#i wanted to leave it pretty ambiguous for you to work with

[aamaranthiine]

Like a shadow on the sea, a figure slipped around patches of dappling sunlight peeking through the canopy of trees. Brief flashes of white that could be the sun reflecting or the leaves shifting to rearrange the shadows that flit across the earth. Delicate movements that did not disturb so much as a twig or leave imprints in soft, loamy soil. With nothing to mark it's passing, it is easy to dismiss the creature as pure imagination, even for the glimpse of a leonine tail or the loft of a dainty head.

The warbling of birds is gossip to keen ears, their chirping voices forming words that only she could comprehend. Something dangerous had taken place. There were glimpses of men in the area. Blood had been spilled. Voices rising and falling as the birds took flight to their nests, many quickly forgetting the discord often trailing the heels of mankind in favor of plump insects to hunt or to tend the needs of flightless young. A wiser beast would turn heel and follow the birds away.

She did not.

It is like having an eternal pose lodged in one's breast, a needle that incessently points and then tugs and tugs her in that direction. A compulsion sown deep into her marrow ever since consuming the Fruit years past. Too many times the instinct had almost been her demise; the poignant weakness to be drawn to the innocent, the young, the pure of heart. Even moreso when they were wounded.

It is a curse.

And yet she obeys it each time. Damned, she is certain, to one day be undone by the soul deep coercion.

The unicorn, one of the oldest myths and dreams of men from around the world, treads forward with a wariness that ensures she is all but invisible. So white she is almost golden, blending in with the sun and the shade simultaneously. Slowly closing the distance to where whoever lay hurt and dreading each and every step that it may be another ambush.

A wiser beast would turn and run.

And she does not.

for @seaoftales / young mihawk

[cherubfae]

𝔠𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔱-𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 || {𝔡𝔲𝔫𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔦}

ft. laios, marcille, chilchuck, namari, mickbell, & kabru

tags: sfw, bit of blood/gore, alcohol consumption, gender neutral/ implied afab reader (use of they/them), reader wraps their chest!, reader is implied to be a canine-like beast but left ambiguous (wolf, fox, coyote, etc) lovedrunk and flustered babies, pre-established relationship, reader can be interpreted as a beast-man, magically altered being, were-beast, etc!!, they can turn into an actual beast

a/n: I flustered myself writing this lmao, clearly i do not have favorites whaaaa-- haha! it's good to be back. I hope all of you are well and you enjoy this fic!! kabru's got unintentionally longggg <3 -- noah

Laios

Holy crow!! You are so, so, amazing!! This man will watch in awe as you easily strike down your enemy with a single downstroke of your blade. It glides through the monster like butter, a gust of wind from the blow kicking up dirt and debris.

You scoff, nose twitching in disgust as you shake off the bits of blood and gore that cling to the sharp steel. Your eyes drift upwards, ears perking up at Laios's interest. Eyebrow lifting into your hairline in question.

"O-oh, ah, good job!" Laios sputters, a rosy hue coating his cheeks. Lips tilting into a slight smirk you nod in response. You give him a thumbs up, winking your eye playfully at the blonde.

"Happy to help! By the way, why're you all red?"

Laios gulped, "Ju-just kind of warm in here, y'know? M'okay." He tugs at the collar beneath his chest armor for effect, his golden gaze looking anywhere but down at you and your pretty smile. He absolutely doesn't want to fixate how the points of your fangs jut out ever so slightly from beneath your upper lip, and how much he would very much like to touch them.

Marcille

She's no better than a man, she's no better than a man, she's no better than a man--

Marcille, despite the shame that digs deep into her gut, cannot tear her eyes away from you as you wash away the soot and ash covering your arms. Your shirt had been torn by the blast of one her explosive spells, leaving your arms and a bit of your bare torso exposed.

Tracing the path your veins map out, Marcille swallows thickly. Your arms were defined with muscle, not too bulky. You had clearly worked hard to get where you are. A much more experienced and capable dungeon explorer.

"You alright, Marcy?" Your voice floats to her ears, making them twitch. Suddenly bursting into a panic, Marcille blubbers out a screech.

Floundering, she squeaks, "Ah! Yes!! I'm so sorry-- your shirt!! I can fix it!" She grasps her staff, crowding herself in front of you. You wave her off gently, patting her shoulder.

You grin, fangs poking out. "Nah, s'alright. Got another one in my pack." You turn your back to her, peeling off the remains of your shirt, adjusting the wraps around your chest and back before kneeling down to rummage in your rucksack for a new tunic. Marcille damn near passes out.

Chilchuck

Normally he hates being shoved out of the way and pushed around like he's some kid, but with the absolute onslaught you bring during fighting, he's glad to have you looking out for him!

You are so many things: strong, swift, quick on your feet, and can be incredibly brutal when you need to be. You aren't just a threat to an enemy you face, you are a promise. You see to it that any foe will not harm your party.

Chilchuck himself isn't immune to the way you seem to get a bit more feral when he is threatened."He-ey!! What are you--!" He can't stop the way his heart leaps into his throat. His surprised gasp cut short when you scoop him up into your arms, dodging a long bow arrow barreling towards him.

With ears ringing at the deep, low snarl rumbling in the back of your throat, Chil blinks owlishly. He follows your gaze to see living armor being taken down by Izutsumi. Sighing in relief, the halfling relaxes in your embrace. He is incredibly lucky to have you looking out for him! Glancing up at you, his face explodes into a red glow upon seeing your tender gaze already transfixed on him.

Yeah, you might end up being the death of him.

Namari

A person after her own heart!! She revels in the rush of adrenaline that courses through her veins when she takes down an enemy, but you're even a step further than her!

Not only are you strong but you are an amazing asset to the team! You're incredibly versatile with weapons: axes, swords, lances, daggers, bows-- you name it! But what's really killer about you are your claws and teeth! How you can turn into an actual beast when angered enough, determined to fight for those you love. Namari has never met someone quite as unique as yourself. She just wished you weren't in Laios's party, but in hers.

You are immaculate, Namari thinks. She can't help but stare at you from across the bar, watching with an immense yearning as you laugh heartily with Laios and Marcille throwing your pints of ale up in a toast.

"Why don't you go talk to them? O-oh shit, here they come!" Chilchuck slurs from behind his own pint, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol. Namari sighs, too buried in her own thoughts to register her friend's words. Setting down her cup fingers sliding along the lip of the glass. She clumsily reaches over for the pitcher, gasping as it nearly tumbles off the edge of the table. You catch it with ease, smiling with that same kind smile she loved.

Pulling up a stool, you settle down besides the two on the opposite end. Smiling, you refill your friend's drinks before filling up your own tumbler once more. Chilchuck downs his drink in one go, hiccupping softly. Folding his arms in front of him, he rests his head atop them for a quick snooze.

Snickering, your gaze turns to Namari, who suddenly feels like she's sobering up at a rapid pace. You're absolutely beautiful in the orange glow and warmth of the tavern. Drowning out the sound of the drunkards, she can barely focus on the words you're saying, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to read your lips.

"Let's get you home, Namari. I think you need some sleep." You gently muse, standing from your stool. Waving over your shoulder at Laios, you help Namari up, leaning her against your body. Marcille lifts Chilchuck up onto her back like a rucksack, despite his protests he ultimately relented. (They totally bickered like a teen daughter and her middle-aged father about wanting to stay five more minutes)

The night air was cool against your flushed skin. Namari shudders, tucking her chin and nose beneath the wool collar of her shirt, pressing herself closer to you and your warmth. Her hand slides carefully into yours, wobbly smiling when you lightly squeeze her hand. Even in her drunken stupor, she can't fight the awe of how easily you sway her stubborn heart.

Mickbell

If Kuro isn't the first to rush to Mickbell's aid, it's you instead. The more you help rescue him, the more he will start to rely on you, so don't you slack off!!

Mick gets an absolute kick out of watching you blast any sort of enemy away with your strength and he'd never admit out loud how much he enjoys the view, especially if you're defending him.<3 it makes him feel all giddy when you swoop in and save him.

Today was no different than before. A morgue of ghosts swarm the immediate area, dropping the temperature down a few levels. Accompanying the specters, is a lone basilisk. It's dual heads watching Mickbell like a lion on a hunt. Warm puffs of breath cling to the air as Kabru readies his sword, Holm making his way to the opposite end of the basilisk, a jar of holy water in his hands.

The basilisk lets out an ungodly shriek and surges forward. Knocking Mickbell back, you press your body over his, effectively becoming a shield over him. You're snarling, teeth exposed with intent to bite. Mick curls his hands against your tunic, eyes squeezing tight and prepares for impact.

"Now Holm!" Kabru slices downwards as Holm slices upwards, decapitating both heads. Mumuring a silent spell, Holm swirls the jar of holy water around like a lasso, shooing away the ghosts.

Gently prying Mick's hands from your shirt, you place a warm palm to his chilled cheek. His downcast green eyes open immediately, and he throws himself into your embrace, winding his arms around your neck. "Gaaah!! That was so scary!!" Over your shoulder, you miss how Mickbell gives Kuro a cheeky grin and a thumbs up.

Kabru

He has met all sorts of travelers and merchants and dungeon experts. While Laios is one that perplexes him, Kabru's curiosity in you reaches a certain level of fondness he isn't quite equipped to deal with. He knows he will be able to rely on you in the heat of battle at any given time. Your strength is plentiful, but even you have your limits.

"Does it still hurt?" Kabru softly asked. He sits beside you on the stone floor, shuddering at the slight chill that seeps in through his clothing. You lift your gaze to him, blinking slow. Kabru notes how your pupils dilate ever so slightly when you face him, something he feels hopeful for. You return your attention to the wound on your leg neatly wrapped in bandages-- a direwolf bite.

Giving a noncommittal shrug, you finish your handiwork, setting the bloodied old bandages ablaze. "I've had worse. If the wolf had broken my bones, that'd be another story. I don't want Rinsha wasting her mana on me. I can keep up just fine, I won't slow us down."

Kabru takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger softly, forcing you to look at him. "I didn't ask if you could keep up, I asked if it still hurt. You got hurt because you saved me from that direwolf, I've failed you." There's a tenderness in his azure stare.

"It hurts a bit," you whisper, unable to glance away. "You never fail me, Kabru." You smile. Kabru looses a small breath.

"I won't let that happen again. You have my word." For a moment, the world stills and the two of you find yourself leaning in. You can feel his warm breath on your lips, hyperaware of his large palm sliding down your arm to rest on your waist. Your hands slid to the front of his tunic, curling your knuckles into the fabric. He gasps softly when you tug him to you, lips almost touching when--

"HEY KABRU!" The shrill voice of Mickbell jerks the two of you apart. You gasp sharply as your leg knocks into the adjacent stone wall. Kabru is instantly at your side fretting over you.

Mickbell stares you two down from the doorway at opposite end of the room, mouth drawn into a confused expression. "Uhh, hey. Just wanted to know what's for dinner. You two good? Why do you look so red?" He shrugs his shoulders half a second later, deciding he really didn't care to know the answer. Wiggling himself between the two of you, Mickbell sighs and folds his arms back behind his head with closed eyes; completely oblivious to the shared flustered looks you and Kabru are sending one another.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[starry-fame]

18+ Mercy [Sylus x Gender Neutral!Reader/MC]

Summary:

He’s addicting. The way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl, the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

Tags: Smut, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Complicated Relationship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender Neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 6,167

Author's Notes: My No Defense Zone fic I took forever on when I wrote it lol, love this man. Meant to take place as an alternative - 'what if they fucked' ending lmao

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Frenzied breaths, a deep groan, the rise and fall of his pretty, exposed chest as your grip tightens around his strained erection. A broken noise vibrates against your neck, warm, and his hips jerk as you drag him with each pump of the wrist. Closer, closer—

The scene fades, melting away like warm honey. You groan and curl up further, muddled, disoriented, and almost convince yourself to let your mind fade into sweet serenity. It was good, felt so good, and-

…What the hell were you thinking? You jolt, startle yourself out of your spiraling thoughts and reorient. A smooth leather couch, the blurry edges of a home that costs more than you’d ever make in a lifetime, and that infuriating silver-haired man sat across the table at the armchair, idly flickering through vinyl records (you know he likes the classics.) Your eyes follow the moment of his fingers before slowly trailing up to his face. His lip quirks into a barely perceptible smirk.

“Were you dreaming?”

“You should’ve woken me up. Or given me a blanket. Hospitality much?” You grumble, properly sitting up and rubbing your bleary eyes. His own crimson ones crinkle at that, and your mind flashes — panting, the hard edges of a flushed chest as you trail your fingers down further and further. “Don’t be shy now,” He retaliates against your featherlight touch. His lip curls, trembling body betraying his collected expression. Your fingers press above his waistband, his hips push into your hand and—

You look away, but somehow, Sylus’s gaze bores into you like he can read every last filthy thought that plagues your mind. You grunt, briefly indulge in the flush-faced Sylus from your dreams overlapping with the amused one in front of you. That image of him so pliant under your touch, the thought that you could potentially work him to that state, bolsters your confidence.

“Mhm. I dreamt of a horse. An annoying one. Refuses to be tamed, tells me I’m bluffing and overreaching,” You say, leveling Sylus with a stare. It’s not the first time you’ve challenged Sylus, but this enigma manages to have you on guard with a single effective look.

“That so? What exactly did you do to him, then?” He muses, playing along. You slowly rise and approach him, pausing to stand at the armchair as his head tilts up at you in curiosity. Neck strained up, a huff of laughter leaving his throat as your hands splay across warm chest and slide down firm muscle to his hips. “Look at me,” you command when his eyes flutter shut, and drag his hips closer. He inhales sharply, and opens his eyelids just enough to see a sliver of red. Your lips drift to his pretty pale neck and bite, pulling a low grunt from him, then—

You roughly grab his chin, observing his stupidly attractive face from various angles as Sylus contentedly lets you, eyes narrowing, but otherwise unbothered. If he still wore that collar of his in the dream, you could yank him the proper way, snatch the air from his throat. But you suppose this will have to do. You finally step closer and tilt his neck up high, so you’re directly above him as you sneer down at him. “A little roughhousing never hurt. What do you think I should’ve done to him?”

Maybe he’s amused, or perhaps impressed, but Sylus laughs, a rich deep sound from the bottom of his throat. The way that sound rings through your ears, the way you enjoy it, pisses you off. You press a firm thumb against his lips to silence him, soft and pink under your touch.

Sylus’ gaze is a strange phenomenon. You only really know two proper emotions from this man: anger, and appeased. There’s always this cocky air to him, not an ounce of humility. So even when he’s staring up at you like this, it’s somehow just as powerful as him looking down on you. His chin is in your hand. You’re the one above him.

Yet, you can’t shake this strange sense of foreboding. You don’t know Sylus well enough to make much of him aside from his eccentricities, and him being a blatant heartless bastard. This sort of mystery, these missing puzzle pieces that create the shell of a man before you, make withstanding his presence feel like you’re subjecting yourself to a lone night in the wilderness with no gear, vulnerable to attack.

‘Do you hate me?’ Your mind flashes back, recalling him in ruby red robe and gimmicky cuffs. His scoff, the aversion of his eyes as he uttered ‘astounding misunderstanding’. He harbors no hate, yet, you can’t help but wonder if he likes you either.

“A little roughhousing, hm?” Sylus chuckles, and before you can even make space for him, he’s lifting from his seat and your hand falls slack to the side, default restored to craning your head up at this man. While you prefer looking from above, you’d be a liar if you tried to argue you hated him looking down at you. In theory, maybe, because you know he thinks everything is beneath him. But in practice, his lower angle is, unfortunately, just as attractive as his upper one.

“Wanna test that theory?”

And just as alarm bells start ringing, acknowledging the impending danger in those words, he’s crowding you back towards the couch. Not even aggressive, rather, a slow approach. A damn predator stalking his prey, and that’s somehow even more harrowing. Before you can slip from his icy gaze, the back of your knees catch against leather and his hand shoves you backwards, an inelegant yelp escaping your lips as you tumble back onto cushion. One leg crams between your own, his hand overlapping yours, pinning it to the backrest.

“Gh—Let go of me!” you gasp, strain your confined hand and lift an arm to shove him away. He snatches that one in the air with a scoff and pins both of your arms firm, hovering over you and face too damn close to think properly. Your heart thunders, somewhere between attracted and terrified. When he’s got you cornered, eyes gleaming in the warm ambiance of the room, the crimson in his gaze penetrates you. The creeping sensation of your soul being laid bare, infiltrated and consumed as he gauges your desires. Your lips quiver and quickly you shut your eyes, shaking your head vehemently.

“Don’t— I won’t let you use your-!”

“Pfft.” A humored breath leaves Sylus’ mouth. One of his hands lets yours free, and you feel those fingers decide to capture your face instead, stroke a large, soft thumb beneath your eye as he murmurs.

“You think I need that to figure out what you’re thinking right now, sweetie?”

Your ears tickle at that nickname, annoyed yet maybe a little… comforted? He uses it halfway between an insult and endearment, mostly the former, but occasionally the later. It’s condescending as hell, but shit, everything this man does is. You grit your teeth and slowly open your eyes to peer into his, and his own seem to twinkle in approval. No glowing, just a piercing red that carries a thousand secrets and the ability to strip your soul bare and destroy it from the inside out.

The color of spider lilies. You wonder how many people breathed their last breath in the midst of this gaze.

You exhale, free hand flexing as you silently debate pushing him away again. You feel small, pinned against the couch so easily. While most people would be no problem, Sylus seemed to love being the exception to every damn rule in the book. You don’t know what hole this powerhouse crawled out of, but being so soundly beaten by this man puts a bigger dent on your ego than you’re willing to admit.

“How long are you gonna stay like this?” You snap, jumping to your usual defense as you glare at him. He raises a brow, naturally, and the hand cradling your face sneaks down to press the pad of his thumb against your parted lips — warm breaths, his moist lips under your thumb as he watches you with eyes that make you lose all sense of reason. You lean down, fervently, and before you can even think, you bring your lips to his—

You try to banish the thought from your mind, let the dream rest, but it plagues you. Every damn look this man gives reminds you of his groans, the way his body is so responsive and trembles when you kiss at his chest and squeeze his cock.

He’s not—you’re not—his thumb swipes over your lips and your brow scrunches as you look him in the eye. He watches you like a puzzle itching to be solved, fingers dipping down to smooth over the front of your throat. Some embarrassing noise, what you’ll tell yourself was merely a sound of surprise, rumbles in your throat and you squirm, pulling your neck away. That man’s hand anywhere near your neck screams death and reminds you of the first time you were not so pleasantly held by it. You try to escape his touch but he stubbornly keeps his hand there, stroking it with a gaze you can only describe as ‘fascination’.

He watches your pulse, enthralled — and that look narrows into something else. Something you refuse to put a name to before his eyes flicker back up to yours. He chuckles, leans real close so his face takes up your entire field of vision.

“Scared, doll?”

Doll. Porcelain. Fragile. Easily manipulated and broken. You might just hate that nickname the most.

“Of—Of course I’m not,” you lie through the skin of your teeth, biting your lip to fight the strange foreboding welling in you. He’s stroking one of the most vulnerable areas of your body so gently and it fills you with a mix of apprehension and something very, very different.

“We can stop. You can ride home on that bike of yours. Word of warning, fuel’s low. Might break down on your way back,” He whispers, no, fucking purrs in your ear and holy shit, what the fuck. Your body trembles to that and of course he notices and snorts. There’s no way in hell, no way you’re gonna let this man press you against the couch and fucking terrify you one minute and arouse you the next. Hell, maybe you’re still both. The hand stroking your neck could easily crush it on its own, let alone Sylus’ evol.

Fuck, this isn’t—this wasn’t—

“You…!” You hiss, his hand goes from your neck to your collarbone, warm, big, and the feeling makes you shudder. You shake your head, almost in denial, and begin stammering.

“You’re a prick..!”

“Oh?” He hums, and the hand enveloping yours begins stroking the back of it

“And cruel. And heartless. And way too damn cocky, you really need to be humbled, and—“

You hear that gorgeous laugh right beside your ear as he leans down, face disappearing into your neck with strands of silk hair brushing your chin. Warm breath lingers, and you gulp but don’t let up.

“Someone really oughta put you in your place, knock you down a peg so you’re not so—mmm!” You can’t swallow down the gasp that leaves you when warm lips press against your pulse. His kisses trail along your neck, like a fire, and your body curls up as your free hand clings to his sweater. Fuck, feels good—and he’s nipping and sucking so sweetly you know it’ll for sure leave marks, that asshole.

“Such a noisy little kitten,” he chuckles, the noise makes you whimper and cling to him tighter, drag him to you. He pleasantly complies, presses his chest against yours and nudges his knee against your open thighs. His fingers sneak in your hair, pulling it back and exposing your neck completely so all you can do is weakly complain as he makes a perfect mess of your throat. Pays special attention to suck where it makes you sputter, soothing with gentle bites, his warm tongue.

“What are you, a vampire?” You hiss, quickly dissipating into a sigh when he knows just the right place to put his lips to make your body tremble. His breath, mouth, lips, so warm, so so warm, and then his kisses are trailing up to your jaw and—

His lips hover. So close and so perfect over yours. There’s a fire in his eyes, a heat that burns in them and makes your entire body feel alight. When you open your lips and they nearly brush his, you feel your face warm and quickly turn your head away to avoid his mouth, lips trembling. You can’t even look him in the eye, fidgeting with his shirt as you purse your lips. It’s not like it’s anything special. Really—but somehow a kiss to the lips feels more embarrassing, more intimate than anything else he could do in that moment.

He laughs at your avoidance, strokes your cheek and places a kiss right where his thumb was seconds ago.

“Aren’t you cute,” he teases, and you wanna glare and refute, but your words always catch in your throat when met with those striking eyes. He turns your head to him, his mouth quirks up, and he’s pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. Too soft and too sweet for him. It’s so uncharacteristic you can’t even think properly. Foreign, unbeknownst, yet eerily familiar.

There’s no deeper meaning behind his smirk, his lips. He’s just teasing you, getting a rise out of you, yeah, because he’s Sylus and Sylus is an asshole, always. And of course this asshole is kissing your cheeks and your nose and your forehead and you don’t know what to do but quiver in his hold, breathless and mind blank. It feels almost akin to affection but you know the words Sylus and affection can’t exist in the same sentence.

“To think this is all it takes to make you compliant…” he murmurs in your ear, and before you can finally find the words to snap at him, his lips are firm against yours. Bold. Your neck strains against the backrest as he presses deeper and gently coaxes your lips open, warm tongue brushing against yours. He tastes refined, like the wine sitting on the table, and his scent envelops you as you feel him everywhere, hands on your face and your own, body against yours, mouth on yours and the smell of expensive ass cologne — bougie Dior or some shit. You sigh and pull him closer, bite at his lip and groan into his open mouth. He openly accepts, low rumble in his throat as he pushes right back, pauses for a moment of respite before sinking in again and kissing you breathless.

His fingers wander, rough, and release your hand to catch at the hem of your shirt and caress your trembling waist. He watches you, eyes reflecting an unspoken question. It almost infuriates you how pissed you would be if he stopped at this point. You scoff and avert your gaze, lips glued shut even as you cling to his shirt unrelentingly. You hear him laugh, low, and he slowly, achingly lifts your top up and over your shoulders, ensures you’re bare from the waist up in one fell swoop.

The slight chill makes you shudder, while Sylus’s hands take this time to roam your frame. Curl against your waist and thumb at your abdomen, which makes you tense and feel a sweet tingle run down your spine. The warmth in your core, the heat between your thighs bolsters when his lips catch at your collarbone, and kiss a path down to your chest. He’s gentle, a soft pressure and warm tongue as he drags a slew of kisses to your nipple — then he catches it in his teeth and you tense with a bitten back whimper, giving his shoulder a reprimanding push. He has a nasty habit of biting. He merely laughs and spends his time there a moment longer, sucking and holding you as your hips roll against nothing, aching. His fingers dig, as though to punish you for wanting so much so soon — like he wasn’t the reason for it in the first place.

There must be something about Sylus, something about him that just makes you lose your sense of reason. Somewhere between conscious and subconscious. Because it’s almost like a tiny part of your mind — no, even deeper, some fragment of your being buried deep and away, wants to push through and melt beneath him completely. And it’s the complete antithesis to the active part of you that wants to give him a hard time and wish eventual hell on him as retribution for his sins. It’s weird—wrong, and yet you cling to him like he might disappear into stardust if you let go.

“You want me that bad, sweetie?” He murmurs against your chest, shifts down to kiss right below your sternum, and you move your hand to tug on his silver strands in retaliation. A sharp breath leaves his nose, and watching his face scrunch, slightly twist with parted lips, you feel satisfied. He’s addicting, the way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl and the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

He does everything with intent, a purpose. He doesn’t just touch you to feel, he touches to elicit something, to receive. You jumping into his hands as they cradle you at the pinch of your waist, you throwing your head back when he teases this sensitive bit of skin just above your waistband, some incoherent murmur when he kisses at your navel. He keeps his lips there, presses his thumbs just below and the sweet tingle makes you whine, your body tense as you try to avoid looking too desperate under him.

“Not enough, hunter? Need more?” His voice is deceptively sweet as he mouths above your waistband, dips his thumbs inside. You sigh — you don’t know if it’s from his lips or his voice, and turn your head away as he watches, amused. If he wanted a verbal response, he sure as hell wasn’t getting one. But you think he knew that already. He laughs, pops open the button of your jeans, and you lift your hips as he takes his agonizing time dragging them down.

“Such an eager thing,” he soothes, kissing your temple and not so shyly pressing a hand between your legs. You hiss and your needy hips jerk into his hand, while his deep voice speaks pleasantly into your ears. “What is it? Want my fingers? My mouth?“ His hand strokes, gentle, too damn light, and you’re shamelessly rolling your hips into his touch, dragging him by the shirt and holding him close as you get off with his hand, dizzy.

“Off. Take it off already,” you grumble against him, feeling some module of defeat, but your desire damn well overrides your pride at this point. You tug at his shirt, insistent, and he chuckles before complying and lifting it well and off.

Seeing his nude body shielded only in a towel once before doesn’t make the sight any less novel. Sure, dripping wet is a whole other thing, but just the thought of this man stripping for you and you alone at your request has your mind in shambles. You let out a solid stuttered breath, and immediately lean forward with your hands drawn to his chest, like a magnet.

Fuck he’s ripped, like a statue, feels stupid perfect under your touch. You hear what sounds like a quiet, breathy noise followed by a soundless laugh. You glance up to look at his face, a subtle amused pleasure and it immediately overlaps with the dream that inhabits your mind. You want — you need— your fingers trail down, and he shudders so beautifully, like a work of art, lips parted in a breathless moan. His sculpted abs tense and tremble under your touch and suddenly you wanna do anything, everything to him.

And before your fingers can dip lower, he’s shoving you back, pinning your wrist to the couch and capturing your lips silently. The noise that leaves you is almost as embarrassing as the way your body throbs so bad your mind grows hazy. Not fair. So not fucking fair. This kiss is deep, no, rather, a myriad of kisses over and over. Slow and steady to desperate and raw, always leaving you wondering which he’ll do next. He completely swallows any noises you could make, holds you in place so he can completely dominate. It’s stupid hot and you need him so goddamn bad. You know you’re an aching mess and there’s an embarrassing wet spot staining the underwear he left on you.

“So touchy. This how you tried to tame the horse in your dream, hmm?” He groans into your mouth, handsy all over. The more he kisses you and the more his fingers make you quiver, the more your mind goes blank.

“I-It’s—“ you try to speak, but his lips envelop yours to shut you up. One moment you’re melting against the couch, the second two strong hands hook around your thighs and you gasp as you’re hoisted in the air, automatically wrapping your legs around him to steady yourself.

You try to pull away in pure shock, grab your breath and comment, but his fingers dig into your scalp and hold you as he walks with both your mouths preoccupied. You pathetically rock into his body, seeking any form of stimulation you can manage, he can give. Instead of the bedroom like you expect, he steps back and impressively rummages through his bag on the circle table with one hand, before backing you against the large glass window. It’s cold, you wince and he thumbs your cheek to soothe.

“Sylus—I—“ you paw desperately at him, body trembling as your thoughts border on blank from the way this man kisses you and the way you flutter in response. He presses a soft lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, watching you with dark eyes, that beautiful ruby leaving you speechless. You pant, heart thundering, and clench at his shoulders for purchase. “I’m… fuck…”

“You’re adorable when you’re like this…” He says, as though it’s a regular occurrence (you suppose it will be from now on.) You gulp and try to steady your breaths and heart that just might burst, and he’s settling you down gently. His thumb tugs at the waistband, hands dipping into your underwear and against your sensitive waist before pulling them down. You try to ignore the way you’re immediately dripping when they’re off. He takes a moment to openly admire you, eyes drinking in the sight of your swollen arousal. His thumb brushes just above and the proximity makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Like this, all for me.” It’s like a praise, and your eyes zero in on the transparent bottle in his hand. So that’s what he grabbed from his bag. He uncaps the bottle and douses his fingers without reserve — eyes flickering up to you. You fight the embarrassment his shameless gaze brings you. The anticipation that makes you throb. When he’s done, he places the bottle aside and leans down to press a light kiss to your lips.

“Relax, sweetie,” he murmurs, half teasing, half… sweet? Before you can think further on it, his hand’s already found its way between your legs and you brace yourself against the window. He bends to mouth at your neck, slow and sweet, while he swirls before pressing a thick digit in. With lube, it slips in smooth, though far thicker and deeper than you’re used to. You sigh as his other hand decides to join in and tease swollen flesh, soft strokes in time with the way he slowly teases his finger in and out.

“Sylus…” you hold yourself steady around his neck, quickly adjusting to the new pressure inside you as the strokes with his other hand ease you in. You rock into his touch, needy, and he meanly moves to pin your hips to the window instead, holding you in place while you whimper from the loss of his touch. For all that you want, Sylus only ever wants to give what he allows you to have.

“So greedy. Don’t you know you shouldn’t ask for too much at once? Lucky for you, I don’t mind indulging you every once in a while,” he chuckles — which is funny, he’ll indulge you any day of the week. Hell, pampers you even. But then he’s slipping in a second finger and your words are gone before they ever had a chance to formulate.

Your hips tingle as he drags them in and out, wet. He moves back to kiss your lips, goes at them again and again like he’s unable to get enough. Sylus is a kisser, you learn. Part of you always thought kissing was deliberately off the table for him. But the way his lips move, how damn sensual he is, and the perfect way he knows to suck on your lower lip is so good you can’t imagine him being anything else. His fingers curl deep inside and you whine, a jolt of pleasure running through your already burning body. Your body naturally rides his fingers, chasing that feeling, the way he can press against your walls so good. Makes you tremble in pleasure as he whispers quiet praises against your lips on how good you’re taking his fingers. They move and stretch, relaxing you, opening you up for him, and you can’t help but wonder how Sylus fucks as you’re hazy. Does he hold you down and pump into you mean and rough? Slow and sensual? Does he like to tease, to give, or to take? All three? Quiet whimpers leave your mouth and he’s adding a third finger the same time he goes back to stroking you.

You try to be good, to keep your hips nice and still for him. You want him firmer, harder, want to feel his touch burn on your skin for days and leave you dizzy at the mere thought. The dual sensation makes your legs tremble and it takes steadying your hands on his shoulders to keep from stumbling as he thrusts and pleasures your swollen flesh in tandem.

“Sylus… I’m… I’ll…” You try to warn him, wrapping your arms around his neck for support as you whine and quiver, his fingers insistent and hand skilled. He chuckles in your ear at your stumbled words, and fuck that makes you even more weak in the knees. The pleasure radiates from your hips all throughout, tingling, building so good and so quick. It almost surprises you how soon you’re desperately squeezing him and letting out quiet whispered noises as the build up finally overflows. Your body trembles, wrapped around him as you pulse around his fingers and against his hand, soothed by quiet praises while he strokes and finger-fucks you all throughout it, leaving you squirming when the feeling borders on unbearable.

He gives you reprieve, kisses your temple while you quiver in his grasp and try to steady your heart that’s thundering so hard you feel it in your throat.

“Knew you’d look just perfect like that,” he says, and you give him a weak squeeze in response. If you let go of his neck, you’re certain you’ll collapse on the spot.

Thankfully, Sylus, if anything, is perceptive. He wastes no time undoing his pants and moving his briefs just enough to release his eager erection, lined just with your abdomen. Naturally, you have to look, and shit. You figured he’d be something considering his damn size, but seeing it against your body makes you wonder if three fingers can even remotely compare. You tremble — maybe anticipation, maybe nerves, and comply when you’re lifted and pressed against the window so your jelly legs are given a break.

His lips mark up your neck beautifully — you can’t imagine what sorts of things you’ll need to wear to cover up the next week or two, and you subconsciously tense when you feel him slide himself between your legs, flesh sensitive and wet. His eyes lock onto yours, hot. Being so scrutinized when so helplessly at this man’s mercy makes your skin burn.

“Hm? What’s with that look? Want something?” Sylus meanly asks, and you hate the way your body responds to those words, throbs, and you watch him with a look of quiet, embarrassed defeat. Maybe you’ll have Sylus at your mercy one day, but today is not that day.

“Why are you so damn big…” you grumble, like you aren’t looking at him with heart eyes. That draws a throaty laugh from him and he leans close, lips settled right at the shell of your ear.

“So it can fit perfectly between those pretty legs of yours,” he says, and right then he uses a hand to steady his erection just where his fingers made you come undone, making you scoff and squeeze him tight.

“Perfectly isn’t how I’d describe your size in proportion to me,” you mumble. Perhaps feigning an attitude can help distract you from your nervous anticipation. Your body’s throbbing, begging, empty from his fingers and aching to be filled even after you just came.

“Really? Guess we’ll just have to see about that,” he whispers, light and teasing. In the same breath, you feel him slowly slide into you, arms supporting your legs as you sink onto his cock. You grip at him with a rushed moan, Sylus letting out a choked groan in response. You tremble, fight the urge to tense as you stretch around his size. Fuck — he’s so damn thick and fills you so much it aches. You whine and grasp at him with the effort to adjust, weakly murmuring curses.

“Dammit—shit, ah…” you choke and squeeze him close, burying one hand in his pale silver hair, and digging your shaky fingers into his shoulder. “S-Sylus…”

“That’s it, sweetie. Just like that. You can handle it,” he murmurs, tone so sweet for such mean actions as he pulls out and pushes in deeper, bottoming out. This position has you exactly where he needs you, makes you accept everything he has to offer. He’s so deep and you can feel him twitch inside, thick, an inferno, makes you sigh with each movement. He watches your face — this asshole, he likes seeing you whine — and let out a weak noise as he grinds, hips flush to you, before starting to thrust at a deep, slow pace. The warmth of his skin contradicts the coolness of the glass behind you, and you vaguely wonder how filthy your combined silhouettes must look in the distance.

It’s hard to explain the well of emotions inside you aside from pure lust. They blend together, a chunky, complicated mix of very degrees of pettiness, anger, mild fondness, and a deep-set longing you can’t pinpoint the origin of. Your body takes this longing and turns it into need, holding him to you, absorbing his warmth inside and out.

For a moment, you want to tilt your head and kiss him. You squeeze him harder instead.

You quiver around his length, each thrust accompanied by deep pleasure and a dull, pleasant ache. Sylus rewards your strain around his cock with his lips on yours, deep and devouring, stealing your already thin air. He guides you so easy, holds you up like it’s nothing while his steady thrusts slowly gain on speed. This position easily lets him slide against you in the perfect way that makes you cry out weakly, back arching. The pleasure is numbing and he brushes that area over and over, adamant on making you lose your sense of reason.

“Look at you. You handle me so well, sweetheart,” he speaks against your swollen lips like a dirty secret, panting against you as his thrusts hit the perfect spot every time. He handles your legs with ease and fucks into you harder, meaner, like he’s trying to bully these pathetic noises out of you. You whimper and claw at him, toes curling, feeling him swell as skin slaps against skin every time. His face is flush, eyes look at you like there’s no one else in the world — the only thing that exists is you a mess from his cock. His thrusts are as dizzying as his gaze you feel you can never escape, eyes half-lidded as he watches you take all of him. Your body’s a beacon of pleasure and your hips roll against his, rocking in time, wanting more, never enough.

“Please… please-fuck, Sylus… ngh…” You gasp, squeeze his hair tighter, and he fits his lips against your brow to murmur, “as you wish, sweetie.”

His hips are relentless, he stuffs you full of his cock every time and rolls his hips just the right way to make you sweetly numb, to fill you with that deep-set pleasure from within. His hair sticks to his brow, pants leave his body as his darkened eyes admire your sheen in sweat, rasping form. Fuck — he’s so — you need — he kisses at your neck and the sensitivity almost makes you sob.

“You’re shaking… you gonna come for me again all pretty?” Sylus breathes in your ear, you groan and clench him tight, making his hips sputter a moment. He smirks and picks back up his usual pace in response. You indeed feel your entire body quiver around him as the feeling grows more and more. Fuck you’ll — you — you can’t even say a word of warning as you’re suddenly letting out a choked sob, unable to control your tremors as you climax, body taut, tense. Sylus fucking you throughout only makes you whine and whimper as the feeling prolongs, white and hot. You’re so beautifully sensitive and rendered completely speechless, thoughtless. Sylus lets out quiet grunts all throughout, his own hips trembling, but pace unbroken.

Even when you come down Sylus doesn’t relent on his thrusts, he’s persistent if anything. At this point tears are pricking your eyes as you squeeze him tight, shame lost. “Please, please Sylus, fuck I can’t — please come,” you beg, sensitive, shaking, swollen, and Sylus laughs softly as his thrusts come in mean, hard, and fast.

“Mmm… How could I refuse such an earnest request?” He hums and holds you firm, his own forehead pressed against the window. It warms your ear and fogs the glass as his hips snap against yours, more erratic, your body bounced along with his rhythm and so damn sensitive you fight the urge to cry. Quiet grunts leave him, he’s more vocal, more open, and his large hands squeeze your thighs as he gasp and twitches. He buries deep and spills, releasing a pleasant groan right into your hot ear. He’s so close, feels so alive under your fingers and inside you, his heart an impossibly fast rhythm that puts yours to shame. You feel every throb, and you moan weakly as you’re held up, body swallowing every last drop. When he pulls out of your swollen hole, you feel the strength leave you and his cum drip down filthily.

“There you are, sweetie. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he soothes, and holds your weak body up with the same ease he had the first time despite the time elapsed. This kindness feels as wrong from him as it does right. When you weakly rest your head on his shoulder to look at him, his sweet eyes return the gaze, appeased. He carries your limp body to the couch and settles you down gently, swiping a thumb across your slick forehead. “You had quite the workout,” he comments. You glare and push his shoulder away, earning a chuckle.

“Aw, don’t pout.”

“Next time…” you hiss, holding a finger up to him. ‘Next time’ implying this will be regular. ‘Next time’ implying Sylus is not only the fearsome Onychinus leader you’ve been made to deal with, but is now a man you fuck (and something… more?) on top of it. “You’ll be the one at my mercy.”

Sylus blinks, tongue lax as he observes you in mild surprise.

Then, his face melts into a soft grin.

You’ve seen so many new expressions from Sylus today, it’s like you’re meeting him again for the first time. He grabs your hand and gently interlocks your fingers, watching you with a look you can only describe as ‘affectionate’.

It makes your face burn.

He adjusts his hand so he’s grasping your palm, and he drags yours to his lips, dropping a soft kiss on your fingertips.

“As you wish, your majesty.”

[nanamis-bigtie]

JJK MEN WEARING A SEXY COSTUME FOR YOU

featuring: gojo, ino, takaba, naobito, geto, toji, higuruma, ijichi, nanami, choso, naoya, shiu, kusakabe, sukuna, yaga cw: ambiguous reader, suggestive themes a/n: various ideas were stuck with me since i saw this sukuna fanart by @clumsyraccoon and i finally put them together in my online notebook; i finally got myself to write my underrated husband takaba too, yay!

100% into that

Gojo

What is sex if not fun? Sticking to one outfit or doing stuff butt-naked would be boring and boredom is the last thing Gojo wants to have incorporated into his sex life. He's the one bringing this up, actually, one day appearing in the bedroom as a sexy nurse. He changes costumes more often than his everyday outfits, until he gets bored and returns for a while to the classic naked routine.

what he would wear: literally anything. he would fuck even in a fursuit

Ino

Sweet boyfriend Ino has quite a kinky side to him and likes to experiment. You're proposing, he's in, no questions asked—and gods above, he feels amazing while dressing up for you. Rather than coming up with ideas, he lets you dress him however you desire; he prefers costumes to be tied to his submissive strike.

what he would wear: sexy bunny costume, catboy/puppy attire, lingerie

Takaba

He takes to costumes and crossdressing like a duck to water, he's a professional, after all. No shame and no restrictions to imagination found—and he loves to roleplay while in costume, so be ready to be encouraged to wear a matching one. Takaba is pretty flexible when it comes to adapting to your whims, so whether you prefer a submissive femboy or a leather daddy, you will have it.

what he would wear: he's down to anything you propose but personally loves burlesque the most

Naobito

He has a huge crossdressing and role reversal kink, and he lets you know about it beforehand—he can't imagine sex without a little dress up game from time to time, so if it's a big no for you, you won't be compatible partners. He doesn't expect you to wear a costume as well but will be delighted if you play along, especially with his favorite geisha & customer game.

what he would wear: traditional feminine japanese attire

likely

Geto

Himself, Geto is rather indifferent when it comes to what he's wearing (or not) during spicy moments. But he likes to spoil you in bed and to nurture your kinky side, so he will take a mental note whenever you come up with dressing-up or roleplay ideas, and strike when you expect it the least despite the slow build-up he prepares on the way. He leaves a trace of his schemes, lets you run into clues, like browsing history or a receipt "recklessly" left on display. You will know what awaits you—but never for sure and never when.

what he would wear: priest attire, sexy bunny costume, nurse costume, latex, lingerie

Toji

What are some clothes in comparison to all those wild and weird things he's done with all those women for a place to stay. He even likes it but he's usually just too lazy and believes that, in the end, the simplicity and naked bodies are the best. So, sometimes you have to coax him into wearing what you want—but for Toji there's no such a inconvenience that couldn't be bribed with a bowl of good ramen or a blowjob.

what he would wear: leather, uniforms and working clothing, cosplay

Higuruma

He's just unsure if he's more into that or into the overwhelming embarrassment he feels when you put him into a costume. He hasn't done it with previous partners and, on top of everything, no matter how hard he tries, he can't quite click with roleplaying, if it comes with the costume. In the end he almost always caves but he definitely feels more confident in outfits that don't require coming up with acting.

what he would wear: suits, uniforms and working clothing, priest attire

Ijichi

The thing about him is that he just...doesn't have heart to say no, and once he finds himself in the middle of situation, in crushing majority he's so much into that he scares himself. Dressing up at least doesn't come with the aftertaste of "in the end, it did awaken something in me". Prefers to be dressed up like a doll rather than coming up with costume ideas

what he would wear: crossdressing, sexy bunny costume, catboy costume, cosplay of female characters, maid costume

rather unlikely

Nanami

He just...doesn't get the appeal. Will do it for you, if you insist really hard, but it's a special kind of a treat and you won't get it often. Once he gets into the attire though, he's dedicated to his task for 100%. Nanami never does his job half-heartedly, if you want to have a sexy maid, you will have a sexy maid to the tiniest detail.

what he would wear: leather, suit or uniform, maid costume for crossdressing & role reversal roleplay | i actually did write something about the latter...

Choso

Poor soul, it's almost too embarrassing for him. He blushes so hard he gets scarlet-red all over his face, stutters and ineffectively tries to bolt from the place where you attacked him with your ideas. Why do you want him to do this, it's weird, he looks weird, why can't you two have normal sex? Eventually gives up if you pester him long enough but he gets so submissive about it it's almost more adorable than sexy.

what he would wear: any cute attire. he looks surprisingly good in cute, lolita fasion inspired dresses

Naoya

He's rolling his eyes and scoffing even before you finish explaining him your idea. It's ridiculous, you are ridiculous, if you hoped he will do as you please and put that hideous outfit on (after all, anything that hasn't been chosen by Naoya himself is hideous by definition). He has more pride and praise kink than braincells, though, so he will cave just to show off. He loves it but he will rather be skinned alive than admit it to you.

what he would wear: if you stroke his ego hard enough, he will literally wear anything, even the most stupid outfit possible

Shiu

A sly smirk dances on his lips when he's listening and counting how many favours he can squeeze out of you in exchange for what you're asking him to do. He never explicitly says yes or no, so you're not sure whether he hates the idea or quite contrary; it's always an exchange of goods for him and you need to be prepared for hard negotiations.

what he would wear: oh baby, that completely depends on how much you're willing to pay for your whim...

you need a miracle

Kusakabe

If you thought Choso is the peak of embarrassed blush, look at Kusakabe's face when you show him the bunny ears you bought in a sex shop. He stutters and talks way too loudly, has no idea what to do with hands, paces around as he explains why absolutely never and why did you even bring this to him, is this a joke and if it is, then a very not funny one. Will, reluctantly, try, if you're pleading long enough, as conscience gnaws on him and calls him out for being a coward.

what he would wear: sexy bunny. once. never again until you effectively bribe him

Sukuna

You really have the gall to ask him for such things in the first place—but, luckily for you, he loves when you're being bold. Just don't overuse your special privilege if you don't want to have it revoked and face...consequences. Be patient, he will wait for the right moment and eventually reward you for your assets. It's an exceptionally rare moment, so treasure it.

what he would wear: leather, uniforms, genderbend cosplay of female characters

Yaga

He's too old for this, leave him alone. The best that you will squeeze out of him is one of the suits he doesn't wear anymore but doesn't want to get rid of it either. And still, as soon as the matters get closer to sex, he will just take it off.

what he would wear: he's a hopeless case, let him be the boomer he wants to be or else he will ruin any outfit for you

[roseykat]

TITLE: Venom Biter

PAIRING: Minho x reader

SUMMARY: The end of a relationship between you and Minho turns as sour as it could ever get. A lovers to enemies trope.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: breakups, hate sex, post-breakup sex, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, manhandling, push and shove, spitting, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), angst, strong hints of degradation, use of degrading names such as 'slut' and 'whore'.

A/N: this was originally meant to be for one of the days I had planned for Kinktober but I was up to my neck in work and I didn't want to post something sort of half-assed so I had to hone down on most of the work for this piece.

MASTERLIST

“Broke up?” Chan’s eyes refuse to blink. “You two broke up!?”

His confused filled stare shoots for the direction of his best friend, Minho, who quietly sits opposite him across the table. He looks slightly withdrawn or…off colour. It can’t have been the gruelling two hour lecture they finished before heading out to lunch. If it were that, Minho would be complaining his head off saying how boring it was or cursing himself for not changing his minor earlier. 

He’s just not his usual self. In other social settings, he could talk until the cows came home. But the entire hour that they’ve spent together at lunch, Chan has been doing all the conversing and only receiving vague one-word answers. It wasn’t until he asked what was up with Minho that his friend dished out the news that he and his girlfriend - you, had split up.

“Why?” Chan proceeds, still swimming in shock.

A sigh leaves Minho’s mouth. He truly doesn’t feel like revisiting this subject. When he even thinks about the answer, all he can recall is the firey shouting match you both had the day things crumbled. 

“It’s messy,” he replies with a cloudy and ambiguous answer. 

“If you talk about it, then it might help you make sense of it all.”

He groans this time, “I really, really don’t want to do that. What’s done is done.” 

“Done?” Chan questions, still not letting up on an interrogation. “You were in a relationship with Y/N, for years. You guys talked about a whole future together. That’s not something you just sweep under the rug and forget about.”

If there’s one thing he almost did forget about, it’s that you were friends with him - not just Chan, but the seven others as well. After all, it was Minho who introduced you to those select people whom he calls his brothers. They would’ve found out eventually if Minho refrained from telling them who you were dating all those years ago.

Though naturally, you became very close with them. 

“We’ve both chosen to do that so there’s nothing really much left to dispute.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow, realising he left out a crucial question to the situation, “why did you guys break up in the first place?”

Minho feels like he’s going to run out of sighs, “she doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t love her anymore. That’s literally all there is to it.” 

“You’re telling me you both fell out of love - at the same time,” Chan responds, still having a difficult time trying to comprehend his friend's situation.

“Pretty much,” Minho confirms with a nod. 

Chan finds that extremely hard to believe from his friend - the very person who would enter a different realm whenever he was in a five centimetre radius of you. His eyes would glaze over as if he were possessed; always fixated on you, he’d smile more than he usually would, and was comfortable in the space around you. 

There had to be another reason, surely. 

But it had almost been three weeks since Chan dissected the news out of Minho, and it was almost like pulling teeth trying to dive for the details. Each attempt was as fruitless as the next and in the end, Chan just plucked the same answers.

Regardless, it seemed to play out better than expected. Minho saved himself from having to dish out explanations as to why you wouldn’t be around anymore. As a result, telling Chan was the best option and since the others didn’t know, Minho was okay with him telling them so that he didn’t have to. 

In saying that, Minho left out very central details of what happened leading up to the breakup. He never mentioned the constant fighting, the lying, the false accusations, the shouting matches, up until the point where you were both swimming in the toxicity the pair of you created. 

He also absconded from the fact to Chan that not only did you both separate, but you’ve also both come to view the other differently and not through a good lens. Minho shouted it in your face the other day to which you did the same; “I hate you.” And that was that.

But his friends probably didn’t need to know all of that. 

Since that day, you’ve been in the process of trying to find an apartment for yourself which isn’t easy. You want to remain in town and not too far out so that you don’t have a long commute to work, and at the same time, you don't want to break the bank trying to find a nice place to rent in the city. All in all, it was tough, but you were ready to just leave. 

Having packed up the majority of your stuff in boxes, all you had to do was wait for landlords to contact you back about possible vacant apartments. Thankfully Minho was lenient in allowing you to stay until you found a place. 

You slept in the spare room, mainly keeping to yourself and the boxes of things surrounding the space. Occasionally you would have to lock yourself in there and throw on some noise-cancelling headphones whenever Minho brought around another woman to sleep with.

It was his house, you knew that and now that you have no ties to him and he’s letting you stay, it was never your place to question his actions. 

Still, that could never lessen the hurt. It was painful which is why you hated him so much. You don’t know how a person could move on so quickly after so many years of being told how much you’re loved. It was like he never meant it. With that being said, when you eventually managed to find a decent place, you were free from Minho. 

All of your items were ready to be moved out, taking a couple of days to actually get them to your new place. In the tiring process, you also had to factor in your work schedule which meant it would take longer to continue moving your stuff. Nonetheless, you had the majority of your boxes out of Minho's house with only a few remaining that you needed to swing by and pick up.

"Something wrong?" he wears a blank look on his face when you arrive on the doorstep to his house.

"Some of my stuff is still here, can I come in to grab it please?" You ask politely. He gives a silent answer in return by opening his door wider for you to walk in before he goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

You make your way into the spare room where the last of your things remain, but there is one odd detail you notice as you approach the items. What was supposed to be taped down lids to the boxes had in fact been opened; not in the state you had originally left it in. 

"Minho," you call out, hoping he heard you.

Sure enough, he did. Minho walks into the spare room with a puzzled expression, wondering why he's been summoned, "what?"

“Why are these open?” You ask, lifting one box off of the other to check if the rest were open as well. “Half of my stuff isn’t in here.”  

“You were coming back for those?” he replies with a question. 

“What the hell else would I be coming back here for?” 

“That's what I thought when you got here,” he says. “I thought it was for other things that you left behind, not ones in these boxes."

Your eyes never leave his face, tracking any sudden shifts in his muscles to try to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth or not. Even though you and Minho aren’t together, you're sure he wouldn't do anything malicious out of spite.

“So why is half my stuff missing?” 

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, “I thought you didn’t need any of it and that you left it here on purpose for me to deal with or throw out.” 

“So what…” you trail off, expecting his answer. Minho hesitates for a few moments, sitting on the fence about whether he should actually tell you or not. But the least he can do right now is be honest. 

“I told the…girl I bought around the other day that if she wanted anything-“ 

“No you fucking didn’t.” 

“-she could have whatever was left in the boxes,” Minho finishes the rest of his sentence which would’ve been better for you not to hear. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you for leaving them behind in the first place!” Minho argues back, trying to defend himself here even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “You were gone for a few days Y/N, I thought you just left!” 

“I never left them behind! I told you how long it was going to take my things to move!” You shout at him, tears brimming your eyes. “Now my stuff…”

The hurt genuinely sets in. Minho feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he sees how visibly upset you are. He knows that he’s been nothing short of a dickhead within the past month and now he’s gone and made things worse. It’s no point in him now to say that it was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, truly.”

You shove him backwards into the dresser, knocking down some of the empty photo frames that were once homes for pictures of you and Minho, “you’re not sorry. You’re the fucking worst.”

Taken aback by your actions, Minho turns behind him to see the frames flat on the surface then looks back at you, “seriously Y/N, I would not have done that out of spite.”

“But it’s the fact that you still did it!” You raise your voice at him and shove him back again. “You didn’t bother calling or texting me about it when you should’ve!” 

Minho predicts your next move and catches your arms to stop you from pushing him back impossibly further into the dresser. He shoves you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed which causes you to land on it behind you.

Before the surprise kicks in, Minho is kneeling on top of you, nearly straddling your lower half as he starts pinning your arms to the side of your head. Yet with a split second of momentum to break free, you struggle but manage to flip the tables and pin Minho on his back. 

You mount his hips before your mouth comes down to kiss Minho so aggressively that it takes him a moment to react. With any other woman that he’s slept with so far, he would allow them to be on top. But because it’s you, and supposedly hates your guts, not to mention his untapped pride, it’s not going to happen. So Minho fights back, kissing and biting nearly every part of your upper body in the process until you’re under him. 

He sucks large, deep, red hickies into the skin of your neck, in places where everyone would be able to see them. Minho would want people to know that you’re just a whore he uses. Especially for the next guy you sleep with who would go down on you and see the myriad of hickies that Minho would eventually put between your thighs when he rips your pants down. 

“Wanna play this fucking game with me,” he rasps before yanking down your off. 

Despite being a dickhead Minho will still eat you out for prep. But it’s not soft and teasing when he does go down on you. It’s tongue and finger fucking you until you’re dizzy from how hard you’re about to cum. It gives you the opportunity to pull and tug on his hair until his scalp starts burning, forcing you to be as vocal as you’ve ever been. 

His fingers curl up into that sensitive spot while his tongue and mouth work simultaneously. He’s always been good at giving head, but unusually better now that he’s relatively angry. In the back of your mind, you supposed it helped having not slept with anyone for a month, making it easier to reach that peak of delicious, eye-rolling ecstasy. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, voice projecting throughout the room as Minho sucks on your clit. “Fuck you…you’re gonna make me cum.” 

Those words are something Minho could never get tired of hearing you say. Even in the headspace that he’s in now, he wants nothing more than to hear how good he’s making your body feel. However, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation from you to know that you’re about to cum. When your walls seize and clamp around his fingers, when you’re trembling around his head, Minho knows what that means. 

The quick drag of his fingers is only light work for him, pumping at a pace that has you panting to try and keep up with it. As a result, it’s not long before Minho brings you to your sweet release; a toe-curling burst of euphoria that has you silently creaming around his fingers. 

He has no patience for you to descend from your orgasm, sucking his fingers clean as he pulls away from your pussy. He gets to unbuckling his belt faster than he can even comprehend that this is still happening. 

“H-Hurry,” you whine, trying to quell the hunger for Minho’s cock while you wait.

His eyes squeeze shut, hissing as he coats his length with your slick, “shut the fuck up.”

Despite being in a haze post-orgasm, you manage to sit up quickly to turn and push Minho down by his shoulders. You find yourself straddling his hips once more, reaching down and behind for his cock, aligning it with your hole. Minho allows you to work for it yourself, watching his cock vanish by the second as you sink down. 

“Mmm…f-fuck,,” you whine, unable to come to grips with how much you miss him filling you out. 

Taking a couple of slow strokes up and down allows you to realise that never in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine hate sex with Minho would be this…rough. Both of you pushing, shoving, and manhandling each other around, speaking to each other with such disregard for the other person's feelings – beyond the point of degradation.

“Come on,” Minho grunts, fingernails embedding themselves into your hips so that the indents remaining become as equally as vibrant as the hickies blooming on your neck. 

You look down at him with disgust before your hand lowers to his throat, choking him out by the sides of his neck. That familiar feeling of restriction to Minho forces him to repress his sick enjoyment of it, even more so when you start really riding him. 

“Fuck you,” you strain out, trying to assert some degree of control even though you’re battling with oversensitivity from your previous orgasm. 

You slam your hips down repeatedly, building up a good pace and rhythm that’s enough for small moans to force their way out of your mouth. With a cock like Minho’s, it’s impossible to keep quiet no matter how much you try. However, as you work for your own orgasm, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction by making him think that he’s the one doing it; yet in reality, he is. 

Nonetheless, you continue to use him just as much as he’s using you until the luxury of pleasure accelerates in the pit of your stomach. In saying that, it doesn’t take long for Minho to find that information out as you continue to ride him. The observation is clear-cut;

“Nobody’s fucked you since me haven’t they?” He asks you breathlessly, watching you roll your hips deliciously over his cock. “Know how I can tell? Because you keep fucking clenching around my dick.”

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to find an answer for him because he is right and that’s not your fault, “s-so what? Want me to stop?” 

“Didn’t say that, did I?” He argues back, too proud to say ‘no’. “Just…just keep moving.”

A firm hand of yours catches his taut jaw, and while his mouth is open, you lean down and spit right in it. 

You curse right at him, “fuck you.” 

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment, Minho is shocked, but not in a bad way. In that moment you despised him so much that he made you do something a normal person would find disgusting. Although it’s not long before a sick smirk spreads across his face, failing to pretend as if he didn’t just enjoy that, swallowing it back. 

“Course you’d be into that you fucking whore,” he rasps, his body jolting every time your hips slam down. 

“I’m not the whore who’s taking it,” you snipe back at him. 

Your comment riles Minho, resulting in him nearly bucking you off his body before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanks both of your hands behind your back as something for him to latch onto when he pushes his cock back into you, and starts fucking hard and fast. 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. 

The new angle makes his dick slip in just that extra bit deeper, achieving a sensation which you miss all too much. With the amount of relentlessness that Minho puts behind his thrusts is nothing but a fast, brutal, and unforgiving type of fucking. He’s not holding back with you, no matter how much you hate him and he hates you, he will fuck you to tears.

“Such a fucking slut,” he drives forward nastily. “Needy, loud, slut.” 

Your choked moans and whimpers are typical responses to hearing him call you that name again. In bed, if you weren’t his lover, you were his slut. Minho wouldn’t care less if the bed broke beneath him trying to fuck you like the whore you always wanted him to treat you as. But it was phenomenal.  

Now, that’s only a distant memory clawing to come back. 

“Make me cum…make me fucking cum,” you demand, acknowledging how close you are to the cliff of ecstasy.

Minho's breathing picks up from hearing the pure desperation in your voice, and so does his pace. His only release is not but a minute away, respecting that and also his motive to continue rearranging your guts. 

Yet the possibility of keeping up any longer draws to a short term. Minho’s hold on your wrists behind your back becomes a solid death grip with no chance of escape until the wet heat from your pussy has his hips jumping out of rhythm. 

His head tilts to the sky, the pleasure screaming at him from the base of his cock, “y-yes, fuck I'm cumming.”

At that very instant, Minho’s release rocks him over. His hands let go of yours in lieu of grabbing onto your ass instead. The pain and sting of his fingernails scraping deep into your flash forces strained whimpers and mewls from your throat, helping to push you over the verge of your second orgasm. 

“Y-Yes, cumming, oh fuck-” you cry out with a shaky voice, stiffening while your hole seizes rhythmically around Minho’s length. 

The pleasure is throat-gripping, making you forget the words to express how good you feel. Except, in the vapour of your orgasmic haze, you still don't want to accept the fact that it's Minho who makes you feel that way.

He pauses for a moment then thrusts hard back into you, making you keep the warm load that you were so undeservingly given, regardless if your walls are spasming and contracting it out. Then just as he was fast to try to get inside you, he's just as fast when he pulls out and flops beside you.

The air in the room becomes breathable again now that your heart rate isn't racing to the heavens, but picks back up quickly when you decide to hop off the bed and get dressed. You couldn't care less if you were sore and unbalanced. The thought of staying in the room with Minho any longer was suffocating.

“About your stuff,” he starts, filling the silent void with an exasperated voice. “I’ll try to get it back.” 

You zip your jeans up, “don’t bother. I know you did give it away for whatever reason, but for what reason is something I’m betting you’ll take to the grave with you.” 

Minho is up and now following suit by putting his clothes on. If now is the time to get one thing off of his chest, it’s now. Since the day you both separated, there has been no proper conversation. Both of you are too stubborn to admit wrongs and fix rights, but in your eyes, it's too far gone. There’s no going back to a good thing that was once more. 

"I won't if we can just talk it out," he offers the opportunity to you.

“Minho, the nights that I had to listen to you fuck someone else in the next room right after we just broke up was a clear sign that we did not need to talk it out. All it made me do is realise that you didn't actually love me."

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head as you hear a twinge of desperation in his voice like he's pleading his case. "That's not true at all."

"It is though," you correct him. "You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted to because we had broken up at that point, but not a day after that did you wait."

Minho follows through with his explanation, “I was trying to get you out of my head. Spending too long just thinking about you makes me want to lose it. It didn't mean that I never loved you before."

“So you’re just going to continue being delusional? To fuck your way through trying to forget me?” You question, nearly laughing. "I honestly think you're just being pathetic."

He shrugs, “if it means that I don’t have to feel heartbreak, then yes.”

Part of you gets it. Minho’s found a vice and is using it as a tool to deal with his pain. But you’re in pain too, and you haven’t done anything to upset him ever since you split. Maybe it is as bad for him as he says it is. Maybe he doesn’t truly know how to navigate himself out of this like you’re attempting to.

It’s almost a rebuttal to your statement about whether he truly loved you or not; if he’s using other people to drive the thought of you out of his brain because it’s too painful to deal with, then maybe you were more than just a lover to him. 

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I cannot stand being around you anymore because of how much it hurts to know that you're not actually with me. I'd rather try to forget your existence in order to not feel that type of heartbreak," Minho explains, his words coming from a place inside him that must've just opened up.

But he continues, "the second we split, I needed every last memory of you out of this house. But I know that this hurts you too and that this past month I’ve hurt you and that’s no justification to say that my reason is because you mean more than my entire life.”

There’s an ache in your chest that you’ve never felt before, a blend of all the emotional pain that could’ve been prevented had the two of you just talked. But that ache is fuelled by the fact that you can hear the waiver in Minho’s voice, and even though his back is still turned to you while he sits on the edge of the bed, you’re sure he’s crying.

-

A/N: Dare I say that I want to make a part 2 to this where Minho and reader try to rekindle, things are pretty tender but they sort of want to make it work...

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Lucifer's Fun

MDNI 18+, Dom Lucifer, sub afab reader, gender neutral, racially ambiguous, fuck machine use, vibrator use, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, reader is fucked silly, mentions of free-use, sexual punishment, sadomasochism

Lucifer didn't like distractions while he worked but he decided to make an exception for you just this once. After all, you looked so pretty on all fours getting your pussy fucked open by the toy you hid from him he attached to an investment he had yet to use until now. The machine hummed and squeaked with every thrust of the dildo into your weeping hole. The vibrator taped against your clit hummed an excruciating song of promised punishment you knew was coming when Lucifer caught you with your toys. The man responsible for your predicament simply rested his leather shoes on your back as he lazily looked over some contracts.

Your pussy made sick squelching sounds thanks in part to the gushing wetness from your previous orgasms at the hands of the cruel machine. Your screams and groans remained locked away behind a red ball strapped into your mouth with black leather straps. The past couple of hours have been utter blissful torture. At times you'd thought your body had gone numb from Lucifer's punishment but then with a couple remote controls, he'd change the speed and rhythm of the machine and vibrator attacking you.

"You should have known better," Lucifer mused looking at you from over his glasses. "I told you that I am the only one to touch you and yet you stuff yourself full of plastic cocks like some common whore." Lucifer pushes down on your back with the heels of his leather oxfords. You could only groan under his cruel treatment. "Maybe that's how you want to be treated, hm?" Lucifer purred.

"I could set you out front of the House of Lamentation just like this and let whoever comes along use you how they please. How does that sound, pet?"

You heard Lucifer chuckle at your strangled noises of disapproval and the way you pitifully shook your head. "But I thought you didn't care who or what used your holes? You don't want me to leave you outside for any demon to come knock up?" Lucifer asked in a mocking tone. You turned your head to look at the Avatar of Pride with overwhelming tears of pleasure blooming in your eyes. You vigorously shook your head hoping to earn Lucifer's pity.

"Then how come I keep catching you toying with your cunt like an insatiable slut?" Lucifer demanded as he turned up the intensity on both the vibrator and the fuck machine. You screamed behind your gag as you were forced to drop onto one of your elbows. The toy slid through your sloppy cunt with such ease as it carved its form into your walls.

"Poor little human," Lucifer mocked. You heard his belt unbuckle and the zipper of his pants. When you looked back at your lover his cock was firmly in the grip of his leather glove. The uncut tip of his manhood wept precum over his foreskin. His pale member was flushed red with arousal at the sight of you taking your punishment so well. Seeing Lucifer start to stroke himself at the sight of you made another gush of wetness run through your cunt. You could feel yourself starting to drool around your gag at the burning need to have his cock in your throat.

You moaned behind your gag trying to utter Lucifer's name to little success. Your brain was so lost to the torturous pleasure he brought to you that you could only make simple moaning noises. "Is my pet still needy?" Lucifer mocked taking his time running his fist up and down his swollen penis. "After all this, you're still a simple slut whose only purpose is to swallow cock." You nodded eagerly hoping to be able to finally take him in any one of your needy holes. Lucifer groaned your name so thoroughly aroused at your obedience.

"Is this really what it takes to get you to listen?" Lucifer growled as he turned the machine up to its highest setting. He removed his feet from your back as your body jerked with the power with which the machine fucked the faux cock into your slopping pussy. Lucifer's office was filled with the sounds of the slapping sounds of your wet cunt mixed with the mechanical hums of the toys he used against you. Your upper body collapsed onto the floor as your pussy was hung off of the dildo. The fuck machine became the only thing to keep your body from fully collapsing onto the ground. The only noises that came from your mouth were pitiful whines of pleasurable agony. Your brain felt like static with the only thoughts running through it being images of Lucifer's cock destroying whatever was left of you.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful like this," you heard Lucifer growl. His voice felt so far away in your blissed-out state yet you could hear the unmistakable moans and heavy breathing leaving his body. "I should keep you like this. Fucked stupid with no other purpose other than to cum all over yourself." You could feel a puddle of drool make itself known against your cheek as your own cum leaked down your inner thighs. Your body jostled back and forth at the will of the fuck machine. Lucifer continued to grip his cock in a choking embrace at the sight of your pathetic body.

"I'm going to cum all over you so you know who you belong to," Lucifer said in a deep growl. You barely registered what he had said before you felt the ropes of hot, sticky cum slather your body. It dripped down your back and off onto the floor. You felt so utterly pathetic at Lucifer's treatment but for some reason that just made your umpteenth orgasm that much more intense. Another spray of squirt gushed out of your messy cunt for what felt like the hundredth time. You wailed behind your gag as Lucifer maxed out the vibrations of the vibrator attached to your clit. "Now, " Lucifer hummed readjusting his pants and making himself presentable. "Diavolo has been invited over to go review some paperwork and have tea and I'd appreciate it if you were on your best behavior for him."

Your brain could only make out half of what Lucifer had said and you could only whine in confusion. "Poor little human," Lucifer mocked as he crouched by your head to pet your hair, "You just have to stay like this while Diavolo and I discuss matters too big for your little brain, okay?" You moaned at the gentle contact Lucifer allowed you to have. "Don't worry dear," Lucifer said mockingly gently, "You just stay right where you are."

Down the hall, you could hear the low humming of voices coming towards Lucifer's office.

[lordofdestructionm]

Reading Mordecai Heller as a repressed gay man

The tragic attraction

This is a full post based on my response to a great analysis by @sedgewick-gayble

Let me start by saying that if you read Mordecai as being totally asexual/aromantic and any affection he has for other characters to be entirely platonic that is entirely valid and I respect that

However as this response by Tracy makes clear on the topic of fans reading Mordecai as gay there is an intentional ambiguity about it. Being 28 at the time of the main story his "lifestyle is certainly asexual" up to this point, yet "being ace and being gay are not mutually exclusive things" and people sometimes "don't know themselves or understand their own motivations all that well"

This leaves the possibility open that Mordecai is actively repressing his natural desires and feelings

Mordecai's early life didn't exactly provide much time or opportunity for "self discovery", even by the usual standards of the less than tolerant and understanding world of the early 20th century

Being born into an impoverished family and having his father die very early in his life leaving him and his Mother and two younger sisters in dire straits, Mordecai had to get to work and assume adult responsibilities pretty damn early.

As Tracy says "selling newspapers wasn't going to cut it" and so using his natural talent with numbers Mordecai starts bookkeeping for the mob. Is it any wonder someone with that background would develop such a serious and rigidly buttoned up demeanour?

Since being forced to abandon his mother and two sisters at the start of the 1920s and flee New York, being picked up by Atlas's due to his habit of collecting useful strays, Mordecai had very few people he was close to in St Louis. With his generally anti-social personality and not only lack of interest but discomfort with any sort of flirting or romantic entanglements, that would be unlikely to change

Side note: Probaby coincidence but

There are only two people who seem to make it onto that exclusive list of people that "count" for Mordecai, who he cares about and are able to bring things to the surface he would normally keep hidden

Atlas to Mordecai is not just an employer, he is the man who saved his life, the man who moulded a desperate fearful shabby young stray into the sharp professional he is today, who took him under his wing and made him his protege. Filling the empty space his father left in his life. His grief and desperate hunt for those responsible for his death are his big motivation (the strain of which is slowly tearing him apart)

That connection is undertsandable

Much more surprising on the surface is the bond with the partner Atlas teamed him up with soon after his arrival, Viktor Vasko.

The assumption at the start would have been that while their skill sets might compliment each other in the field there would have been no warmth in their dynamic.

Certainly not on Mordecai's part as Viktor appears to be a sum total of many things Mordecai hates. Viktor is unshaven, relatively casual in his attire, speaks a broken English, and hates people chattering or “noise, noise, noise” as he calls it. Clashing hard with his obsession with good grooming, high quality tailoring, correct grammar etc. Indeed Mordecai doesn't hesitate to nag/criticize Viktor for these things

Yet at the same time Mordecai has far better chemistry with Viktor than with anyone else, able to banter and bicker with him in a way you rarely if ever see with others

Its why when he gets tailored clothes for the first time Viktor is the first person he wants to show off too. Its why the one time he is intoxicated Viktor (and his large physique) are his chosen topic of converation. Its why at Christmas/Hanuhhah he gives him the gift of a tie while claiming its just because of the big guys poor fashion sense and that its "embarassing to be seen with him" (even that justification makes him sound like a nagging girlfriend)

A smaller detail is that during their iconic chess playing in the side content, set during their days staking out the remote town of Defiance, Viktor is shown very casually winning the game much to Mordecai's visible distress

This is hilarious but could also be taken as a metaphor for Viktor (possibly without even realizing it) breaking through his defensive emotional barriers

Something Mordecai doesn't know how to handle or respond to

The animated short only adds fuel to the fire

During their dispute over strategy Mordecai moves his face so close to Viktors that he almost knocks his cap off his head. His eyes at one point even dart down towards his mouth

Sharp eyed Vikdecai fans have also noted that Mordecai seems on some level to want the two of them to match

The tie being the same colour could simpy be Mordecai giving Viktor one of his own ties because its a joke gift and he just grabbed it on a whim to tease Viktor about his poor fashion choices

But think about the matching suits at the New Years party for 1926

I mean, seriously, not only is it the exact same style of suit in the same blue-grey colour distinct from everyone else, but they are standing in the perfect spots to be symmetrical to each other. Something that we all know means a lot to this compulsive man

Mordecai must have known there was going to be a big group photo ahead of time and then carefully planned this

Got matching suits made to his and Viktors measurements

Then most impressively convinced/nagged Viktor into cooperating (he may have taken off the tie and rolled up the sleeves but hey him playing along at all is quite a compromise from Viktor "I hate dressing up" Vasko)

Mordecai is intent on making Viktor retire and get out of danger, and avoid a situation where he gets sent to kill him by Marigold because he knows he could NOT do it, and his cover and investigation into Atlas's death would be over

He is horrified that Viktor is still working at Lackadaisy (though he again has to hide how much he cares) and that he has gotten not only hurt again but hurt by Mordecai again (albeit this time indirectly by stealing the guns)

Can this be read as simply platonic comradere? Absolutely

But there is something so *intense* in the fact he was willing to resort to kneecapping him. Its an extreme and desperate act that could only result from intense emotions, seemingly out of character for someone who tries very hard to appear logical and controlled.

While Vikdecai is a very fun ship when imagining them as an actual bickering married couple, I have often said that a tragic one-sided on Mordecai's part version of Vikdecai is the one that fits closest and surprisingly well into the canon.

His nagging and complaining about Viktor in that context take on a Tsundere aspect, both to protect himself from being found out and maybe even try and convince himself the uncomfortable alien feelings aren't there. He not only doesn't want others looking too hard at his feeling he doesn't want to examine them himself all that much

There is a heartbreaking but appealing angst to the idea of this extremely repressed man having such feelings for the first time in his life for his straight best friend and NOT knowing how to handle that. Having to perform the balancing act of being around him so much as his partner but being painfully aware that he can't let anyone catch on, especially not Viktor himself, as it would likely destroy his bond with the only person in town other than Atlas he is close to.

Though tragically he did that anyway later via the kneecapping, which while about trying to keep Viktor safe, he may now looking back try and tell himself its actually somehow "better" for Viktor to hate him for that

Because the big guy now wrongly thinks the feeling is mutual and that Mordecai never really cared about him, which may be better than (what Mordecai assumes would be) disgust at his partners doomed more than platonic feelings

Because he sees those feelings and his situation as a sad perfectly structured joke life has played on him

[rapturously]

twenty minutes.

➾ pairing ; mickey altieri x fem!reader.

in which mickey sneaks into your dorm room and things become more heated than usual.

format: drabble — not requested.

word count: 2.5K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), risk of getting caught, slight corruption kink, fingering (f!receiving), making out, biting, dry humping, dirty talk, mild degradation (use of slut), choking, obsessive behavior from Mickey, begging, teasing, finger sucking, very slight edging, ambiguous ending

author’s note: I wrote this because I love Mickey and I want to write a part 2 with phone sex 💀 also, first time ever writing for him, so hopefully it’s good and people enjoy it! I am also working on requests, but I’m also on-call for work, so I get pretty busy. Hoping to have a lot of stuff finished & posted next week! thank you all for your love & support !!! :)

Mickey Altieri reminded you of a cat — elusive, cunning, and prone to climbing trees without much of a hindrance. The thick, sturdy oak that hovered by your window in the Delta Zeta House provided a place for your boyfriend to scuttle about, thumping a palm against the glass pane of your window.

He had a look in his eyes when you caught sight of him — devious and full of desire, glazed over with a sheen of mischief. It’s coupled with that pearlescent grin as you clamor toward your window, swiftly unlatching it as you glance over your shoulder. Your roommate is in the shower, a worthwhile time for him to come crawling in.

His timing is always impeccable.

This nightly ritual of him sneaking into your room is always accompanied with a giddiness and thrill. His dark tresses are disheveled, sporting a dark sweater that clings to his musculature. He climbs through with a silent grace, reaching for you before you can open your mouth.

“I’m doing all of the work here,” Mickey smirks, pressing a string of kisses along your jaw. “When are you going to climb through my window?” He questioned, tone playful as could be as his hands roughly pressed into your hips.

You and Mickey were still in this honeymoon stage of your relationship, where everything was glowing and bright, with sparks always flying in every direction. He oozes charm and charisma with every breath, and it never fails to pull you right in. He was becoming your addiction — your vice.

Sandalwood and bergamot cling to him as he sighs, hunching in over you as his mouth nips at your jugular. It elicits a low, simpering whine from you, serving as encouragement as Mickey turns that playful nip into a brief, rough bite. You taste saccharine underneath his tongue.

“I can’t climb a tree,” You protest, fingers curling into the front of his woolen sweater. “You have twenty minutes.” You huff, knowing that your roommate won’t be in the shower forever. It’s always the same heated routine — kissing until your lips are swollen, his hands grabbing your breasts, he leaves a hickey, and then he disappears.

Mickey groans into your sweet flesh, teeth idly grazing over your neck. “I want more than twenty minutes,” He uttered, peering down at your choice of wardrobe. It’s a ditzy nightgown that reminds him of summertime, speckled in hundreds of little flowers. He pinches the fabric between his fingers. “It’s not enough.”

“Kiss me, Mickey.” You mumble, a soft gasp tearing past your parted lips when he delivered a rather passionate kiss, open-mouthed with a desperate bout of tongue. He tugs at your nightgown, calloused fingertips tracing across the bare flesh of your thigh.

He was a dutiful boyfriend — eccentric and charming, a natural flirt with an obscene amount of wit. You adored that about him, but above all, you loved how much he spoke about you to other people. Mickey had this thing about staking his claim, and you weren’t about to tell him otherwise.

You can’t see it now, but there is a darkness festering inside of him. It’s always just at the forefront of his lascivious gaze, as if it might lash out and strike you. Mickey’s obsession with you transcended any normalcy, perceived as erratic and strange, but thankfully, you are none the wiser to his impulsive tendencies.

He loves your oblivious nature — it’s easier to control you that way.

Goosebumps form along the column of your spine, prickling along your body as his fingers slip underneath your nightgown, trailing along the waistband of your panties. He’s always teased you, but something feels different this time — it’s electrifying and exhilarating as he pets at your soft skin.

As your lips part, you stare at him incredulously, attempting to decipher his next move. “We can’t,” You protest, though it’s weak and lacking any sincerity. Your roommate, whilst prone to taking endless showers, won’t stay put forever. “Mickey.” You whisper.

“Why not?” He purred, teeth nicking your neck, which caused you to let out a soft gasp. Mickey’s lips soothed the bite with passionate kisses, tongue swirling over the newly-formed mark. “You going to stop me?” His lips curl into a faint smirk.

His laughter is delicious, alluring and full of a teasing mockery, one that causes goosebumps to coalesce along your spine. Mickey keeps it hushed, but you won’t be heard, not over the buzz of Duran Duran from your roommate’s radio.

His digits slip beneath the waistband of your panties as he hurriedly parts your legs, rucking your nightgown up towards your hips. “Maybe,” You squeak, voice barely above a hushed whisper. Mickey’s spindly digits playfully trace over your cunt, declining to touch your clit. “M—Mickey!”

You sputter, clinging to him like a drowning woman, grabbing fistfuls of his sweater as he swipes his fingers along your wet cunt. He’s devilishly enticing, and if you closed your eyes, you could envision his forked tail and silver tongue that continued to seduce you time and time again.

“This says otherwise,” Mickey’s tone has a playful edge of mockery to it as he kisses your jaw, unable to withhold the salacious expression that creeps onto his features. He revels in the way you whimper, hips jolting forward into his hand in an attempt to relieve even a lick of friction. “Want me to stop?”

He’s cruel.

Your pitiful, desperate expression screams for him to continue as you shake your head back and forth a hundred times over. “No, no!” You whisper, moaning when his thumb lightly traced over your clit. “Jesus, please don’t stop!” Your volume becomes heightened, and at that, Mickey decides to conceal it.

Mickey chuckles — it’s a dark and dangerous sound, but that’s why he has you so hooked to begin with. That aura of dominance emerges so quickly, and you’re enthralled, powerless to stop him. “You need to be quiet.” He cautioned, feeling you grab his wrist as you encourage him to keep going.

He does, much to your delight, fingers deftly tracing along your slit, drinking in the softness and wet warmth, thumb drawing circles around that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, yearning for the sensation of his practiced digits.

A hapless whine leaves your lips when Mickey begins to test your limits, two fingers nudging at your entrance. It’s sluggish and teasing as he deliberates, gaze roving over your countenance. “You think about me when you touch yourself?” He questioned, mouth ghosting over yours as he pressed a string of kisses there, and then to your jaw.

Embarrassment rippled through you at the crass question, prompting your boyfriend to stop pleasuring you. Any sensations ceased, and made you moan in protest. “H—Hey,” You whimpered. “Mickey, baby, please don’t stop.” You groaned, feeling his hand lightly clasp around your throat.

“Answer me, and maybe I’ll keep going.” He chuckled, head cocked to one side. His muscled form loomed over you, casting a shadow across your body, moonlight swallowed whole. Mickey appeared predatorial and hungry in this light — ravenous for you.

“Y—Yes, I do, I — I think about you.” You mumbled, and to your relief, his thumb returned to your clit with a feather-light pressure. You rucked your hips forward with desperation, chasing after his hand. You were flustered to no end, burying your face into his chest, which he promptly stepped away from.

“Jesus,” Mickey sighed, drinking in your smitten expression. “You look so pretty like this.” At that, he sank forward, digits nudging their way inside of your cunt. Tightness followed, consumed by liquid heat as he began to piston his fingers in and out of your slit.

Another wave of goosebumps coalesced along your flesh, making you tense with excitement as Mickey gripped your throat with his other hand. Fingers squeezed underneath your jaw, applying pressure as he bit at your lip, surprisingly rough, hard enough to draw blood.

A startled gasp tore past your mouth, accompanied by a keening moan as Mickey found a rather vigorous rhythm. His practiced digits pumped in and out of your tight cunt, coated in your slick as this thumb brushed over your clit. Your body reacted in a violent fashion, desperately clamoring forward, friction electrifying.

The shower was still running, and you were awash with pleasure, cunt clenching around his fingers as he withdrew another moan from you. Mickey loved feeling your throat bob and tighten underneath his grasp, tracing the pad of his thumb above your pulse point. It was racing — beating at the speed of sound.

Molten heat pooled within the pit of your stomach as Mickey callously lapped at the blood coalescing along your lower lip, noticing the sheen of surprise within your eyes. “Doesn’t bother me,” He uttered, kissing you again with a force that made your head spin. “Tastes like you.”

Jesus — if it weren’t for your roommate, you would’ve been screaming. Your entire being ached for him in every way imaginable, hands grasping at his sweater. Mickey turned you around, pressing your knees into your mattress as he deftly felt his way around your body.

“Fuck, I wanna be inside of you.” Mickey snarled, brazenly biting at the dip between your neck and shoulder, having tugged your nightgown into all sorts of directions. His erection was prevalent, grinding against the curve of your ass as he pistoned his fingers in and out of you. “Would you let me?”

It all felt so quick, just heat and carnality, desire that had all rolled into an amalgamation of want. You hadn’t gone all the way yet — part of you wanted to save it for a time where your roommate wasn’t a few feet away.

“M—Mickey,” You whimpered, hips rolling and jolting into his hand, palms grasping at his bicep and forearm, something to steady you. “Please, please don’t stop!” Everything felt so feverish, as if you were trapped in some thick haze, unable to break free.

Mickey huffed, countenance etched with a playful disdain as he nibbled along the shell of your ear. “Would you let me fuck you right here?” He asked again, more pointed and aggressive this time, accompanied by a harsh flick against your clit.

Your head bobbed up and down over and over again in a series of indiscernible babbles and nods. “Yes! Y—Yes, Mickey,” You might’ve said it over and over again, back arching as he began to curl his digits into you, right into a spot that made your bones turn to dust. “M’close!” A desperate whine left you.

His cajoling laughter made the hairs along the back of your neck stand up, thighs rubbing together. “Course you would,” Mickey murmured, kissing at your neck, attempting to give you another hickey, something that he succeeded in. “You’re my little slut.” The sudden degradation made you bristle.

Admittedly, you shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as you did, squirming and writhing against him as he toyed with your clit. You moaned, fingers clamping down into his arm so hard that you were afraid of leaving bruises. Mickey didn’t slow or stop, continuing that same, brutal pace as he brought you to your climax.

His hot, labored breathing fanned across your neck and shoulder, causing you to shiver as he grinded himself against you. The rough denim made contact with your haunch, content to rut against the curve of your ass. Mickey knew you were close, and with another steady barrage of digits, you shuddered.

You were drowning in a white-hot ecstasy, reduced to a sticky, whimpering mess at the hands of your boyfriend, whose grin was etched into the back of your neck like a brand. Mickey let you ride it out, spasming and mewling, hoping to let it simmer before your roommate finished her shower.

Mickey caressed circles into your clit, feeling your knees wobble, thighs quivering as you trembled like a leaf, rocking back against him. He was akin to the cat who’d caught the canary, pearlescent teeth glittering through the dim light as he slowly removed his fingers from your weeping cunt.

“Mickey,” You sighed, feeling him nudge you, coaxing you to turn around as he sat you down against your mattress. There was something vulnerable and exhilarating about it all as he loomed over you, head cocking to one side. “That was amazing.”

He smirked — a haughty, salacious smirk that made your insides turn to mush, heat pooling between your legs once more. “I’m not done just yet, sweetheart.” Mickey crooned, reaching forward to squeeze on either side or your jaw. “Open for me.”

An innocuous confusion fluttered across your features, and he drank it in — you were so innocent, so pious that Mickey fed from it. He watched in silent rapture as you opened your mouth, and again, his smarmy, playful grin was prevalent as he placed his digits upon the flat of your tongue.

A swarm of saliva began to pool within your mouth, a whimper erupting from the depths of your throat. You knew what Mickey wanted, and you elected to obey, able to taste the remnants of your orgasm.

Shyly, you began to suck on his fingers, watching the way his countenance blossomed to life with an insidious desire. “Good,” Mickey purred, placing his other hand against the back of your head, cradling your skull as he urged you closer. “Should’ve brought my camera.”

That comment alone forced you to press your thighs together, and your boyfriend, ever the watchful and observant creature, took notice. Through the dim light of your bedroom, he was as coy and cajoling as the Cheshire Cat, slipping his fingers down your tongue.

“Would you like that?” His voice contorted into something else — malefic and low. You barely noticed the lack of static noise as your roommate turned the shower off. “Should I film us together next time? Might make for an interesting movie.” Mickey uttered.

A familiar heat thrummed against your ribcage, slipping through the cracks as it rippled across your body. You suddenly realized that your roommate had finished her shower, and Mickey hadn’t moved a muscle — he knew. A whimper threatened to break free from your chest, hands tight and fisted within your lap.

When footsteps began to inch closer, Mickey took his fingers out of your mouth, replacing them with his lips as he kissed you. You exhaled, sharp and excitable, reaching for his chest again. It was hot and crackling with tension, even still. His erection pressed against your inner thigh.

“Next time, I’ll sneak over.” You murmured, feeling his lips curl into a grin as he pressed a string of kisses against your neck. As Mickey began to slink away, you grabbed his arm, staring at him with doe-like eyes. “We’ll have more than twenty minutes next time.”

Mickey smirked, beginning to climb out of your window and back onto the boughs of the oak. “I’m counting on it.” He chimed, and began to scale the tree back down and into the darkness. You watched him go, chest tight with the sensation of yearning.

Unbeknownst to you, Mickey intended on making a phone call tonight — and you were set to be the star.

[satosugusandwich]

His Angel and His Brat

Part 2

Part 1 here! Part 3!!

Hard!Dom!Geto x brat!Gojo x Sub!Afab!reader

(I write my fics to be racially ambiguous! If anyone catches anything please inbox me!!!!)

Summary: Gojo is a mega-brat to y/n and Suguru and likes to push buttons cuz he can so Suguru decides to overstimulate Gojo until he thinks he’s broken. (Key word: thinks.) To add to Gojo’s humiliation, he ensures that the reader is getting princess treatment while watching Gojo suffer endlessly. But, of course, things don’t always go as planned with Satoru Gojo. Or for y/n. Geto and Gojo have… motives.

CW and whatnots: Overstimulation, facesitting, vibrators, dildoes, condescending!geto, usage of the word “cock”, gojo’s boundless stamina and cocky attitude, praise, cocksucking, angel ass reader that ends up in trouble cuz gojo can’t shut his mouth, geto is actually so mean to gojo but so soft cuz he’s actually a teddy bear dw. Use of “brat, princess, angel, cockslut, and slut.” There will be aftercare in future parts cuz imagine leaving pathetic satoru a cum drenched mess. Poor baby. :(((

More tags will be added. Part 3 will be the last part.

Satoru did not waste any time eating like a starving man. His eyes were peeled as he watched how Suguru stood up on the bed, pulling your chin to face his pretty cock. Already, Satoru was thinking of how when he cums, if you don’t catch it in your mouth, it’ll definitely fall onto your pretty tits and stomach and of course onto his own face. Suguru paid no mind to the man underneath your cunt, instead, admiring how excitedly you took his cock into your mouth.

Suguru was thinking in this moment how he truly hit the damn jackpot. A pretty obedient thing that he can be nice and soft with, gently caressing and guiding as you sucked him in versus his needy and impatient brat that he can get as rough as he wants with. Suguru has to admit, it’s not in his nature to be so mean, he’s such a kind empathetic man, but perhaps the curses in his body take over when it comes to Satoru. Right now he can’t help but think of all the ways he could press Satoru.

He could edge him instead and leave him unsatisfied until his brain goes numb. Or maybe just leave him there, not giving him the orgasm he so desperately craves.

Overstimulating him has been fun, Satoru being so greedy has really made his punishment so enjoyable. His sensitivity is addictive, perhaps he could use that against him. Shame that Satoru has such a high pain tolerance, he’s limited to overwhelming him with pleasure.

Or a different type of pain. Would his ego be bruised too much if he worked to humiliate Satoru further? How would he respond to degradation? Knowing Satoru, if you call him a slut, he’d only work to embrace the newfound identity.

Difficult brat indeed. Perhaps the best way to punish him would be to ignore him… yes, that’s what Suguru would do. He’d use the other male’s greedy and needy nature against him.

“That’s right pretty girl.” Suguru mused, resting his hands on your head. “Finally seems as though my cock can fill your pretty throat completely. You’ve done well to learn how to take me right.” His praise is warm and flowing down to your core. “Want me to move your head or do you want to do it?” He coos.

You shake your head and move on your own, bobbing back and forth on his pretty cock. His mouth parts as you suck him so well, knowing Suguru’s favorite rhythm by heart. Meanwhile, beneath you, Satoru is slurping along, wanting to find out how he can distract you from focusing on pleasing Suguru.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Satoru had an idea from the moment he saw how you watched him receive his punishment… you seemed rather invested, much more than usual.

So, wanting to peeve Suguru to enact his plan, he whined. Very loudly.

“Clearly you need to suffocate him, y/n.” Suguru huffed.

You hesitated in putting more weight on him, but at the same time, what would be worse? Denying Satoru of being able to breathe or potentially invoking a punishment from Suguru? You decided the latter. Satoru couldn’t really be upset, it just gave him a bigger challenge!

You ground your cunt further onto Satoru, making sure his nose wasn’t entirely covered, but that his mouth couldn’t make a peep.

Suguru closed his eyes for a brief moment and now… Satoru just pinched his calf.

“Satoru!” Suguru pulled his cock from your mouth only to shove it back in, the suddenness making you gag. Suguru’s eyes snapped down to see the man beneath you shaking with laughter while the sound remained muffled into your cunt. The vibrations from Satoru’s chuckle made you tremble.

Satoru and Suguru’s eyes remained locked as Satoru made a pinching motion with his fingers. Suguru stepped on Satoru’s wrist, making you pull your mouth off his cock as he changed positions. Satoru only laughed more and used his other hand to slap your ass once, your body jumping from the unexpected impact.

“Ow!” You exclaimed, now hovering above Satoru’s mouth, giving him the ability to speak clearly.

“Thought I’d punish her since you didn’t after I whined!” Cheeky bastard. And poor you. Why’d you get stuck with these two men?

“We really need to stuff your mouth shut, don’t we Satoru? Need you bound entirely too. Never thought you’d put our princess in this position.”

It’s Suguru’s fault too!!!!! He should’ve just let it go in the first place!!!!!!!

“Our princess never gets punished, she’s too sweet, don’t you think that’s unfair? She gets away with everything! Don’t you remember last time you said you’d punish her if she came without permission? Well, she came and you didn’t even do nothing!” Satoru yapped on and on. “All she has to do is make a cute face and say sorry baby, wah wah!” He mocked you, looking at your face. “Suguru, you punish me all you like but you don’t punish the one who really needs it…” Satoru’s voice lowered.

Suguru briefly looked to you, eyes watching your reaction. “What’s he talking about, y/n?”

“He’s lying, of course!” You huffed. “I don’t disobey you when we fuck. Don’t try to get our positions switched, Satoru!” You were tempted to sit back down on his mouth but at the same time… you wondered what’s gonna happen.

“As much as I want to believe you,” Suguru dropped to his knees on the bed, releasing Satoru’s wrist and getting eye level with you, “me and you and you especially know just how much Satoru loves to be punished. Why go through this effort to try and avoid his favorite thing?” Suguru now held your chin, running his thumb back and forth. “Continue, Satoru.” He didn’t even look at Satoru whatsoever, wanting to see every tiny reaction from you as your other partner spoke.

“A pretty angel like her can’t help but avoid disobeying, that’s obvious, but have you ever considered that she wants a taste of your punishments?” Satoru raised his hand up to toy with your clit, rubbing it in slow, soft circles. “You should feel how wet she is from watching me cum over and over under your iron-clad heel, our angel here likes to pretend she’s all about being a good girl, but she’s desperate to act out and piss you off.” Satoru’s mouth continued to run and your eyes stayed fixed on Suguru, too afraid to look away. “You really should’ve felt her pussy while you had my tight little ass stuffed, it’s a miracle she didn’t cum from watching!”

A smile ghosted across Suguru’s face. “Are you sure she’s not a bit of a sadist too and just enjoys seeing you suffer?” His hand was traveling down your figure, going to feel your wetness as it hovers above Satoru’s face. “What do you think, angel? Do you want to get punished? Just for fun?”

When Suguru’s question processed through your head, you felt his fingers dip inside your cunt, finally you after clenching around nothing for so long.

Satoru sped up the circles around your clit. “Come on, speak, angel. Or is this your way of guaranteeing a punishment?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his comment, feeling your cheeks flush.

Suguru’s eyes opened wider and he cocked his head. “You like that idea, huh?”

“She does!”

Sometimes you forget these two are notorious for their attitudes when they’re together. You’re too used to seeing the softer side of them.

“Come on princess,” Suguru urged you.

“Tell him, baby.” Satoru followed.

“I—“ you were really embarrassed, the most certainly are cornering you. “You two are mean.”

“If we’re so mean, why are you smiling, you like it don’t you?” Satoru pushes every button he can find when it’s presented to him.

“I don’t think that was the question, sweetheart.” Suguru’s fingers pulled out of your dripping pussy and he raised them to his lips. “Do you want me to punish you? Give you a taste of what Satoru has to deal with?” He sucked your wetness off his fingers, delighting in how you shyly averted your eyes away at the sight.

“If you go easy on me.” You answered.

“Safeword?”

“Uh, sunglasses for chill out for a sec, bangs for completely stop.”

“That’s our girl.” Satoru chuckles. “So Suguru…what do you have in mind for our princess?” He blows cool air onto your clit to make you jump.

Suguru lifts you off of Satoru quickly and lays you on your back. “If she was so aroused by watching you cum until you collapsed onto me then why not do the same?”

Your eyes widen at the proposition, thinking if you can take as much as Satoru did. You’ve been overstimulated before but have ever been at it for more than a few minutes? Satoru did 30+… could you even handle 10 after the first orgasm? How many times did he cum? Like 5? Could your body take that? Well actually, he’d definitely make you do more, people with dicks have a much more sensitive refractory period… what if they double it and take you to 10?

Suguru licked his lips, growing harder at the fear in your eyes. “Oh don’t worry baby, I’m gonna make it easier on you, I won’t have you crouch like I did Satoru, can’t have your knees feeling sore and numb.” Shit, you’d rather go numb and sore than take whatever Suguru has in mind.

“How are you gonna do it?” Swallowing a lump in your throat, you realize you haven’t been this nervous since you first fucked them. You even want to cover your chest and squeeze your legs together the way they’re both looking at you.

Gojo looks absolutely enthralled in your torture, eagerly awaiting the start. “I think we should focus on your clit and if we’re feeling merciful—“

“Hush Satoru. Your mouth still needs to be stuffed shut. Our angel wants my punishment. Not yours.” Suguru glares at him while raising your wrists to be above your head. Turning his attention back to you, he briefly licks at your clit to get a taste of you and taking in the remnants of Satoru’s spit into his mouth. “Despite Satoru’s unwavering blabbering,” he raises his eyes from your weeping cunt to your face, “I think we should focus on your pretty clit. I would love to watch your cunt beg to have something inside it, so I think we’ll wait to stuff you later.”

You nod. “Yes sir.”

His attention shifts back to a pouting Satoru. “Aw, jealous again?”

“No.”

“If I recall, earlier you said something about wanting to have your cock in her mouth, right?” Suguru slapped your cunt, a cry escaping you accompanied by a sadistic chuckle. “Well, personally, since she can’t stuff your mouth any more to keep you quiet, how about I stuff that throat of yours instead?”

If Satoru was a cat, it’d be like his ears just perked up. He gives a cheeky smile and leans up. “As long as my mouth is occupied, then I’d be forever grateful.”

Suguru smiles. “There’s my good boy, I knew he was in there somewhere.”

You and Satoru sit together, awaiting your dom’s next moves, both eager and one of you a little scared. Suguru crouches down by the bed and you hear rummaging from your toy box, then when he pops back up, your heart rate is already increasing. He holds a hitachi in one hand and a sizable dildo in the other.

Satoru looks extra excited. “You’re really gonna bring out the dildo too? Thought you weren’t gonna stuff her up? Is it to tempt her with what she wants?”

Suguru’s grin remains intact as he settles back down on his knees in between your legs. He cocks two fingers at Satoru to call him over and the other male begins to crawl across the bed. When he leans down to try and take Suguru’s cock in his mouth, he yanked by the hair and left with his mouth open.

“Eager per usual. But when did I say that I was gonna use my cock to stuff your mouth? No, you cockslut, this dildo is your gag for the time being.” His word are biting and harsh. “I wanna focus on our angel for now. If you can suck that cock for the duration of her punishment then maybe I’ll let you lick my cum off her pretty pussy? After all she cleaned up for you didn’t she?”

Fuck, he’s so fucking cruel.

Satoru is hard again anyways.

Now, for you, Suguru flips the toy on and presses it to your swollen, aching clit, having been passed from mouth to mouth, it’s like you’ve been toyed with for hours. Suguru knows this and he knows Satoru just as well. He anticipated Satoru wanting to see you get put in your place just as much as he anticipated you asking for it.

Now it comes down to what he said earlier. Treat the angel, ignore the brat.

He smiles sweetly, the sound of Satoru lapping at the plastic cock unimportant as your legs shake.“Remember princess, you asked for this.”

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Why the Dragon King Sucks: an Exploration of What Makes a Good Villain and a satisfying Story Conclusion

Dragon Age as a franchise has some of my favourite villains, and also villains I think kinda suck. DATV is not immune to this; Ghilan'nain joins the ranks as one of my favourite villains of the series but there is one villain I can't stand. I get mad just thinking about him. And so I thought I'd share my thoughts.

So firstly, before we can unpack why a villian sucks, we must first unpack what makes a good villain. Contrary to popular belief I don't think a villain needs to be a fully dimensional person to be compelling, but I do think good villains generally fall into one of three categories:

Interesting because of the relationship to the hero/protagonist

Interesting because we understand their point, or because of moral complexity/ambiguity

Interesting because they're scary as all hell

Dragon age has dabbled in all of these types of villians.

The example of a villian who is interesting because of their relationship to the hero/protagonist is Danarius. Danarius is flat out evil with 0 redeeming qualities. His main motivation is to a) experiment on his slaves and b) recapture his favourite escaped slave. We know he regularly tortures and kills people. We don't even meet him until act 3! BUT his relationship to Fenris makes him work. He is everywhere in Fenris's narrative; from the house Fenris lives in, to the actions Fenris takes (he won't even be with you until hes dealt with Danarius), to the feeling that Fenris is being constantly hunted. Danarius is terrifying to Fenris, the things Fenris did FOR Danarius is terrifying to Fenris (killing the Fog Warriors), all of this makes both us AND Fenris angry. When he shows up he's menancing because he's been built up the WHOLE game. He works because of his relationship to Fenris.

Let's move onto a villian who is interesting due to their moral complexity. There were a few to pick from here, but I think ultimately I'm going to go with the Arishock (but shout outs in particular to Calpurnia, Zathrian, Illario and Isseya). The Arishock undoubtedly does some pretty evil stuff, and yet we UNDERSTAND him. He does not want to be in Kirkwall, yet he cannot leave until he gets what he needs. He wants to be peaceful, but is being pushed by the constant way that his people are being agitated; stolen from, blamed, tricked and manipulated by chantry zealots. He doesn't understand why kirkwall is allowed to function as it does when it leads to such misery/pain for everyone. He's very reasonable with a Hawke who is reasonable back and respects them. The thing that tips him over the edge is the fact that he's unwilling to hand over elves that the guards refused to bring justice for, and most people agree that the guards were in the wrong there. Nobody thinks the Arishock should have tried to take over Kirkwall, killing the Viscount and trying to take Isabela. But we UNDERSTAND why he might be doing what he's doing and THAT makes him compelling.

Final category; when a villain is scary. I think writers sometimes confuse this for the villain having a lot of power (*cough* Elganarn *cough*) but that's not what scary is. Scary is usually invoked by feeling that the hero/protagonist is under genuine threat if they were caught or feeling that this person will do fucked up things and has no line; even about people they care about. Absolute main dragon age villian to sit here is Branka who went so mad in her pursuit of the anvil she was willing to let her house be turned into Brood Mothers so they could pump out darkspawn who could test the traps. Ghilan'nain is also in this category.

To make an EXCELLENT villain you probably want to take a few strands from each collum; Loghain stands out here as someone who has a connection to our of our heros (Alistair's revenge quest) but also is morally understandable/interesting.

So now I've laid all that out...tell me. Where does the dragon king fit?

The dragon king doesn't really have a connection to Taash. They want Taashs blood sure but they only make two plays for Taash the whole game and Taash never seems scared of them. We don't find out why or what they want to do to Taash. Taash just. Doesn't know this guy. Like until the very end when he kills their mum, they don't have a reason to hate him.

The dragon king is not morally complex either. He is just. An evil guy working for an evil god who wants power. He's not got a particular point; he's not even like the red templars who at least had the motivation that the chantry had abandoned them and led them to be addicts for no reason. Theres no talk of that being the case with the antam. There is just. Nothing. He's some evil guy.

And finally, he's not scary. He's in fact so un-scary that our protagonists never ever get to fight him because he'd make a shit boss. I think this is a WILD choice. what I think happened was the Devs realised that as the other Taash quests had involved fighting dragons that should be their boss fight but like. What? I literally was so confused when this happened; I wondered if the dragon king could turn into a dragon for a moment or was riding the dragon but it's not that. We kill a dragon and don't even throw so much as a single spell or punch at the dragon king.

AND to make matters worse, we don't meet him until the very end and Taash doesn't really talk about him until then either. Varric narrator style mentions him and that's it. If you're not going to introduce your villian until late in the game you NEED to have build up like what we get for Denarias or Branka or Meredith. That's the whole issue with Corphyeus that everyone bangs on about; he's just not in the narrative enough to carry the feeling that he's an undefeatable big bad.

The dragon king is so boring. There's just. Nothing there. There's no relationship, there's no complexity. Just an evil guy.

And that makes me so annoyed considering that I love Taash and also that the voice acting when Taash's mum dies is so stunning. Taash deserved better than most of the plotlines they got, they deserved a better villian and they deserved choices beyond those that demonised multiculturalism. They don't even need a villain if you do their story right; many dragon age characters have no central villain and are still incredibly interesting: Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Cole, Wynne, Bull, Bethany, Carver, Sten to name just a few.

Tblr; the dragon king SUCKS

[hajihiko]

I know you don't like to talk abt Nagito much (valid btw) but I noticed something abt how you draw him that I cannot stop myself from asking about.

So this could def be nothing but I was wondering how you go about his prosthetic? I noticed you don't really draw it much and was wondering if that was on purpose, if you had a reason for it, etc. You also draw his arm as cut off a lot higher than I see most other people draw it.

Idk, I like thinking about his prosthetic, how it works, how often he uses it, etc. and you seem to think about it much differently than most others. I just wanted to know if you had any thoughts about it or if you go based on vibes or smth.

well I do always go nased on vibes and memory which are both fallible. But also more

Just for funsies i tallied

Arm:

Missing 4

Not visible 11

Accidentally there 3

On purpose there 5

Prosthetic 1.5

Junko 3

Sometimes i forget (bc i don't draw him often) and give him his old arm, sometimes it's an ambiguous timeline. The reason is pretty simply that i really don't like drawing mechanical things, but I'm sure he would have a sick mechanical arm courtesy of Kaz.

The reason it's up high is because i imagine the, uh, 'Junko rot' had spread and it was safer to not leave any dead tissue behind. If untreated, in a bad end, which is p much all my horror stuff, it eats its way to dangerous places; Nagitos heart, Fuyuhikos brain, and Mikans general reproductive system and suchly related things. Head, heart, body.

[luveline]

how about a little blurb about roan asking reader to straighten her hair and eddie is devastated because someone said something mean to roan about her hair so reader does the dressing gown curls and comes down to the kitchen table for breakfast with hair like roans? 😭

cw this blurb might imply that the reader doesn't have curly hair but hopefully it is ambiguous, like maybe r has a different curl pattern

"What are you doing?" Eddie whispers, face smushed into a pillow. You must've woken him fidgeting with your last pin. 

He went to bed early with a headache. You think that it might've been because of the afternoon's events. Poor Ro was being teased at school again for her lovely hair, and Eddie can't stand it, but worse was the face he made when Roan asked if you could straighten it out. 

That was not cool. Far from Roan's fault, of course, and gutting. 

"Nothing," you whisper, hoping you can tide him back to sleep with some affection, "gimme two seconds, angel, I'm just moisturising." 

You're lying. You pin the last rag in place and turn off the light by the mirror before he can investigate the authenticity of what you'd claimed, sliding into bed behind him to hold his waist and press your face to his hot shoulder. He relaxes into your touch. You're not sure who nods off first. 

In the morning, he seems to have benefited from being the little spoon; he's singing downstairs while Roan giggles, his mood lightened, his voice high-pitched as he soars up to an octave you didn't know he could reach. You set about pulling the pins and rags from your hair, and brush the resulting curls out very gently. You look pretty, because you look exactly like Roan does after she gets her hair done properly, your hair in curls that are nearly ringlet in form, winding loose toward the scalp and tighter at the ends.

You get dressed for work and make your way downstairs. 

"How much toast? One or two?" Eddie's asking. 

"I want two, please," Roan says, leaning back in her chair, the pillows slipping beneath her. 

Eddie obeys her asking and pops the toaster down with two pieces of bread, and then he turns to you and the easy smile on his face stutters. "Oh." 

"Do you like it?" you ask, bringing your hands to your chest with pride, elbows out as you turn one way and the other. "Aren't they pretty?" 

"You look beautiful," he agrees immediately, the impulse of a man who's about to get married saying what his future wife tells him to, but then softer is his genuine agreement, "you look really, really stellar. Doesn't she, Ro?" 

Roan wraps her arms around the back of her chair, cheek squished to the side. "Your hair is like mine." 

"You're lucky," you say, pulling one of the curls behind your ear. You do feel pretty. "It took me ages last night to get it ready and put all of the pins in my hair, but you wake up with your beautiful hair like that every day." 

Roan's voice is chest-achingly hopeful, "You think so?" 

"I love it."

You twist one way and another to drive the message home for her. Eddie scratches a thin layer of butter and strawberry jelly over Roan's toast and puts it in front of her, a quarter piece miraculously missing. 

She squints at him. 

"You have such nice hair," he says eventually through a full mouth. 

You lean over the back of her chair to kiss her cheek and swipe your own quarter piece of toast. "He's right, even if he has no manners."

She giggles and makes herself a little toast sandwich. Her fingers and eyes stay focused on the task at hand, but she says, "Thanks, mommy," quietly and sweetly. 

"You're welcome, my little toast monster. How did you eat that much already? You're impressive." 

Eddie sidles up to give you a grateful hug from the side, his hands joining over your shoulder as he encourages your face toward his. You lean away from his smacking strawberry scented kiss, but you cover his hands so he can't leave too quickly afterwards.

—

eddie, roan and reader drabbles

[ocelettelatte]

How are they when they do your hair?

Includes: Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Toji x Curly Hair!Reader. (+Todo Bonus) Author's Note: First and possibly the last post I'll make. Made this just for fun so the characters might be OOC. Self-indulgent, but I did try to make the reader ambiguous. Divider by @/saradika

Gojo

Gojo learns how to do your hair pretty quickly.

He watches you do it once and he’s able to do it almost immediately.

He’ll go all out for you. That hairstyle you saw online? Boom you got it.

That one hair product you wanted but were always told you needed some kind of license to get it? I don’t know how, but he got it.

Your hair gets the slightest bit messed up and he’s pissed for you. Just straight whiny about it.

Has given you mini heart attacks before. “My bad I messed up, we gotta go bald.” while braiding your hair...

Buys all kinds of charms and accessories for your hair.

While he knows you shouldn’t do it often, he actually likes your hair straight. It always amazes him how long your hair actually is.

He also loves curl-defining. Going one by one curling each ringlet with his finger is oddly satisfying to him.

Definitely uses all of your products. When you ask about it, he’ll deny it.

Nanami

Nanami likes your hair however you like it. braids, twists, dreads, loose, straightened, wigs, short. If you’re happy with it then he’s happy.

If you ask him to do your hair, he’ll keep it simple. Nothing too flashy but not too basic.

He does this because he always feels bad when you have the prettiest hairstyles, knowing you’ve spent hours on it and it just gets messed up because of your line of work.

The face you make when you tell him it’s fine always tugs at his heart.

However, this doesn't mean he won't give you a glamorous hairstyle for date nights.

Nanami has bought little charms for you to put in your hair and keeps everything you leave at his place in a little basket.

Helps you with your hair when you’re getting ready for bed.

Buys a silk pillowcase just for you.

If he sees you're running out of product he'll use the last of it and buy you new ones.

If there's a particular product you have to order online, Nanami knows exactly when to order said product.

Geto

You always let the twins do your hair, Nanako being the most interested in it. You see it as a learning experience for them.

However, You never let Geto touch your hair. You weren’t too fond of his choice of words when referring to non-sorcerers.

After a bit of warming up to one another, you finally allowed him to do your hair.

Geto absolutely loves braiding your hair.

I’ve always thought that Geto might have picked up on some mundane hobbies once he started his cult. One of those hobbies being Ikebana. Which is why he loves hair braiding.

After learning how many intricate things you could do with this style, it would become his go-to thing.

He has the gentlest hands when doing hair.

With permission, he would put flowers in your hair. Sometimes he’ll go the extra mile of getting you to wear a Hakama or Kimono just to tie the whole look together.

Granted, he knows that he has to give your scalp a break. On those days he actually likes your hair loose.

Choso

All of his experiences doing hair have only been on himself. So when he meets you, he learns so much about his and your hair.

Unfortunately, Choso is scared to touch your hair. The last time he did he tangled it pretty badly.

He is so gentle that things end up getting loose and he has to start over.

Still learning all the different hairstyles. Confuses twists for dreads.

Constantly asking if you’re okay and making sure that he’s not hurting you.

Sometimes he hesitates when doing your hair and you reassure him that he’s doing fine.

Either uses too much product or not enough. There’s no in-between.

If you ask him to buy shampoo and conditioner, he'll get a little overwhelmed and come back with three in one.

Loves giving you any hairstyle that has twin tails. He also likes to put little ribbons in your hair sometimes.

Toji

“Stop moving your damn head.” Kind of vibes.

Definitely rough and says that he’s not.

Most definitely would pop you with the comb.

All jokes aside, Toji is pretty good at doing your hair. Though it’s like pulling teeth trying to convince him to do it.

Prefers if you’ve done whatever you needed to your hair so he can style it however.

Toji doesn’t have a favorite style for you. At the end of the day, it’s just hair to him.

Your accessories are floating around his place. He even stepped on one.

Here's a bonus because Toji was so short!

Todo

Todo definitely has everything he needs to do your hair. Unfortunately, just like that one hair lady in your life, he’s hard to get a hold of.

This Takada mega fan will cancel on you when he finds out there’s an event in the area. Those days you’ve contemplated going bald…

The only reason why you keep going back to him is because he's so damn good at it. It’s just one-on-one... and the occasional mentions of Takada, but you can deal with that.

Has tried to convince you to lock your hair a handful of times.

Gave you starter locks to see if you like it. If you don’t he’ll do whatever you like.

“Stop being so tender-headed.”

"HOW!?"

He’s not gentle but he’s not rough either.

Silk. Pillow. I’m confident that he owns at least one.

[call-sign-shark]

Echo of Shadows || Masterlist

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!OCreader || Alina Starkov x Heartrender!OCreader || Malyen Oretsevx HeartRender!OCreader

Summary: "They called her the White Plague, a saint or a monster—but she was neither, only destruction wrapped in a pretty bow."

In Ravka's frosty heart, the legend of the White Plague spreads—a woman with snow-white hair, frozen-fire eyes, and powers that rival those of Jurda Parem. Once a slave in the Menagerie, the one who calls herself Heaven is now a myth, either leaving towns in ruins or former disease-ridden people crying with gratitude. A Sankta.

General Kirigan's interest soon turns dark and his desire obsessive. Never had he been so captivated and haunted by someone. Someone he could finally share his eternal life with. Caught in a cruel game of power and love, she's torn between Kirigan’s corrupting passion and Alina Starkov’s promise of freedom.

Amidst the chaos, one question arises: will she become a savior, a monster, or something far more dangerous?

TW: Explicit sexual content, slow burn, borderline consent, heavy pinning, toxic relationship [manipulation, obsession, extreme jealousy, controlling behavior], graphic sexual description, graphic depiction of murder and torture, blood!kink, size!kink, reference to past SA and child SA, dark romance & mad romance trope, ambiguous relationship with Alina. This story is brutal, bloody and rated +18.

ACT I

1. Keep Moving, Little Girl

2. Their Frozen Shackles

3. The Court of Shadows

4. The Fear Within

5. Beneath his Watchful Eyes 🔞

6. A Dance of Puppets

7. Burn Your Village

8. Gazed Into the Abyss…

9. ... The Abyss Gazed Back Into Me 🔞

10. All I've Ever Wanted.

ACT II

11. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Light

12. Blinding Light

13. It's in Our Veins

14. Your Darkness Flayed 🔞

15. After the Storm, the Sun

16. Safe in the Dark 🔞

17. Paint Me Black 🔞

18. Golden Cage for a Pretty Bird

19. Your Heart, My Chains

20. To the Core

ACT III

21. The War of Light and Shadow

22. Never You

23. Barbwire Kiss🔞

24. It Has Always Been You 🔞

25. I'm Not Ruined. I'm Ruination.

26. Swan Song

27. Your Love is an Open Wound 🔞

28. The Mask of the Red Death

29. The Starless Saint of Broken Hearts

30. Symphony of Our Ruins

Epilogue: Eternal Eclipse

ONE SHOTS

Much Ado About Jam Toasts- fun & fluff

Away From the Deep Shadow

Happiness Therapy - modern AU, fluff

Folie À Deux - modern AU, fluff

A Rose in the Corridor - modern AU, fluff

Friend and Festivities - modern AU (by the wonderful @justrainandcoffee )

MOODBOARD

Light in the Dark

Notes:

☾ I haven't read the books yet so this work is based on the TV show even though I know it's fairly different from the original Grisha verse. If you're an adorable lore psycho, you might not want to read that! :(

☾ Taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune

[ofmonstersandlovers]

👽Alien Boyfriend Headcanons👽

I was inspired while watching Ancient Aliens after so many years

TW: Might be suggestive??? Idk lol but watch out for that ig, reader is ambiguous

There's gonna be a huge language barrier at first.

Pretty alien boyfriend has an alphabet that's way different from any from Earth.

It's probably like dolphin clicks

But! He's a quick learner after being given cute little picture books.

Which flows into this trait - man's is curious, curious.

Wants to learn anything and everything.

And when it comes to you? Oh, he eats that knowledge up!

Memorized every detail about you down to the smallest detail.

How you like to sleep, what temperature of the house is the most comfortable for you, what signs you give that you're about to soon fall sick.

Everything.

Some might find that attention creepy but oddly endearing?

He remembers the dates of importance.

For some reason, the day he tried to cook for you and failed which led to you two cooking together is important to him.

Very sweet boyfriend 10/10.

Malewife.

Finds the vast differences between you fascinating!

From skin color, to bone structure, even your hair.

Which means he's always touchy, always tracing every inch of you.

😏

He always has a hand on you, usually hips our your stomach.

Sure, the stomach is a... choice, but it's his favorite spot! All your little organs being there making sounds when he lays his head there!

The way you jolt for a moment when he places kisses there!

It's his favorite spot!

When he can't touch said favorite spot oh he fucking riots.

By that I mean he pouts and makes offended clicks sounds.

Sulking as he makes grabby hands.

"Why?" He'll whine a lot.

When you finally let him, he jumps you. All the nuzzling as he wriggles into his favorite spot and absolutely melts.

Times he goes back to his home world, he brings back gifts!

Little things he'll think you'll like and trinkets that he decorates your home with.

Makes it quite a conversation when guests come over and see nothing but sci-fi shit.

Sweet, curious and very thoughtful, it comes out of left field that he's possessive.

Not in like a "your can't leave the house" way!

But he's sure to make everyone know that you're with him.

Arm around the shoulder, hands playing with your own as he nuzzles into you, sometimes even leaves nips on your neck as a display.

There have been times someone tried to approach you with none platonic intentions while he's next to you and he nearly pulled out the mousekatool.

Now he just curses at them in his language or stares them down with daggers for eyes.

Which does work since, like man's is big.

Like big.

Not like the trope of aliens being knee height little guys.

Overall, the alien boyfriend is an otherworldly experience.

Pun intended

[gouraminnow]

If it's okay can I request a yandere sir crocodile x single mother reader. I've been thinking about what would happen if the reader had a baby, like would they take the reader and leave the baby or take the reader and the baby. If they did take the baby what would happen, would they be mean to the baby, nice to the baby, or just distance. Would they become a platonic yandere. I'm so sorry if I already sent this in, I can't remember if I did or not.

Yeah I got the first one, but dw about it lol tumblr can get weird with asks anyway.

Rambling under the cut! Not sure if you meant literal baby, child is of ambiguous age but can talk.

Hoo boy you've handed me a rough one, huh? I don't think Croc is a kids guy. But I don't think he'd be outright horrible to a small, unthreatening child- if not because of standards, but because it just isn't worth his time or energy to direct actual hatred toward. Yes, he was willing to destroy a whole country and hundreds of lives which no doubt included children, but I think that degree of faceless separation is very different from looking at a kid directly and going "Yeah I'm gonna kill this. Personally. With my hands." Vivi was 16 and Luffy was 17 iirc but one is an important opposing political figure with crucial information on his misdeeds, and Luffy... is Luffy. Idk. What I'm saying is at the very least I don't see him being abusive or disposing of the child- he does like you, and that's a pretty surefire way to destroy you and any reason you have to cooperate.

It could be a "cooperate and your child remains happy/unharmed" situation but tbh I don't wanna write that. Child abuse is a topic I'm willing to touch on in specific circumstances, mostly backstory but I don't really want to write about canon characters doing it. So I simply won't lol. Reader inserts can be held against their will and mistreated but I don't want to involve a kid in that dynamic, so if I write something where the reader is caring for a kid (such as Galley on 4th) then the yandere in question does things through much softer more under-handed methods.

Honestly? The best way I see this working out is Pre-Alabasta arc where Crocodile is still seen as a hero by the masses. There's a good chance that, at least initially, his affections start and end with you. Is irritated if he finds out about the kid after he's decided that he likes you. But you- you're a little slice of domesticity, you fit into his life rather nicely, he thinks. Plus you and the brat help round out his image as a wholesome do-gooder, don't you? A protector of the people, and a loving husband and father to boot. The... dark parts of his business all swept under the rug and kept away from you both, of course.

His dates with you are no doubt extravagant, but he prefers your kid not accompany the two of you on these. Probably prefers to shower them in expensive gifts, rather than spend much one-on-one time with them. I think he could get attached but he'd be in denial about it for a bit. He's able to rationalize the lack of time spent with them to you, specifically in public- he's a notable figure, is he not? While he's a Warlord and could no doubt protect the both of you(his pride will NOT have you believe otherwise), he just doesn't want the risk. You're an adult with full comprehension of the possibility of being targeted, so it's different. He is a good actor, though. While he doesn't spend as much time with the kid, he's good enough that they don't feel actively disliked. A bit... put out, maybe. It's possible your kid just... thinks he's really cool, despite it. Mysterious, close yet distant, someone who makes mom happy and is the reason they both have all this nice stuff, now. Which can be annoying, but stroking the ego doesn't hurt the kid's case. Liking the bananawanis would score them a couple points too...

-

"Do you think I could, um, meet them sometime? Y'know, if you aren't busy..." Crocodile raises a brow, taking in the brat sitting in a chaise lounge chair. They're leaning forward, looking hopeful- swinging their little legs in anticipation. They look comically small compared to the chair. He chuckles, takes a drag of his cigar- turning his head away from the child to exhale. "...I'm not sure if I can do that without consulting your mother first," he muses, watching the kid visibly deflate. Even if he knows the bananawanis will listen to him, that they would pose no threat if he did not wish them to do so- he preferred you to be happy. Introducing your small child to the large, imposing reptiles used as guard-dogs behind your back would be unwise. "So I'm afraid you'll only be looking from a distance or through glass, unless we can get her approval. We could always ask though, hmm?" The kid grins at him- and Sir Crocodile feels a disquieting lack of disdain.