happens four times (three toward the beginning and once toward the end). And at least even the Ponderous Tragic Backstories of the Het Guest Stars are still very pretty to look at.

Anyway – check it out! Ask me if you have questions! Correct me if I goofed on anything! See you in Queer Poly Ancient Fantasy China!

(Edited to correct the number of episodes, thank you, @kandadze!)

[gachagon]

Eva's isolation from the rest of the class and the status quo

I want to talk about how the other students ostracized Eva the most out of anyone in the class in Edens Garden so spoilers down below

I think out of any Dangan game, Eva was the most isolated and ostracized. I've seen some ppl compare her to Sakura in THH however the circumstances surrounding Sakura's isolation were vastly different than Eva.

Eva lied *once* about her Ultimate Talent which isn't something new since it's happened before in Dangan games, and she tried to hide that lie from the others in a pathetic attempt to make them not look at the watches and check the report cards.

Granted, they were right that maybe Eva lying about her Ultimate Talent, and then trying to make it so nobody looked at the watches could've potentially caused more harm than good, since they're in a killing game. However, I will remind everyone that this same cast has stated that they're not going to participate in the killing game at all and will just wait for their rescue. Why would they need to "make precautions to keep everyone safe during the game" if they're supposedly not going to be playing the game at all? It's hypocrisy because they hate Eva for lying, while also lying themselves about participating in the game.

And all that aside...what Eva lied about wasn't that bad. She only lied about her own talent and didn't want others to know about it more, and when everyone found out about it they began to mock her for it. Pretty relentlessly too, almost like they're still upset about her calling them naive in the beginning of the game. Or for being outwardly distrusting of other people.

When the motives are revealed, they blame Eva for Tozu's own actions and decisions because Tozu claimed that she inspired him by what she said about the watches (she said that any one could use the watches to learn secrets about other people which was true and exactly what people used the watches for, and then Tozu introduced the motives.)

It's unfair of them to blame Eva for something like that especially since Tozu admitted to Damon that all the secrets were all secrets that everyone had already revealed unknowingly, meaning that Tozu was just being an ass when he said Eva gave him the idea. He knew everyone disliked her, and just said that to add fuel to the fire.

The way the rest of the cast treated Eva aside from Damon and Diana is gross and bad. There was no reason for Wolfgang to try and keep them from investigating, nor was there a reason for him to suggest they were untrustworthy because of their difference in opinion about the Killing Game.

The truth is that the rest of the cast would much rather lie to one another about their intentions and how much they trust one another, than simply be honest about how they really feel. When Damon and Eva call them out in the prologue they're met with coldness and open distrust from everyone else.

But the rest of the class is more covert about how little they actually trust one another, proving that they know Damon and Eva were right the whole time.

In a way, they ostracized Eva the most because she questioned their status quo the most out of anyone, and it was easier to mock her or not take her seriously because of her talent.

AND they're hypocrites for mocking her talent because Damon was the one who claimed "not all talents are equal" in the prologue, not Eva. They all disliked Damon for saying that, but when Eva was revealed to be the Ultimate Mathlete instead of the Ultimate Liar, they resorted to treating her talent as lesser than their own. You know, exactly what Damon was doing in the prologue. But the difference is that Damon had the decency to be honest about how he felt then even if it made the others not like him for a short while.

In short, yes Eva is a bad person, but nobody else in the class are exactly "good" either. You can even tell their masks are all slipping by the way they all cringe at the end of the trial when Diana gives her speech about adapting.

These people don't want to "adapt" and change to the circumstances, they want things to have a steady pace and anyone questioning that steady pace gets shut out.

[wernher-von-brawny]

First, yeah, the DNC have spent the last few decades chasing after people who will never like them, while taking for granted or outright abandoning the folks who need them.

It’s hard to argue against the perception that the Democrats exist to prevent progressive energy from disrupting business as usual.

So I get your rage, my comrade, but I think you’re missing the point of what the dude in the quote was saying.

He’s saying he trusted that Trump was speaking his mind, and that Harris seemed to be reading from a script.

He didn’t say that he thought Trump was speaking 'The Truth', or that he agreed with his policies, but that he believed that Trump’s words and ideas were his, and not those of a committee of marketing creeps.

I think what’s most instructive about that article is another quote: “Democrats, another said, are 'not a friend of the working class anymore.'”

I have to agree with that.

Biden walked a picket line, but it turns out he’s not gonna follow through fully on student loan forgiveness.

Pelosi got her congressional chorus to cosplay and take the knee for George Floyd, but what meaningful police reform have they championed since that photo op?

Obama was elected on 'Hope and Change', and then put Geitner and Summers in charge of fixing a problem that they themselves created during the Clinton admin, and their solution was to bail out their friends and let the defrauded masses fall into bankruptcy and foreclosure.

Yeah, “Thanks, Obama” was a racist ( -ish ) dog whistle, but it lingered a bit because it kinda had a point.

And do I even need to detail how the DNC fucked us out of President Bernie Sanders — TWICE!?

So of course a candidate who speaks nothing but DNC talking points is gonna trigger folks 'stranger danger'.

I spent most of my life as a knee-jerk, 'don’t think just vote' Chicago Democrat, until I finally saw that the DNC didn’t actually mean what it said, or follow up on promises made to the 99%.

And if a former party loyalist like me can come to this conclusion, then there are probably a lot of other folks who’ve noticed it as well.

So many of us have lost faith in politics to solve our problems, and a lot of folks — at least enough to sway this last election — have decided that throwing a wrench in the works is the only way they can express any influence over this broken system.

Trump is that monkey wrench. When he promises to smash the system, people believe him. Conservatives believe him. Liberals believe him. Progressives believe him. The rich believe him. The poor believe him.

And Glob help us, in The Year of Our Lord ( Mammon ) 2024, that passes for integrity.

It reminds me of the sound bite that old Slick Willy Clinton his-self gave the media when he threw Al Gore under the bus during the 2000 election ( something he also kinda did to Harris in Detroit this time around; Clinton really doesn’t like V.P.s, does he? ): “People will choose a strong leader who is wrong over a weak leader who is right.”

Harris didn’t convince the dude in the quote that she was speaking with the courage of her “joyful warrior” convictions, and I think that’s a fair point. I don’t think she was either.

I felt she came off very Vice-Presidential, very safe and corporate and triangulating. And in this time of spiraling crises, her safe and corporate and triangulating approach didn’t inspire the nation as much as Trump’s bold, disruptive, batshit-crazy promise to tear down the pig system.

I see the appeal: “You and I are fucked no matter what, but maybe Trump can take down some of piggies at the top.” I don’t believe this strategy will work out in our favor, but I grok spite.

Shit, man, “…from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee” may as well have been Trump’s campaign slogan.

Anyways, I’m well past my 500 allotted words here, so I’ll wrap this up by saying that if the Democrat wing of the neoliberal party wants to win elections post-Trump, they need to sell authenticity as well as Clinton or Obama — or Trump — did.

Personally, I think Pete Buttigieg has that vibe, but we shall see.

“An Arizona man, citing the time Harris said, “you better thank a union member,” during a speech in Detroit, said “that was very disingenuous to me because I didn’t see an honest person that could be president.” “It seemed like a lot of what she came out and said wasn’t really off-the-cuff, wasn’t coming from her,” said another man who voted for Biden in 2020 and Trump in 2024. “Seemed like every interview, every time she came out and talked about something, it was planned out and never her thoughts, didn’t seem genuine to her thoughts, whereas, Trump, even though you never really knew what he was going to say, when he was going to say it, it was always him and genuine to what he thought, so that’s what swayed me.””

—

New research shows the massive hole Dems are in

I mean … I don’t know how anyone worth electing is going to reach someone like this guy who basically says he’d rather vote for someone who rambles incoherently, with a clear track record of violence and corruption, because he didn’t like the way the scary Black lady talked.

Why is this guy even in this article? This guy is a lost cause. This guy is not the Democrats’ fault. This guy is a stupid fucking idiot who shouldn’t be allowed to be alone in any room with a sharp object.

And this is the guy the Democrats are going to throw the trans community under the bus for, the guy who says he didn’t like how prepared and articulate Kamala Harris was when she expressed her positions, when what we all know is that he didn’t like that she was a Black woman.

THAT is the real disgrace and failure of the party: chasing this guy at the expense of ten people who want to vote for them, because they listen to dipshit consultants who have lost all but two consequential elections for the last twenty years.

[hotvintagepoll]

Judy Holliday and Jack Lemmon (It Should Happen To You, Phffft)—cuties!! cute cuties!!!! she's a curvaceous babe with a pipsqueak voice and a highwire intelligence, he's a limpwristed weirdo who can't think straight when she's around.

Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant (Holiday, Bringing Up Baby, The Philadelphia Story)—They're both unspeakably hot and putting them together only makes them that much hotter. Because physically attractive people are WAY hotter when they're also incredibly funny, and both of them are. They play off each other to perfection, and I could eat them both ❤️

This is round 1 of a mini Christmas tournament. Each poll lasts for three days. If you'd like to send additional propaganda supporting your favorite hot couple, you can reblog this post with your propaganda added, send it to my asks, or tag me in it. To vote in all the polls, click here. Happy holidays!

[additional sexy propaganda under the cut]

Lemmon and Holliday:

Hepburn and Grant:

Truly two of the hottest people ever to grace our screens and when you put them together, it's volcanic. They are totally magnetic on screen together, with the perfect love/hate chemistry. The ultimate 'you drive me crazy' couple, no one is doing it like them.

They are delight and joy and ALSO insanely hot together. Friendships have ended over the ship war of The Philadelphia Story, and you know what? Valid.

They are the hottest couple because they are clever, witty and beautiful. They spark off each other magnificently.

I feel like they’re almost too obvious to bother submitting but I’ve made that mistake before so Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn. I present Bringing Up Baby and The Philadelphia Story as evidence, your honor

Perfect onscreen match in some of the greatest romcoms ever. My, they were yar!

Cary Grant & Katherine Hepburn! They're my favorites! Dapper & ridiculous both!

I'm sorry, that's not a very romantic pic, but I had to include the serenading the leopard

and the fluffy bathrobe!

[gokyrts]

Patrón!Carlos | C.S. 55

18+ | warnings: mentions of drugs, cartel politics, mentions of kidnapping, d/s dynamics, finger sucking, dom!carlos, unprotected p in v, spanking, oral (m receiving), slight degradation and humiliation, light ass play, dirty talk

Summary: you needed a favour, a favour only the leader of the local drug cartel could grant you, so you went to beg for it and you bit more than you could chew

Author’s note: MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM YOURS TRULY!! This is a gift for all my lovely supporters. if you’ve liked Mafia AU, you’re definitely gonna like this 🤭 welcome to Narcos AU with Carlos Sainz !

wc: 4.3k

In case you’re unfamiliar with the plot and terms of Narcos, here’s a little vocabulary with terms that are used throughout the story:

el patrón — (noun) boss of a drug cartel

sicarios — (noun, pl.) high ranking members of a cartel, armed, usually on motorcycles

DEA — (noun) drug enforcement administration; U.S. federal office tasked with combatting drug trafficking

The air outside the compound was still, heavy with the heat of late afternoon. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of laughter echoed, mingling with the crackle of a lit cigar. You sat alone, staring at the rim of your glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. The burn of it no longer registered—it had stopped doing that weeks ago. You hated this place. Hated the velvet couches, the chandeliers, the lingering stench of power and fear. But it had become your world.

Your sister was safe. That was what mattered. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Still, the memory of the first step you’d taken into this life clung to you like smoke, no matter how many times you tried to shove it away. And, as always, it returned unbidden:

The air was just as oppressive that day, tightening around your throat, pressing against your chest. But not nearly as oppressive as the gazes and words of the sicarios you encountered when you came to beg for a favor. Their eyes on you like you were a piece of meat delivered to their door.

“Move along, sweetheart,” one of them said, making your stomach churn.

“I need to speak with señor Sainz.” your assertiveness was a joke to them, seeing nothing more than a defenseless animal.

“Did you hear that?” he’d said, turning to the other guard with exaggerated mockery. “Little mama here wants to speak to el patrón.”

Their laughter had stung, but you’d swallowed your pride. This wasn’t about you. It was about your sister. It was about survival.

“Please,” you’d whispered, your voice cracking just enough to reveal the desperation in your chest. “It’s important.”

The sicarios had exchanged amused glances before one stepped forward, his expression darkening with a hint of suspicion. “Es importante, ah?” he’d asked, the firearm in his hands a reminder of who had control. “How so?”

Your fists had tightened, your body screaming to run, but you had stood your ground. “I need his help. My… my sister has been kidnapped.”

The two men exchanged a glance, this one colder, heavier. Without another word, they had stepped aside, opening the door to the building with a mockingly polite gesture. “Muy bien, let’s see what the boss has to say to this… little request.”

They had flanked you as you walked down the dim corridor, the echo of their heavy boots swallowing your lighter steps. The long hallway felt like a gauntlet, and each step seemed to draw you further into a cage you wouldn’t be able to escape. They led you to an unassuming door, another guard stationed outside. A brief knock sounded, a whisper you hadn’t caught, and then you were ushered inside.

Carlos Sainz’s office had been every bit as ostentatious as you’d imagined. The room reeked of wealth: leather chairs, imported bourbon, and a portrait of the man himself staring down from the wall. But none of it had held your attention for long. Your gaze had locked onto Carlos the moment you saw him.

He’d been seated behind his desk, looking as though he owned not just the room but the air you were breathing. His expression had been unreadable, save for the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Before you could speak, one of the guards shoved you forward. “I’m not armed!” you’d snapped, your voice sharp with indignation.

The guard’s rough hands searched you anyway, brushing over your clothes with no effort to hide his smugness. Carlos, meanwhile, had leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, watching the scene like it was some form of theater staged for his amusement.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he’d said, his smirk widening as his gaze swept over you. “You seem to have a sharp tongue on you, señorita.”

You’d forced yourself to endure and once the guard was satisfied, you had been given the space to speak.

“I—I need your help, señor. They… they took my little sister. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

He hadn’t reacted at first. Instead, he’d reached for a glass, pouring himself a measure of whiskey with deliberate slowness. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass filled the room like a mocking echo.

“You came to ask for a favor?” he’d said finally, his tone light, as though you were discussing the weather. He hadn’t given you a chance to respond. “I remember you owing a favor to me, little one.”

Your throat had tightened. Of course, he remembered. A debt passed down from your father, inherited like a curse. You’d known the weight of it would crush you someday. You just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

“Sí, señor,” you’d said, voice cracking, fighting the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. “I still owe you. But I need this, please. She was taken by men from the other side. I-I don’t want them to hurt her or worse…”

Carlos had tilted his head, studying you as though you were some strange creature that had wandered into his den.

“So… you expect me to solve more of your family’s problems, sí?” His words were light, almost teasing, but the sharp edge in his gaze had made your stomach twist.

Your knees had felt weak, but you’d pressed on. “Please,” you’d said again, the word tasting like ash on your tongue. “I—I will do anything.”

At that, his amusement had deepened. The room had gone still.

“Anything…?” he’d repeated, his voice dropping just enough to make you shiver. One of the guards had snickered, but Carlos had silenced him with a click of his tongue. Then he’d mentioned for the guards to exit, leaving only the two of you in the room.

With deliberate slowness, he’d risen from his chair, rounding the desk until he stood in front of you. He’d been taller than you remembered, his presence overwhelming.

“Do you know what that word means, little one?” he’d asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know what it costs to ask me for a favor?”

You’d lowered your gaze, the weight of his stare crushing you.

“I… I will pay the price,” you’d whispered.

Carlos had tilted his head, lifting your chin upward with surprising gentleness, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Careful,” he’d murmured, his tone soft but laced with warning. “There are men who would take this as an invitation...”

You’d stiffened, your skin crawling under his touch.

“But I’m not one of them…not today.” he’d stepped back with a smirk, allowing you to breathe again.

“Muy bien,” he’d said, returning to his desk. “I’ll deal with these men and bring your sister back. But… from this moment on, you’re mine. Your time, your life. When I call, you answer. No questions. No hesitation. Understood?”

You’d hesitated, just for a moment, but Carlos didn’t let you. His voice had turned sharp, cutting through your resistance like a blade.

“Understood?”

“Yes,” you’d said, voice shaking. “Yes… I understand.”

He’d smirked, satisfied. “Good. Go home, little one. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

…

You closed your eyes as the memory finished replaying, pressing the glass back to your lips, its contents dwindling fast. Anticipation brewed in your gut mingling with the expensive imported whiskey. He has called again and you answered, per agreement.

Over time you learned to ignore the hungry stares from his wolves, their sleazy whispers, and dirty hands adjusting their pants when you passed them in the halls of the safehouse. It made you sick. But this was part of the price you had to pay. The price you agreed to pay for the safety of your sister’s life, and the doom of your own.

“Princesita,”

Your eyes snapped open at his voice — smooth, silky, like the liquor you just downed. The familiar burning sensation returned, your body starting to smolder again. You swallowed the bitterness and turned on your hell, the dress you were told to wear flowing around your form.

Carlos regarded you with a long gaze, from the shoes you picked to wear, across your hips and waist, where the dress tightly hugged your soft curves, to your face, lingering on your painted lips.

He nodded in approval, beckoning you closer with a finger.

Teaching you obedience was his favorite, along with making you regret every life decision you ever made, but especially the deal you made with him.

His thumb found your bottom lip as you stepped closer, the red on your lips pulling him in like a bull following its toreador. The rough surface of his finger swiped over the carefully applied lipstick, smudging it and dragging it down your chin. A flicker of amusement appeared in his eyes at your ruined look, his favorite look on you. His thumb slid off your chin, leaving a light red stain.

Beautiful, he thought, before retracting his hand only to notice the smudge on his finger.

He pressed the thumb back against your mouth.

“Clean it.”

And your body burned, the whiskey in your gut the fuse and his command the spark. The finger was thrust into your mouth with zero patience, the taste of ash and metal hitting your tongue along the unmistakable sweetness of your cherry red lipstick. As much as the taste made you retch, it was addicting.

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

Your tongue wrapped around the digit, swirling to catch the pad of his thumb and sucking it clean. Carlos rewarded you with a hum of approval, pressing down harder on your tongue, forcing your mouth to open up further.

Your jaw gave way, letting Carlos in on the sight of his saliva-covered thumb in your mouth, your tongue playing around with it. He pulled back, dragging his finger out of your mouth but not without wiping it slightly against your lip, enhancing the redness of it with a top coat.

“Good girl… good ruined girl.”

Heat pooled between your legs, forcing an involuntary hum from your throat. Weeks ago you would resist, deny, and deflect — you didn’t want him to notice, because he noticed everything — but his praise was like a switch flipped in your brain.

However, as fast as he praised, he also did the exact opposite.

“Go clean your face, I’m not letting you accompany me looking like that.” he spat, stepping aside so you could go wipe the mess he made on your face. The oval mirror in his office was nearly as familiar as the face you saw in it. The flashbacks were instant when you looked into it, images of him, of you, in positions he forced you into. Carlos liked making you watch, it etched itself in your memory better, he said.

You squeezed your thighs together as you wiped the ruined lipstick off of your chin, similar redness blooming on your cheeks. Carlos smirked knowingly, standing a few feet behind you. He could be in the background, not even touching you but your body was aflame for him, your mind playing tricks on you, triggers he put in your head setting off. You reapplied the lipstick, the phantom feeling of his finger on them almost making you miss the intimacy.

There was a knock on the door, signaling your ride was there. Armed guards escorted you to an awaiting car. A small convoy left the compound to ensure the patrón’s safety. A meeting with the other Narcos wasn’t something to underestimate. Light chatter took part in the car you were not part of. They didn’t need your opinion. You were there as a pretty face, nothing more, nothing less.

As you approached the hotel where the meeting would be held, the oppressive air started clawing at your lungs again. The delicate power balance you felt in the atmosphere was unnerving, ready to tip over in any direction. You and Carlos were patted down before entering. It was agreed that this meeting would be weapon-free. If anything was to go down, you’d be fighting with your bare hands.

The hotel was grand, smelling of the same filthy richness that Carlos’ office did. Your presence caught eyes. A woman, a pretty woman, here? Just as you learned to ignore the stares and comments of Carlos’ sicarios*, you avoided those of the other men, asking if you were lost or looking for a good time. The tension only heightened as you neared the entered the conference room and Carlos felt the need to remind you of your place. He caught you by the elbow, pulling you back against him, his lips against your ear. “You’re here to keep me company, not to speak. Understood?”

Your breath hitched, his voice, so close, sent shivers down your back. “Sí, señor.”

Carlos was satisfied enough with your response and let you go, stepping around you and opening the door. Your smaller form was hidden behind Carlos’ broad back as you entered, the other Narcos only catching sight of you as you walked along the enormous glass table.

Without looking up, you uttered a quiet ‘Buenos dias, señores.’ That was the only time you were allowed to speak.

Behind the clouds of smoke from cigars and cigarettes, the Narcos recognized a woman. They exchanged glances, whispers, scoffs but nothing you wouldn’t be used to already. Despite their visible disapproval, no one dared speak up.

Carlos sat at the head of the table, as he was the organizer of the meeting, leaving you a small seat behind him, just to further emphasize you were not part of the negotiations.

The meeting started but not much has reached your ears throughout, selectively more than not. The Narcos discussed new routes, skirmishes with the DEA, feuds over territory, nothing you could be a part of anyway.

You were picking on your nails when one of the older gentlemen mentioned the neighborhood you grew up in.

“…a possible lab location, routes go out here and through this way,”

His fat finger was pointing to a map, showing what in his mind was a new business idea the others would approve of. For a moment you were taken into your childhood home, playing with your sister on the front porch. It was nice, safe but you always saw men linger around, men who had DEA badges on their belts. Still thinking you were in your mind, you murmured. “Yeah, right into the DEA’s hands…”

Silence.

Feeling a full body chill, you looked up, slowly, each tilt of your head further revealed more shocked and angry expressions of the Narcos.

The man whose idea you challenged leaned back and looked at Carlos in disbelief.

“Carlos, who is this? Did you bring a secretary? Are you into females advising you now?”

Your heart nearly stopped, eyes widening as the weight of your little comment hit you.

“Why did you bring a woman into the meeting anyway? Now she’s thinking she’s one of us.” Another man sneered as all gazes turned to Carlos to watch his reaction.

Whatever he was thinking, one could not tell. His eyes flit briefly to you and then back, but you did notice his jaw clenching, a subtle show of his anger. But he masked it well, leaning back in his seat.

“She’s not one of us, but she’s right. Think about it.”

Carlos’ response had the Narcos stunned a second time that night. They turned to one another, murmuring amongst themselves, considering the situation. But no one was stunned more than you. He saved you…he acknowledged your opinion, among those he trusted the least but had to respect the most and vice versa.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly on alert and aware of what was being discussed. With bated breath, you watch the meeting conclude and the drug lords pour out of the conference room. Some regarded you with disgust, others with interest, some with caution but you would be in the meeting minutes of everyone who attended.

When the last of the traffickers left, the atmosphere of the room shifted. Carlos was quiet, too quiet for your liking. His fingers drummed against the glass table, the echo loud in the empty room. His head tilted to the side and you saw his jaw lock in place before he spoke.

“Are you the expert on routes now?” His tone was calm and cold, the kind that makes you want to huddle for warmth. It wasn’t a question for you to answer. A loud warning despite the pitch in his voice, but you knew this was more dangerous than if he’d yelled. “What did I tell you about speaking up?” his words had bite now.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I was just— you said I was right though! I grew up in that neighborhood! If you let them set up a lab there, the DEA would be onto them and you’d be the one cleaning up the mess.”

“Oh? You think you saved me?” he chuckled but there was no humor in it. “Do not think this is how you repay favors, little princess.”

You averted his gaze, the taste of forced submission bitter on your tongue. Your palms were sweating again and you had to wipe them on your dress this time. Carlos watched you, the intensity in his eyes threatening to light the fire inside you again and he knew.

The sound of the snapping of his fingers was loud in the room, making you look up at him again.

“Come here.”

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

You got up on shaky legs, taking a few short strides to Carlos’ side. Your tongue swiped over your bottom lip in anticipation, catching the cherry red lipstick he had given you a taste of before.

“Over the table, princesa…”

The glass table felt cold over your thighs and stomach, the dress you wore riding up as you bent over in front of him. You heard him sigh, the sound filling you with more delicious uncertainty. You felt his large hand on the back of your thigh, the rough callouses contrasting against the gentle caresses he gave you.

“This room was full of men who would shoot you for even looking at them wrong…” He spoke with softness that made you almost comfortable against the table like this was a fatherly scolding. Except it was.

Smack.

His palm landed against the back of your thigh, forcing air out of your lungs.

“And you thought you could just come in and play queen?” Carlos continued, his voice dropping an octave as he pulled your dress up, revealing your bare ass.

Smack.

The handprint on your ass cheek stung, its red outline hot to the touch as he rubbed his fingers over it. You cried out as he delivered the next smack to your other cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut with the force he used, an involuntary moan slipping from your lips. He fisted his other hand in your hair, pulling your head back. His lips were against your ear again.

“I have every right to throw you to them… to let them devour you till there’s nothing but bones… but,” he trailed off, a strange occurrence, stretching the moment and breathing fire to your insides.

“You’re mine.”

Your head landed against the glass table as he let go of your hair, the thud making you groan. His hands trailed back down, catching against the waistband of your underwear and pulling it down. You gasped as the cold air hit your soaked pussy, the undergarment landing around your ankles. Carlos grabbed at your ass cheek, squeezing and spreading you to him.

“Ah… I’m beginning to think you like this, princesa.” His tone was mocking as his index finger slid through the wetness making your hips jerk. Your neediness amused him, almost as much as your fear.

The clinking sound of his belt undoing only made you squeeze your thighs together, searching for friction despite how wrong it felt. But the smoldering need in your gut was stronger than your moral code. Your thighs spread slightly, welcoming him. You could hear a faint chuckle behind you, your willingness nothing short of amusement to Carlos.

He nudged the tip of his cock against your slit, coating himself in the slickness he was the cause of. Just like all those times before, Carlos didn’t wait, he took what he wanted. Always.

The first thrust pushed you hard against the glass table and stole air from your lungs. You never got used to his size, the stretch always stung a little, the force of his thrusts always left your hips aching the next day and you knew you’d be feeling the same later.

He hissed, forcing himself to the hilt before pulling back and in again, setting a steady pace. His large hands gripped your hips, keeping you pinned between him and the table. You knew there would be bruises, bruises you’d hide, bruises he’d expose. Regrets you’d have to face one way or another.

Carlos pressed one hand against the small of your back, making you arch, your ass pushing back against his hips.

“That’s it…that’s it,” he murmured, looking down, your ass bouncing off his hips a mesmerizing sight. As your cheeks spread further apart, his eyes fell to your tight hole, and Carlos felt an itch he could not help but scratch. His hand slid down, his thumb pressing against it, feeling you clench around him.

He growled, pressing a little harder, testing your reaction. When you whined and clenched again, he knew he found a sweet spot.

“Fuck, you like it, princesa? You like when I play with your tight little ass?”

Your insides were molten, your resolve and pride burned to a crisp. Even your unspoken protests evaporated right on your tongue from the heat. “Yes…fuck, yes!” you panted out, feeling the knot in your stomach coil.

Carlos grinned, his thumb staying where it was, relishing in your walls fluttering even tighter around him, pushing him closer to the edge. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

“Such a dirty little thing… you want it? Tell me you want it, princesa.” You knew he was getting close when his mouth spewed the filthiest words, looking to get off on your reactions.

Your tongue nearly lolled out of your mouth, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. You knew what he wanted to hear and you gave in.

“Please,”

Carlos bit his lip, groaning as you begged for him, the act alone making his cock twitch. “Again, let me hear you.” You felt his chest press against your back, pushing you impossibly closer to the table to the point you thought it would break.

“P-Please…” your voice was louder this time, enough to the man above you. He grunted in satisfaction, his pace faltering before he spilled himself inside you. His hips stilled, but the weight of him continued to bruise your smaller body.

Carlos took a moment before he pulled out, panting, the grip on your hip easing. Your knees bucked slightly with exhaustion and Carlos, thinking himself merciful, grabbed at your elbow, pulling you up. You looked up at him but the sight of the cunning smile on his face told you that this was far from over. He yanked you in his direction and you ungracefully landed on your knees, the impact making you whine. Carlos snorted with laughter, adoring the sight of your pathetic self beneath him. He stepped closer to you and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, instead, you were met with the sight of his still-hard cock, now glistening with your mixed juices.

“Clean it…” His bottom lip twitched slightly, along with his eyebrow, taunting you as he breathed deeply. He pushed your limits, used you to his heart’s content, all because he could. Each little request a test to see if you’d break and disobey. But the moment your lips wrapped around him, his hands were back in your hair.

“Fuck— good girl,” the overstimulation made him groan, tightening his hold on your hair. You licked at him obediently, the taste salty on your tongue. He revered in the skill of your mouth, praising it as you worked. Every gag made him coo in a mocking tone and when you pulled off, he didn’t hesitate to take the reins. He took hold of his cock, his other hand in your hair, and dragged it over your cheek, across your face, a sick grin spreading across his lips as he watched you squeeze your eyes tightly so none of the mess would get there. He knew the smell would cling to your sweet skin, that was why he did it. He pulled back to look at his work.

The sight of your makeup ruined, cheeks stained, now with the added smell of him on you. Perfect. Carlos grinned, moving to tuck himself back in his suit pants.

“Now, that’s a pretty slut. Come on, let’s go…”

…

want more patrón!Carlos? lemme know in my askbox!! I plan on writing more for this AU and would love to know your thoughts on it<3

2024 @ gokyrts . Do not distribute or translate my work on other sites.

[quirkyfries]

Ruin ramble because writing his pov is interesting

Do you ever notice that Ruin gets really self depreciative about himself sometimes? (Maybe not quite self depreciative, but highlighting things about himself.) Implying vulnerability in a way that can almost come off as a joke if it weren't for his tone of voice. He says he hasn't been safe in a long time, it would be nice to sleep for once, wouldn't his death be hilarious? It comes off as a cry for help, but he states it as fact, he's convinced it won't change.

He's very stubborn about what he's done. He had nothing left to lose. No, there was absolutely no other way he could've gone about destroying the creator, he'd spent years considering his options. Yes, Solar was collateral, unfortunate. Those lives were a necessary sacrifice. He had to do it. There was no other way.

To him, he chose the lesser amount of people in the trolley problem. That was the morally correct thing to do in the circumstances he was given, lives would have been taken either way. He had to do it. (He could've walked away from the lever that switched the rails, but that would be the self serving option, wouldn't it? To move on?)

The most interesting part about it to me is, why does Ruin keep on going? All he's known is pain and suffering in some shape or another, he had nothing to live for after his goal was completed. All he'd ever known was bad, bad, bad, vindicated release, a little bit more bad, and then nothing. He was ready to die, he didn't know where to go.

Then came along this new dimension, one he'd apparently accidentally created through his actions. For someone who has nothing to gain or lose, wouldn't this be a nice chance of pace? To look forward to something nice that was more or less your responsibility in a weird way, to cultivate something good for once after a life of bad? To be able to take the place of your abuser, break that cycle? This new dimension is his reason to keep going, he will see this one good thing through if he can help it. Even if he isn't particularly liked by his migrated peers.

But he still isn't secure. There are enemies he'd made, the insurmountable weight of lives on his shoulders, and a new uncertain freedom of identity. (Granted, he still has to lie to some people to get by. I more mean his own Creator, the Virus act, and Nexus + Dark Sun here. Ruin having to strike deals and bargain for his life and act against his own morals to survive. But those are gone. When had Ruin last acted like himself, truly? He had barely been able to define himself as an Eclipse before everything bad happened.)

Does Ruin hate himself? I don't know, he's very adamant about hating what he had to do, but would do it again. He believes he was right, he's even defensive about it to several people, but there is still something that's bothering him. Does he hate himself for pressing the red button? Dunno. Maybe subconsciously. He's clearly meant to parallel Puppet with how he is now, they're the same words in different font. Ruin pulled the lever to kill the smaller amount of strangers to save the greater amount of strangers. Puppet was inside the train that killed everyone she knew. She wants to repent, Ruin hasn't shown much interest in it. Does a selfless act require repentance?

I like to think he has a bit of a dissociation issue, he compartmentalizes things if you squint, a possible coping mechanism of something called cognitive dissonance (a disturbance that happens when your actions do not align with your morals/values.) He was right for what he did. What he did was bad. What he did was necessary. He deserves his fate. He doesn't like pain. There's some contradicting statements there, he'd have to separate some things into neat little boxes in order for it to make sense in his head, so he didn't torture himself thinking about what that said about himself and his values. What he did was right and necessary. What he did was bad and he deserves his fate. He doesn't like pain. Still contradictory a bit, but a little more organized. If he focused on the positive box more than the negative box, he can feel better about himself, but he's painfully aware of the negative box' existence. Maybe he avoids looking at the negative box at all times and ignores the contents, but what's inside is so over accumulated that it can't help but be constantly present and occasionally overflow in those matter-of-fact cries for help. A lotta PTSD can fit in this bad boy (pats ruin on the head)

Does that make sense? I don't know, I feel like a therapist trying to write from his point of view. What is wrong with this little british guy.

[enbyfvcker]

["Merry Christmas, Honey Badger!"]

𝙒𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣 (𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩!𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 0.6k

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩: Wade sets a Christmas Party.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: Fluff, comfort, just them being all cute and domestic and Logan not being used to affection.

Wade always made a point to decorate the apartment on holidays and celebrate them properly. He didn't had that on his fucked up childhood, so it's important to him. Althea told Logan that, so he was playing along even though he didn't really care about those things. He cares about Wade.

Wade gave him really cheesy matching Christmas sweaters with their faces on them, and he hated them. But he wore it anyway. Logan wearing the one with a little Deadpool and Wade wearing one with a little Wolverine.

It was stupid, but it made Wade happy. Logan liked him smiling, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"We look so cute, peanut! Don't you think, Al? Oh, right, you can't see."

"Fuck off, jerk." The old lady spat.

"Well, I wish you could smell how adorable we look right now."

Logan grinned and shook his head. He was doing this more often, he realized. Smiling.

Mary Puppins walks in with her tongue out and Wade quickly scoops her up, the dog licking his face excitedly.

"Come to daddy, baby!"

"Oh, god. You got one for the dog, too?" Logan scowl when he sees dogpool wearing a little Christmas sweater just like them.

"Of course I did! She's our daughter!" The merc replies, holding Mary Puppins up as she wiggles. "Aren't you the cuttest little thing? Yes, you are!"

...

Wade invited the whole gang over: Laura, Yukio, Ellie, Peter... other side characters who didn't have any lines... And he may have cooked a feast - wearing his little "Kiss the cook" apron - and got gifts for everyone. He's cheesy like that. He's got a family now, and he doesn't take them for granted.

It was opening gifts time, and everyone was exchanging presents and there were a lot of "thank you's" and hugs.

It was still all foreign to Logan. He lived the past years all alone, and holidays like this used to be all the same to regular days where he would just drown himself in bottles of whiskey and be miserable.

But this family was nice. He felt like if Wade did, then he could belong, too.

Maybe he wasn't the Wolverine he should be, but Laura still seemed to like him and wanted to bond with him despite how fucked up he is. Wade adored him, and his friends were all kind to him.

Maybe he didn't have to be miserable forever. Maybe he could put his past behind and make a future in this new universe.

"For you." Wade announced, holding out a small wrapped box in front of Logan who was sitting on the couch. "Open."

Logan took the box and Wade sits beside him, tapping his fingers excitedly on his knees.

He unwraps it and when he opens it he sees dog tags that looked very alike the ones he had. He lost them in his universe while he was black out drunk.

But as he grabbed to examine them, he noticed this one's different.

On one side, it read: 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣, and when he turned it around, it read:

"𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙒𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚"

He could feel his heart aching as he grabbed the tags tight.

"Did you make this?"

"Yeah! I didn't really know what to get you, so I- Oh my god- Are you crying?!"

"No." Logan lied, fighting back an insistent tear.

"Oh god, I can't believe I made Wolverine cry!"

"Shut up."

"Come here, honey badger." Wade coos, hugging Logan in a soft embrace.

Logan doesn't hug back, but he also doesn't pull away. He wouldn't admit, but he needed it a bit. So he just sniffed as he let Wade hold him.

And he may hide it under his shirts, but after that, he never took the tags off. Rubbing them affectionately like he used to do with his old ones. Except these were so more meaningful.

[End.]

Hope you liked it! I wanted to make a cute poolverine holiday fic, so he ya go! Them being all cute and domestic it's so important to me.

[ddarker-dreams]

omg i love your yandere giorno series!! I was wondering if you could write a little thing where giorno witnesses his darling having a lowkey mental breakdown/epiphany because she realizes she’s in love with him? sorta like expanding on the little moments in the other fics where reader questions her feelings for him. and she just confesses to him that it’s so hard to accept what he’s done but she can’t help but love him

i'd recently been wanting to expand on the scarlet ribbons yandere bad endings and this meshes well with a christmas-y idea i had 👁👁

This time of year packs your schedule to the brim.

Being the wife of Don Giovanna comes with its unique obligations, which you once stumbled through with the naïveté of a newborn doe. Time and difficult lessons sanded away your inexperience. These trials weren't unlike those he'd undergone since ousting Diavolo, reality proving itself a stubborn foe against youthful idealism.

After what felt like ages apart, he reunites with you in the evening, where he notes some unusual behavior.

For starters, you're eerily silent. While he's no stranger to you giving him the cold shoulder, it's never without reason, like when he restricts your travel for citing security concerns. He can't recall doing anything to earn your ire. If anything, you'd been uncharacteristically amicable recently, regarding him as a collaborator rather than your warden.

Natale was almost like an armistice. You get to engage in charitable pursuits, while he oversees their seedy underbelly. Ultimately, everything is about business, image, and prestige. He doesn't insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise.

It's when you (and your conspicuous Stand) sneak a glance his way for the third time that he speaks up.

"Is something troubling you?"

He could whittle away at your defenses over an extensive campaign, but, feeling the day's exhaustion weigh him down, he opts for a direct approach. You consider him, your Stand peering over your shoulder with suspicious eyes.

"... Your meeting went long," you comment.

He nods, sensing that you're getting at something. When you refuse to elaborate, he offers to show his hand.

"There were some mild disagreements," Giorno replies. "They've been put to rest."

"If what I suggested is causing tension—"

You cut yourself off when he sits beside you on the loveseat, leaving little room between your persons. It's an unusual line for him to cross. He rarely infringes upon your physical space, owing to a courteous code of conduct that you struggled to comprehend. He thinks you want him to be terrible; a cartoonish villain that you could pour all your energy into resisting.

"I'll see it through," he reassures, the tenderness in his voice reserved solely for your ears. "I think the scholarship program is an admirable idea. The funds are there, it's simply a matter of ironing out the details."

You shuffle around. "It's not a lucrative venture."

"That's inconsequential."

"I'm sure your Capos feel otherwise."

"They can be shortsighted," Giorno argues. "And they don't have the final say — I do."

"That's..." you trail off, gnawing your bottom lip, "Why are you so...?"

Giorno, realizing that he's approaching the heart of the issue, can't let this chance go. He sees you contemplating retreat, as you cross your arms over your chest and squeeze your lips shut. If he were a fully benevolent man, he'd grant you your reprieve. Maybe he'll come to regret pushing you too far. Nonetheless, you are his vice, and even he can't always suppress his selfish yearning.

"So...?" he encourages, nearly crooning the word.

You shake your head. "I never know how to feel about you. Hating you used to come easy, now it's just... pointless. Impossible. I don't know. Sometimes, I think I might even lo—"

Aghast, you slap your hand over your mouth, cutting yourself off.

For his part, Giorno wasn't expecting such a vulnerable admission to nearly slip out. Not wanting to push his luck, he leans back, allowing you some space. You appear to be in deep thought. Your Stand has since dissipated, leaving you truly alone.

It's then that he recalls one of the final requests Bucciarati made of him:

"Please ensure her safety and happiness in my stead."

In the years that have followed, the latter has proven trickier than the former.

His hand finds yours. You jump, snapping your head in his direction, shock rippling across your countenance. He responds by giving your hand a firm squeeze. You don't reciprocate, nor do you pull away. Instead, you stare at where your bodies are joined, almost in a trance.

Giorno feels the cool band of your wedding ring flush against his skin. You made efforts in the past to be rid of it, though his Stand's ability ensured it'd always find its way back to you. He wonders at what point you decided to abandon that little rebellion.

Perhaps the revelations surfacing tonight have something to do with it.

Eventually, you exhale a shaky breath. "All this planning has me worn out. I'm not thinking straight. So please... forget I said anything."

And because he cares for you above all else, he nods, prolonging the farce you've both been cast the leads in.

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 3

Part 1 here.

CW: Asking for death, implied threats, men (derogatory)

AO3 | Death Masterlist

They have gone. Leaving you alone with instructions that food will be delivered to the door and to not wander. K left you an empty notebook and a series of pens. N nodded once to his bed and shut the door behind him. They shut you in this new cage but left the door unlocked.

You take your days; lining the empty pages with lines a hint of a breath between them as you fill one side diagonal and then the other horizontally. Six pages front and back filled with nothing but lines, a prison for the ink you have wasted. The pounding at the door becomes near constant. You have ignored the food. They are not here to force you.

The words begin to crawl out of you, filling the larger spaces you leave between your lines. You think yourself a dragon, breathing out poison and setting the world ablaze with the hate in your soul. You would say the fires of hell but you have found hell is cold, sterile, white and leached of color.

Exhaustion steals you into sleep more often as your weary body cries for nutrients again. On the fourth day someone opens the door. This man is large. Tall, not as tall as K, but broader by half. A dark hood with bleached weeping eyes stare at you.

“Come.”

He turns and walks from the room. Something about the command pulls you forward. This is a man that will end you. No morals, twisted even as they sat in N and K, would prevent him from granting you release.

He walks silently, massive boots landing without even a puff of air as he displaces the atoms that live between his foot and his next step. You cannot match his silence despite the slight existence of your body. The slap of your feet against the cool laminate follows you as you follow him.

Men drift to one side as they move too and fro, all with some unknown destination. They nod and murmur a quick colonel, eyes categorizing you as not a threat before they pass. Some eyes linger though, the lascivious thoughts clear. Boys, failed by society, found release only in the stolen space within bodies that could not be human. For if they were human, if they were real, men would have to grapple with the baseless violence that marked them as beasts and not as men in fact.

The doors change. Where once the spread out openings were closed tight with solid pieces now windows peaked out at you between the walls and built into the doors. At a door like all the others the man stopped, and you behind him.

A key appeared from a pocket and disappeared into the same after its job had been completed. He opens the door for you, this colonel pulls his second power move by gesturing that you enter first. Stepping through you flick your eyes across the wall of filing cabinets, all shut tight. His desk is neat to a fault. You reach out and touch a pen laid neatly at the end of his matte black desk mat.

No nameplate sits on his desk to identify who he is. The colonel stares at the askew pen before lifting his eyes to you.

“Why do they keep you?” His voice does not rumble as you expect for one of such size. You had expected the growl of a bear but found the voice of a mild-mannered shark instead.

“They won’t kill me,” you reach forward and tap the pen again. It slides but does not roll as the clip lays in the way.

“Why?”

If you knew that you would be freed of this electrified meat suit. Instead, you reach forward and tap the pen again.

His hand shoots out, holding your wrist tight, nearly to the point of pain. Looking up you stare into beautiful blue eyes that should not belong to the reaper.

“Will you kill me?”

“Can you only speak of your demise?” He muses aloud before letting your wrist go and leaning back in his chair. It squeaks against his weight. “No. Krueger and Nikto are some of my best. If I take you away who knows what they will drag home next.”

Wish that you were a witch to drown in your sorrows. Before thinking better of it you skirt the large desk, using all your might to spin the chair so you can settle on your knees between his thighs. You stare up at him, mournful, as your cheek rests so close to his groin that you can smell the sweat of the day collected in his creases.

“Please,” tears you have not shed in years start, “Please kill me.”

He stares down at you, dead eyes unwilling to bend to your request.

“What does death hold that you cannot?”

“Peace,” you sob into the seam of his pants.

Hands pull you upward until you are nestled nose into his hood and arms around his neck. That is how K and N find you hours later. The colonel had worked around you, firing off emails and answering men as they entered his office. He had shared food with you too. Bits of his meal from his own fork pressed to your lips with the expectation of bending to his will. You do. Thinking later you decide it must be the gentleness of his touch, those killing hands holding you gently, that pulls you back ever so slightly from the edge that you crept toward.

K busts through the door, ignoring the unspoken demand to knock and wait.

“König you have something of ours.”

The heat of his gaze sweeps over you, displeasure tasting the air.

N steps through before shutting the door tight.

“I grew up hunting rabbits for my Nonna,” König, as they called him, rests a hand on your back. “We did not keep them as pets, locked in cages.”

They stiffen, catching the message that is beyond you.

“Send her in the morning. Rabbits must have a purpose or they need to feed the pot.”

N surprises you by snarling at his commander.

“She will not play whore for you König.”

König’s fingers tighten on your ribs.

“I have need of a secretary, you have a rabbit in need of watching. You will share or I will grant her request.” All signs of civility disappeared from his voice. Despite your cries for death you shivered.

K and N do not need to share a look to reach a congress. N blinks and K nods.

“Up kaninchen, they will wish to ensure you are well,” he flexes his thigh beneath you.

You stand slowly, already missing the warmth of his body that had seeped into your bones.

“Bring her dressed next time,” he says to them by way of dismissal.

Looking down at your too-large shirt and tightened sweats you frown. You suppose toes should not be out if you are to work in the colonel’s office. Did you want to work in his office? Did you have a choice?

Following your keepers back to your room you let them prod at you and answer their questions. No, he did not hurt you, no he did not touch your body in a way you did not agree to, yes you ate today. When you are delivered to the showers you clean your body perfunctorily, pausing only once to notice that your breasts have started to return. When you return to the room you share with N, K at your side, you find the mattress empty. N has settled himself across the cot you used, light breathing the only indication of life.

“I don’t want it,” you snap at both of them.

“It is our failure that has brought the colonel’s attention to you, the least we can do is upgrade your resting hours,” K pushes you toward the bed. His hand is firm, but not unkind. “Morning comes early.”

You lay down, glaring across the room at N as S kills the lights and leaves you to your nightmares.

Likes are amazing! Reblogs are better (that lets your followers see what you like.)

Part 2 | Part 4

Death Masterlist | Masterlist

@meinemauschen

[raccoon-coded]

I love this scene so much. It is so powerful.

You can see it in his face. This is the moment where Rocket transforms into the person we know him as in Vol. 1.

In this moment he realises he's truly alone. He got to fly into the sky but his friends didn't. And even if he blames the High Evolutionary more, he still blames himself too. It's survivor's guilt. Maybe if he had run when he had the chance, he could've succeeded in at least getting the other two out of there, but by the time he'd stopped seeing red, it was too late. They'd begged him to stop. To go. He didn't listen. He'd promised them all he'd fix it. He'd promised to show them the sky. He'd failed.

In this moment we see Rocket harden.

He's lost his innocence. He is never going to be naive enough to be manipulated again. He won't ever let himself be caged again. He won't be touched by cruel hands again, and be won't be used.

To ensure this, he won't ever trust again. Because he trusted his creator and he was betrayed.

He won't ever love again. If he cares about someone, he'll let them down and they'll get hurt. The only ones he ever loved are gone and all that's left in their place is pain.

And if love only brings pain, then he doesn't want it.

He will not allow himself to be hurt again.

There is so much pain he's holding onto. But he's already cried and that got him mocked. It lost him time he could have used to help his remaining friends escape. So he pushes it down and focuses on the other feeling: the rage. More than anything right now, he's angry. Angry at the cruelty, angry at the injustice, angry at himself, angry at the whole damn universe. Anger is easier than grief, so he latches onto it. Grief will only slow him down, but anger will keep him going. It was the anger that had granted him his freedom, after all.

He will keep going and he won't show mercy to anyone who stands in his way. Why should he? He wasn't shown any. His kind, innocent friends were shown none.

If the only way to survive in this galaxy is to be cruel and calculated, then he'll be cruel. If his friends had been less kind, less trusting, and more ruthless, maybe they'd still be here with him. But they weren't, and they're not. He's the last one standing.

He's alone.

...

Thankfully his resolve changes with time as he does find good people to trust and to love, but it takes him a very long time to get there and he self sabotages along the way. He was so young at the time and this experience shaped his whole life view. It took a lot for him to shake these values that had helped him to survive for so long, and to realise that they had become detrimental to him. But he got there eventually, and for maybe the first time in his life, he's finally genuinely happy. He's finally free from his past and has let go of the guilt and self hatred that he's carried for so long. He has a family who loves him and who he loves in return, and he has a purpose in life. Rather than hurting others for his benefit like he used to, now he's helping them. Protecting those who can't protect themselves. Maybe he couldn't do that before with his first friends, but he can now with others who are counting on him now. Rather than hating the galaxy like he once did, he's found love for it.

He no longer feels so alone.

And I'm so damn proud of him.

[kurokawaia]

DAY TWENTY FIVE - CORRUPTION 彡 Madara Uchiha

WARNINGS :: corruption, virginity taking, discrimination, breeding, size kink, madara is mean, degradation, x fem reader, restraining (using hands), prone bone, slight choking? afab, she/her terms, reader is timid / shy / scared / inferior / shorter than madara, CNC, Old ideologies regarding birth! + more

| WC :: 3.7k+ | MDNI | 18+ | kinkmas m.list

It was a reletively public wedding, so the entire village could see the bond growing further between the Senju and the Uchiha. All the villagers thought that it was a beautiful love story, one were the two of you fell for each other despite being from enemy clans. But how could they be so wrong, it was nothing of the sort.

It was an arranged marriage. 

This was the elder's decision, thinking that it would be a more secure way to confirm that the Uchiha would not fight back in the further future. The decision was made for the protection of Konoha and being Hashirama and Tobirama's timid, innocent little sister, you couldn't object.

It's your first night within the Uchiha estate, specifically Madara's. You stand in silence biting your bottom lip, in which the red lipstick that was previously there at been removed. Not only by the rigid kiss the two of you shared at the wedding but because of you nibbling on the flesh.

Your hands grip the primarily white kakeshita, you don't know what to do, Madara isn't in the room with you right now and you are too scared to do anything. You were a Senju, but now you are an Uchiha, bounded by those ridiculous ceremonies, paperwork and those vows.  Startled, you jump slightly at the creak the door makes as Madara slides it open, stepping into the room. His eyes trail up on to you, previously analysing every part of your body. YOu could feel it, it is so strong, the scrutiny in his gaze, the judgment.  "It would appear the Senju couldn't even grant me a worthy wife. Just a fragile little thing, aren't you?" Madara scrutinises and a shaky breath leaves your mouth.   Your stomach clenches at the words. Of course, he doesn't hide how much he hates your clan even now that you two have been wed. You feel small under his gaze, and his height. The way he looks at you makes you feel so inferior. 

To Madara, you aren't his wife, you are just a filthy Senju only here to bear his children. 

"I didn't ask for this," you whisper, your voice trembling.  He lets out a low chuckle and closes the space between you. "You think I asked for this? To be tied to the likes of you? A Senju, a weakling, a woman from the enemy's bloodline?" His words cut deep and the tears prick at the back of your eyes. You mean nothing to Madara but a means to an end, nothing more than a tool for him, to bear children, to give him strong children.

Madara moves around you, so now that he is behind you, his chest is almost inches away from your back. "What did your brothers think? That by sending you to me, it would make me forget the blood spilled between us? That I'd forget how your family has tried to crush mine for generations?" He adds. You flinch. Your blood running inside you was a brand of shame in itself, reminding you that no matter how hard you tried, you would never belong here, in his world, the Uchiha world, no matter how equal your clans really are. "You're nothing here," he sneers. "Nothing but a Senju in an Uchiha household. A reminder of everything I despise."

He steps closer, so his hot breath fans across your neck and your back tenses. His hand reaches up, catching your chin in an iron vice as he forces you to meet his gaze. "And now, you're here in— my bed, in my house. But don't let yourself think you'll ever be anything more than a Senju dog." Your heart races in your chest, but you grit your teeth, god, you're so scared. Madara gazes into your eyes. "I will never think of you as a Uchiha," he announces. "You shall never be of us. Our children? Yes. But you? Never." Your chest tightens. You feel yourself start to unravel, piece by piece, under his cold gaze and cruel words. You want to be able to fight back, scream at him, and make him see that you're more than the blood running through your veins. The hate weighing upon you from him crushes you, rendering you mute. The silence is then broken as Madara speaks once more, "Get into bed, it's time you played wife." Your heart sinks, and a wave of dread washes over you. There is no love in that command, no affection. His lips ghost on your neck, below your ear before pulling the sash that held your marriage kimono together before he slips the fabric down your shoulders. Instinctively, when the fabric slips to your elbows, a gasp slips past your lips and you pull your arms to your chest, covering your exposed body. 

"W-Wait," you managed to squeak out, your heart beating furiously, you swear that it was so loud that he could hear it.

You hear the click of his tongue and can feel the roll of his eyes. "What, woman?"

"I've... never... done anything... like this," you say quietly, your hands trembling, holding the fabric tighter to your chest.

"You'll do as I say, dear," he hums, emphasising the last word, almost to mock you. "I wouldn't want to... hurt you." Scared, you nod timidly, still clenching the fabric as you walk towards the futon, your body getting heavier with every step. You only just barely managed to sit on your knees, your weight on the insides of your feet. 

Your gaze was kept tight onto the sheets in front of you. Hearing a light thud hit the floor, you glance up through your mascara-tinted lashes, and you see that the sash holding Madara's wedding attire is on the floor. You can clearly see his abs through the opening of the kimono and his pants had been stripped too, you can clearly see the bulge in his underwear. 

Then, the last of his main attire was pulled off his body and tossed onto the floor, now he is only donned in his underwear, his body bare in front of you. And before you knew it, Madara was kneeling in front of you, tugging the fabric roughly out of your hold. 

Suddenly, the breath from your chest left with a sudden escape of breath as your body fell hard to the futon, Madara's bigger hands restraining your wrists beside your head. Your eyes widen while your lips tremble at the sight of Madara above you, his face so close to yours you could fall apart underneath his gaze. 

Madara closes in, his nose almost touching your own and your breath hitches. "I'm going to ruin you," he hums, moving his head to your shoulder, his lips skimming across your flesh slowly. 

God, you were trembling, you've never felt like this before, this sensation was making you loose your mind. He was being so mean to you, to one of the kindest people in Konoha, making you feel like nothing, and yet, how he made your body feel was something words couldn't explain. 

You were so focused on how he was so close to your neck, that you completely missed how Madara had already slipped down your underwear. His thick fingers pressed against the top of your pussy, so, so, so close to slipping in and hitting your clit.

Your back arches into the touch a breathy gasp falls from your lips and you want to scream in embarrassment. All you wanted to do was to cover your mouth and you couldn't even do that with how Madara was pinning your hands above your head. 

"Fuck, you're sensitive," Madara mumbles to himself, feeling and seeing how you react to such a simple touch, he smirks agasint your neck.

He's going to enjoy this.  

Opening his mouth slightly, he latches onto the dip from your neck and you squirm underneath his imposing touch. His legs spread apart your own, rendering you unable to move. Madara's stature is so big, that you didn't think you would be able to move anyway, considering how his weight was pressing down on you, how his warmth was seeping into you. 

Helpless whimpers leave your mouth as he sucks at your soft skin, leaving marks all over your chest while his fingers still lightly play with your folds, though, they never pushed past, teasing you. 

"Please...." you whimper quietly, pleading into Madara's ear so softly and as much as Madara wanted to hate your voice, it sent shivers down his spine.

"Please what?" he asks in a low tone, lips finally pulling away from your red collarbones. 

Your breathing is ragged, cheeks flushed a pinky-red hue from Madara's touches. "Please... could I have more...?" you question slowly, quietly and Madara smirks at the obvious nervousness in your voice. 

"More?" he teases, pressing his forehead against your own and you gaze into his obsidian eyes which sent electricity down your spine.

You nod small, "...Yes."

A hum comes from his mouth as he pushes his fingers past your folds, two thick fingers pressing against your clit and you moan shamelessly. You want to cover your mouth but can't, your hands are still bound above your head. 

His fingers venture further down, tracing a path along your slick slit. The touch is electrifying, causing you to tremble in his hold, your body responding to his every movement. A whimper escapes your lips, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you.

"So wet," Madara hums as he presses his thumb against your clit and you moan, your back arched agasint the futon. Madara frowns to himself knowing that your eyes are screwed shut

At your reply, Madara's fingers experimentally push past your slick folds, his fingers pressing past your clit, and a surge of pleasure courses through you, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. A moan left your mouth as your back arched at his touch. your reaction caused Madara to press down slightly more and your legs squeezed around his waist, moans stringing out your mouth.

You felt his fingers slide down and he found your seeping hols, drenched with arousal. You felt a finger slowly slide inside your heat, a whimper leaving your mouth. As much as Madara hates the Senju's he couldn't help but feel a pang of worry for you, your face contorts into pain after a few seconds so he stops, head tilting.

"W-Wait," you whimper. "Gi- Give me a few seconds."

"Why should I wait for you?" Madara hums, eyes slitting at you.

"Hurts," you replied trying to regulate your breathing.

A tsk left his mouth, "It hurts because you're tense. Relax," he orders and you let your body relax under him, your breathing all controlled. "See? Doesn't hurt as much now doesn't it?"

You shook your head. "Exactly," he adds and he begins to pump his digits in and out your drenched cunt.

"So good," You whimpered as he slowly pumped in and out your soaked walls. 

The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and intensity that leaves you unable to contain your moans. You press your lips against his shoulder, muffling the sounds that escape from deep within you. His fingers explore the depths of your core, igniting a fire that consumes your every thought. Each movement, each curl, sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body.

You surrender to the intoxicating rhythm of his touch, the combination of his skilled fingers and the intensity of our connection pushes you closer to the edge, teetering on the precipice of release. It's a moment of pure bliss, where time stands still, and you are consumed by the overwhelming pleasure that courses through your veins.

As Madara's fingers continued their relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of your seeping hole, there was an unfamiliar tightness growing in your lower abdomen, pleasure tightened inside your stomach. you wrap your shaky legs around him, seeking to anchor yourself to him amidst the overwhelming pleasure. your body quivers with anticipation, responding to his every touch, every movement.

"Wait!" you sob, writhing under him. "Feels funny...."

"You're going to have an orgasm, just let it happen," he scoffs, beginning to scissor his fingers, respectively hitting your soft, gummy spot every single time. 

you chant his name into his neck as praises leave your mouth, your voice filled with desire and need. The tears welling in your eyes are not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.

In response to your plea, sucks the skin around your neck once more, groaning against your neck, his voice laced with desire. He begins to press your clit with the pad of his thumb, adding another layer of pleasure to the already intense sensations. The touch is electrifying, causing you to arch your back in response.

"Feels weird," you sob. "Feels... good too... though."

"You'll take it," Madara asserts.

The pleasure builds, the tension mounting with each passing second until you are on the precipice of release. It's a moment of pure surrender, where pleasure reigns supreme, and you are consumed by the overwhelming ecstasy that engulfs you.

Waves of ecstasy wash over you, leaving your legs trembling and weak from the intensity of the sensations. He slips his fingers from your hole and you continue to tremble from the aftermath of the orgasm. you managed to release your from Madara's neck and move away from his hold.

Your legs are trembling around his waist, your cum and arousal soaked the sheets below you, dripping down your ass from your hole. As you open your squeezed-shut eyes, you see Madara take a taste of his fingers, licking a stip up his digits, swallowing your cum and your cheeks burn red. 

Madara almost groans at your taste, so sweet, he can't wait for you to break and split from his cock. Your whimpers and screams of overstimulation are going to be heaven for him. You pull your hands from his grasp as you feel the hold loosening and cover your face. It was an immediate reaction, Madara quickly pulled your hands back above your head. 

"You will not hide from me," Madara commands and your bottom lip trembles as you nod. 

God, your legs fall lip on either side of Madara on the futon and they tremble. Then you felt a big bulbous tip press against your entrance and you arch your back into the pleasuring sensation, a moan slipping past your innocent mouth. All you wanted to do was paw at his chest, and leave scratch marks everywhere, but you couldn't.

"Please... I... want to... touch you," you whispered through your whine.

A humoured chuckle leaves his throat. "As if I'd let a filthy Senju touch me."

You then got flipped around so suddenly, your breasts pushing against the futon, hands still pinned above you, face squished into the pillow. You then felt Madara's mass press down against your back and you let out a soft whimper at the sudden weight. His abs were flush against your back, hands gripping the backs of your own, pressing them into the bed. 

Madara's breath tickled your ear and you wiggled your head at the warm sensation, your core getting wetter, your body trying to squirm away from the imposing hold that he had on you. Madara's hands moved slowly, changing his grip so that one of his hands held both of you over your head, being cautious not to get your hair entangled within the movement. 

A content sigh leaves your mouth when Madara raises his body ever so slightly, trailing his free hand down the expanse of your smooth back before his fingers meet your slick entrance, dripping with your cum.

"You're going to take all of me," he mutters against your ear before taking a nibble at your ear, you let out a gasp at the sudden action.

Then you felt a heavy, throbbing tip press against your clit and you moaned from the small touch. You tried to squirm away from the pleasurable cause but couldn't, he knew you were gonna try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight against you once more.

You held your breath when Madara sank his throbbing cock into your spongey walls, his length getting squeezed by every ridge within your soaked cunt. A groan leaves Madara's mouth and a moan from your own as his length nudged the deepest spot within you.

Madara could've busted right there and then, your tight walls constricting him made him tense. You feel so good, and he couldn't wait to take you again and again, to fill you up to the brim with his cum every night. 

Madara moans, relishing in the way your walls clench him, how could he not want to cum inside, you feel so good. His free hand grips your hip and he admires how you have perfect hips to give birth for, for a Senju, you're a perfect wife to breed. 

Madara didn't move, he wanted to relish in on how you desired to cause friction, desired to move against his touch, but couldn't. Madara's cock, prodded so deep in your gummy walls that you whimpered in pleasure, but that didn't stop him from not moving. He was still snug inside.

Hot and heavy kisses trail down from your ear down to the dip of your neck to shoulder and a breathless sigh escaped your parted lips before Madara rolled his hips into yours. A moan slips out of your mouth, his thick length scraping all the sensitive parts of your warm insides.

Madara's knees spread your legs apart so that any advances from you ensured that they would be shut down, so that you remained situated below him, your pretty body that paled in comparison to his frame. As he expected, you couldn't move from his trapping embrace.

His movements became faster, his cock thrusting into the depths of you needy hole as strained moans and whines left your throat. Madara was panting in your ear and an occasional deep groan slipped past his lips, the sounds which made your cunt flutter tightly around his length.

Madara was filling you up to the hilt, his throbbing pink tip hitting that soft, gummy spot in your cunt that caused you to scream out in fulfilment. "Close?" He breathed in a humoured tone, causing you to let out a moan and sigh, body shaking with pleasure.

Your body tried to arch away from the pleasure, not being able to take the strong rolls of Madara's hips, but as you arched your back away, his thrusts only aimed deeper, harder into your G spot. You sobbed out, tears filling your lash line. "Too much, Madara.... S-Slow down.... too much."

"Oh?" he smirked, his hips moving now at a faster pace, loving how your cunt squeezed his cock even though you wanted him to slow down, "It's alright, you can hold out," he coos.

Repetitive moans left your mouth while he pounded into your tight heat. You suddenly had the instinctive urge to press yourself into his length, but you couldn't, his weight was too heavy for you to move against him, and you were utterly hopeless as his thrusts became faster.

"Please, I wanna come," you cry out mewling. 

Your body trembled beneath him and the hold he had on your hands loosened. Your hips were getting held, then, the strength he possessed lifted you onto your knees before a bicep wrapped around your throat, lifting your head. It wasn't a tight grip but the power lifted your head from the futon while you shakily rested your weight on your elbows.

Your back arched heavily, finally being able to sink more into him. "Madara...?" you asked in a hush tone but he didn't reply and you wanted to sob because you just wanted one last thing. "Madara... please... I wan' a kiss, please."

"A kiss, huh?" he groans out. Madara hunches over you, pulling you closer to him and connecting your mouth in a sloppy, wet kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth, grunting into you while he swallows your moans. 

"Good, taking me so deep," Madara groaned, pulling away from your mouth and pushing this arch into your back deeper.

He watched your ass ripping again his lower abdomen, watching your cunt with black iris'. Observing how your walks sucked him in, leaving a creamy white rind of your cum and arousal around the base of his cock.

"Making you feel so good, aren't I?" Madara groaned his head tilted forward, sweat beading on his forehead as we watched your fall apart and tremble from his dick, watching your innocence fade away, broken moans slipping past your plump lips.

"Gonna fill you up," Madara groans. "You're taking me so deep, deserve to have my cum."

"'Wanna come, please," you beg, wanting to feel the release, desperate as the tears stream down your flushed cheeks. "Want it so bad."

You clench around his length as he increases his pace, instantly accommodating to the speed but your moans escalate. "Such a filthy Senju," He leaned down and mumbled in your ear chased with a deep moan that stirred your insides clenching around his length.

"Want it so bad!" you whimper, unable to comprehend any thoughts that swelled into your head.

"C'mon darling," he growled and you spasmed around his length as your high washed over you, your legs shaking as his weight pressed down even more than it was. His thrusts didn't slow causing you to whimper in overstimulation, but Madara helped it, his hips continuing to rut into mine, helping you ride out your orgasm as he chased his own.

With a groan, his lips planted against mine once again as his hips slammed into mine, hard, his cum spilling inside you causing you to moan into his kiss. And you felt more of his cum spill into your fertile womb, painting your insides white, you could almost feel your stomach bulging from how much you had of your husband inside you.

Madara slipped his softening length out, and pulled away from the kiss as you slumped to the futon, his eyes chained to the white splotches of silky come that spilled from your gaping cunt, watching with a slight frown as the cum spilled from your cunt. 

You're going to look so good plump with his children. He's going to make sure you get pregnant even if that means having sex morning and night. 

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[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Christmas Indulgence | Remus Lupin

✦ pairing — Remus Lupin x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 1k

✦ request — for the forbidden kisses, if you’re still doing them, could i please request 8+10 with Remus lupin and maybe during Christmas time/winter at the potter’s house? xx

8) having begun to trail impassioned kisses down their jaw and neck before the harsh reality kicks back in

10) “we sh- “ “no, please. just- just let me have this. just for a minute.”

✦ warnings — angst, secret relationship, mentions of Remus’ condition, mentions of food, fluff.

════════════════════════ Remus found it hard to follow his own rules sometimes. For example, whenever he saw you interacting with his friends, he wished they knew how important you were to him. 

But things could go wrong. Incredibly so. He couldn't risk anyone knowing he had decided to give love a chance. Chances he would have to end things with you due to his condition were high, he didn’t want his friends to try and convince him otherwise.

Logically, he knew he’d never been happier than he was right now. He had never been happier before either. Yet his logic also told him this might become too much for you to deal with.

He had been terrified when he told you about his condition, and although you were shocked, you never pulled away like he expected you to. A few days back, he tiredly let it slip that he didn’t want to burden you, and you assured him you would never tire of him, not even if the only thing he wanted from you was friendship, he said.

How could he ever want only friendship from you?

This year, Lily went all out with the decorations. Floating candles, glittering lights, singing ornaments, gifts that yelled at you when you tried to open them before Christmas day…

Cinnamon and sugar were the prominent aroma notes throughout the house, but he could pick up a hint of apple here and there, perhaps from the kitchen as James hadn’t stopped gushing about learning how to bake with Lily.

You arrived a little after him, just as you two had planned. Remus hated that you greeted him last — it had been his idea.

He was drawn to the sweater you wore under your coat, soft-looking, brightly colored, perfectly fitting.

As James and Lily became busier with other guests, you sat with Remus and Sirius. 

Remus took note of the way Sirius seemed to relax around you and the ease with which he spoke about his woes. Granted, Sirius tended to be dramatic, but he didn't trust easily, and yet he trusted you. 

His friends liked you. And you liked them. And Remus found himself sad that one day this would end.

Excusing himself, he rose from the sofa, avoiding your eyes as he made his way outside.

The front of the house was littered with colorful Christmas lights, standing out from the houses around where only a string of lights or two decorated the roofs and dull wreaths hung from the doors.

He heard your steps before he saw you, dead grass crunching under your boots.

“Remus?” You asked hesitantly. “What's wrong? Did you forget your potion?”

He clenched his jaw. “No.”

“Are you certain?” you pressed. “I have a vial in my travel bag if needed.”

Of course you did. Always taking care of him. 

“I'm sure,” he insisted quietly.

You looked at him, studying him as though you'd be able to see through him if you stared long enough. “What is it then? Do you want to go home?”

Home. He never called his place ‘home.’ In many ways, the glorified potion laboratory you called home didn’t qualify either. But it was much closer, always lively and warm, albeit a little suffocating — and you were all over that place, with your ingredient sorting system that only made sense to you and the notes of your shower gel that lingered throughout the day no matter how pungent your newest brew became.

“You know how the festivities are,” he said. He felt stupid for coming up with such a poor excuse, even if he wasn’t completely lying.

You craned your neck to look behind you, then to your right, and finally to your left. Nodding to yourself, you stepped closer and reached over with both hands, resting them on his shoulders, giving him time to pull away,

Remus didn’t have it in him to reject you. Ever. It was what got him into this mess.

You gave him a small smile, sweet, kind, genuine. And slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

He suspected you knew his need for comfort had little to do with the festivities and everything to do with the turmoil inside him every time he gave your relationship a long thought. And yet you gave that comfort freely, moving a hand up to the back of his head to soothingly pet his hair.

Remus shyly rested his hands on your sides, able to feel the thickness of your bright sweater and the softness of your body underneath. Despite himself, he sighed contently.

Soon, his head was on your shoulder and you started humming a song that often helped him relax. After a while, you nudged his head off your shoulder so you could look at him, searching for something Remus couldn’t discern.

Then, you leaned in and gently kissed his cheek. He couldn’t stop himself from turning his face, brushing his lips against yours in a silent request.

You indulged him, tenderly pressing your lips to his. Chaste kisses never lasted between you, and if Remus was being honest, he enjoyed that about you.

Soon your bottom lip got caught between his teeth and your fingers buried in his hair, tugging a few times.

As you parted for air, a string of saliva connected your mouths. You smiled, then kissed the corner of his mouth before moving to his stubbled jaw, nipping.

Your kisses grew wet as they reached his neck. Remus’ breath hitched as you mouthed at his throat. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to indulge fully. Strings of music danced around you as the reunion inside became a party, he didn’t recognize the song, or even if it was one, but it sounded festive enough for him to know it was James’ doing. 

You stopped, slowly withdrawing from his neck and looking at him. “We sh—”

“No, please,” Remus whispered, barely opening his eyes to acknowledge you properly. “Just— just let me have this. Just for a minute.”

As if you could never say no to him, you buried your face into his neck. “Okay,” you murmured near his ear, only for him, like everything you did.

His grip on your waist tightened once your mouth made contact with his neck again.

He thought he saw a flash of ginger behind you. His throat constricted for a moment. Yet he decided to keep quiet, hoping, almost praying, Lily wouldn’t bring it up later.

[darlingstarkey]

challengers - rafe cameron

heavily inspired by challengers. except in this concept, rafe and reader are actually in love and don’t hate each other and have the intense angst that tashi and art do lol. i was listening to the soundtrack while writing this as well. very inspirational. please also be aware that i am not so good at tennis and have no concept of how an actual game works, so i’m trying my best. i was also high as balls writing half of this so excuse it if its bad.

summary: during an intense match where undefeated tennis star rafe cameron is losing to his rival, jackson maybank, a little break in between sets with reader is all he needs to get back into the headspace he needs to be in to win.

warnings: mdni! smut, swearing, oral (f. recieving), breeding kink if you squint, unprotected sex (pinv), jj maybank i guess?!, reader and rafe being cute but sexy.

wc: 2.3k

-

tennis star rafe cameron, who had already won this years us open, last years wimbledon, and would be competing in the australian open within the next year, nothing could ever stop him from breaking his undefeated record as a professional tennis player. but there he was, jackson maybank. rafe’s old doubles partner back in boarding school. they had a horrible fallout, especially when rafe went to stanford for tennis and met you, his support system and motivation to play. jackson decided to immediately go pro and failed to become successful miserably, therefore breaking up the duo. but the secret that only you three knew, was that jackson had always beat rafe. 

at the charleston challenger, you had convinced rafe to join as a last minute wildcard entry, although he was way out of their league as the #1 mens player in the industry. but there it was, the final match was set between him and jackson. you could feel the tension between the two of them as they played their first game. rafe dominated the courts fearlessly, his grunts echoing across the court as he swung effortlessly. within a minute of their first game, “15-love, cameron.” the chair umpire called. a smirk widened across rafe’s face as he squatted into position and made intense eye contact with jackson from across the court. an already frustrated jackson looked over at you and gave you a quick wink before serving the ball that flies effortlessly across the court and beyond rafe’s control. “15-all.” the umpire calls out. 

this was going to be a long, intense game. 

the crowd filed in more and more as rafe and jackson kept getting more aggressive, their sweat collecting across their foreheads and sticking to their hair. grunts and painful moans danced across the court as they balanced the ball between each other. usually, you would watch rafe’s every move, willing to give him tips as to how he can improve next time. because thats who you were. his coach, his motivation.  rafe would always listen to you and your advice, knowing that all you wanted was the best for him. not only were you the reason why he became the best of the best, the love and understanding that you two had for each other was fairytale like. no one had ever known a stronger couple than you and rafe.

you couldn’t help but sweat yourself as your head moved in synchronicity with the bright yellow ball. your palms were clamming up on the arms of the chair you were sitting on. everyone could not believe the intensity that was bouncing between jackson and rafe in front of their eyes, and honestly, you couldn’t either. it was the third game and they were already tied for each winning one set. the intensity continued as the two boys frolicked across the courts, mirroring each other effortlessly. rafe would look over to you and nod subtly in between points, knowing that his good luck charm is still around to grant him this win, that was until he succumbed to who was in front of him. 

jackson had this backhand that had been pulled out of nowhere, making the ball sprint past rafe. this call made jackson win that entire set, giving him the advantage between the two men. “FUCK.” rafe exclaimed as he slammed his racket onto the floor. the wilson became bent with the first swing. you could see his muscles tense up and his jaw locked into anger as he continued to swing his racket forcefully onto the ground. jackson continued to smirk over at rafe, knowing where his weakness lies within the game from ages ago. 

you sprint over to the gate where the court is, prepared to meet a very angry rafe cameron for his break. you had never been in this situation before, especially since it was jackson who was his opponent. you gulped as the 6’4 muscular man stomped over to you, angrily staring back at jackson who sat back in his chair smirking and adjusting his groin while staring at the both of you. 

“w-w-what do you need, baby?” you ask him as you cup your hands between his tense jaw. you look up at him intensely with your wide eyes, almost desperately pleading to help him in anyway you can. his arms immediately snake around you as his sweaty body encapsulates you in a hug as he kisses your neck softly and deeply breathes in your pheromones. 

“need you, baby.” he sighs into your ear, making sure that you’re the only one that could hear his plea. you pull away and nod frantically, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. you grab his hand and head over to the private locker room that they had given him as soon as the town of charleston realized that the number one tennis star would be playing in their petty challenger. 

you follow rafe into the room, locking it behind you. you turn swiftly to rafe and notice him stripping his sweaty shirt off, revealing his glistening sore muscles that became prominent as the game went on and on today. you immediately walk behind him and rest your face on his back while wrapping your arms around his stomach. you slowly kiss his back where it is most prominent, knowing the aching pain that is not only within his muscles, but also his veins as he is faced to challenge his childhood best friend. 

“i can’t believe he’s whooping my ass..” he finally admits out loud. you knew that this wasn’t easy for him, especially admitting to submission to jackson, someone who has always been better than him at his sport. your eyebrows furrow at his words. “rafe cameron.” you say, spinning him around. “he is not whooping your ass. he is only one set match ahead of you. do not let him underestimate you. you know his moves, you know the way he works. you are smarter than this, to give up. you, are rafe cameron. the all time tennis player, the number one player in the world. you can beat him, and you will beat him.” you say matter of factly while not breaking eye contact with rafe. with this, he knew you were right, but he just needed you to reassure him of this. 

“god, i love you.” he sighs as he grabs your face roughly and kisses you deeply. you sigh into his mouth as his tongue slips into your mouth. while grasping the back of your hair roughly, he guides you to the bench that is set in the middle of the locker room. he gets on his knees in front of you as you lower yourself to sit on the bench. one of his hands leans down to fondle your breast as the other pulls at the back of your hair forcefully. 

rafe roughly palms your breasts as he’s kissing down your neck. “mine.” he growls. “all mine.” he moans into the nape of your neck. his hands move to your shoulders and glide your silk dress straps off of your body. the top of your dress immediately falling and exposing your breasts. “such nice fuckin’ tits.” rafe says as he takes the view in. his mouth immediately attaches to your nipple as he rolls the other one between his thumb and finger “fuck, rafe. feels so good.” you say as your roll your body to be closer to him. he moans against your nipple, taking his other hand and running it down to meet your bare thighs. you moan at his touch, his rough calloused palms gripping roughly at your thighs. “wanna taste of you baby, i need to be able to still have your taste in my mouth while i’m out there kicking jacksons’ ass.” there he was. that was the rafe cameron you knew, the one who would do this at almost every match that he’s losing. where he would take you into his own private locker room and fuck you senseless, it always ended like this, and it was always how he won.

rafe hikes up your dress as he rips off your lacy pink underwear. “my favorite.” he says as he throws them across the room. putting your thighs on his shoulders, he swipes his fingers across your folds, collecting the nectar that built up. he sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks loudly. “god, baby, you always taste so fuckin’ good for me.” he moans out. you whimper in response, hitching your breath as he attaches his tongue to your cunt. his tongue swirls around your entrance and swirls its way up to your puffy clit. your chest raises frantically as you pant out at the feeling of your sex god boyfriend eating you out like its the last meal he’s ever had. 

 you’re a whimpering mess under him as you tug at his hair. your eyebrows furrowed together and your pornographic-like face is only driving him more wild, driving the instinctive need to fuck you till you can’t walk out of here. your thighs start to tremble around his head, signalling your approaching orgasm. “r-rafe..gunna come soon, can i please” you choke out. his tongue continues to circulate around your clit at a quicker pace as a response, chasing your orgasm along with you. his large fingers slip into your entrance and start massaging at the squishiness of your walls. the squelches of your wet pussy echo in the room along with your whimpers and moans. the rise of your orgasm approaches you as the familiar euphoria engulfs your body. you melt into rafes touch and tremble as he finishes you off. 

he pulls away from your wet center and looks up at you drunkenly, a line of his spit mixed with your cum following the trail of his mouth. “my sweet, sweet pussy.” he says as he licks his lips and playfully pats at your core. 

rafe strips you from the halter dress that you’re wearing, leaving you barren while connecting your lips together hungrily. you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he engulfs you fully. stripping himself down, his cock smacks against his stomach as he groans at the release. “your pussy drives me crazy baby, its the only thing that can get me through this.” he whines as he scoops you up into his huge arms. your legs wrap around his barren waist as he lines his cock up with your entrance. “p-please rafe.. need you so bad.” you pant out, still coming down from your orgasm. your sweaty forehead pressed against his as his large dick stretches you out slowly. his large calloused hands are gripping your ass harshly as he bounces you up and down his dick, his strong legs holding the both of you up. 

rafe’s dick pounds in and out of you swiftly, reaching your cervix every time. he drills into you grunting loudly. the only sounds within the room were your skins slapping against each other. “fuck, i’m gonna cum.” rafe panted out. “you gonna let me fill you up like the dirty whore you are? you gonna let the best tennis player in the world make you a mama?” he grunted as he pounded into you fiercely. you whimpered in return “y-yes rafe, fill me up with your cum please..” you whined against him, pulling at the hair that stuck to the nape of his neck with sweat 

his eyebrows furrowed as his dick twitched inside of you, his loud grunts accompanied by the slapping of skin echoed in the locker room. “say it.” he groaned. your walls clenched against his cock as you experienced your second orgasm within 10 minutes. “rafe! you’re the best tennis player in the world.” you squealed out as you scratched his shoulders. with this, he emptied himself within you, panting and coming down from his orgasm as you milk his cock. 

he sweetly kisses your forehead and smiles softly as he sets you down, both your legs trembling accompanied by your heavy breathing. 

“you okay darlin’?” you ask sweetly, looking up at him innocently as you adjust your dress. rafe smiles down at you as he’s adjusting himself back into his adidas-sponsored gym shorts. he puts his polo shirt back on as he responds, “never been better.” you both dress and exchange comforting and loving words. the siren outside blares, reminding all that the winning set will be taking place within the next few minutes. 

you sigh as you look at him, cupping your hand around his face and softly brushing back his bangs. “you got this, rafe. remember who you are.” you grin softly at him and kiss his lips softly.

with this, you both walk out of his locker room, hand in hand. you walk back over to your seat and fidget as you stare down rafe getting his racket back out and softly stretching out his back and arms that were just supporting your body as he fucked you only just a few minutes ago. getting into place, rafe walks over to his spot on the court confidently and stretches his legs. the rest of the crowd has already settled as the umpire climbs back onto their chair. 

the silence is almost deafening as the crowd waits to see the two men compete against one another once again. the ball kid walks over to rafe as he hands him the ball smoothly. “cameron to serve.” the umpire calls out.

rafe bounces the ball up and down, staring down jackson with a smirk planted on his face. with his last dribble of the ball, rafe takes a quick glance over at you and locks his eyes with you before serving.

-

this took me days to write, but thats okay! hope you enjoy. writing smut is kinda hard so i'm open to any kind of feedback!

happy holidays!