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angelsnkisses · 1 year ago

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sub gabriel smut where he just needs a lot of praise??? and like reader is giving him a handjob and telling him not to move but he accidentally thrusts up his hips and reader calls him a bad boy n he s like nononnonono im your good boy:((

A/N: i love this idea :(( ofc anon, ty for the request <3

Good Boy ♡ - Gabriel x gn!reader

‼️ NSFW - MDNI ‼️

warnings: sub!gabe, dom!gn!reader, handjob, edging

disclaimer: i am not romanticizing or sexualizing mental illness, nor do i intend to upset or harm those struggling.

holy shit sorry for the gifs quality 😭

You had worked late that night, and you were so excited to finally be home. You had missed Gabe all day, craving a hug from him more than anything.

You shuffled into the apartment from the freezing cold outdoors, shuddering gently as you shut the door. The heated living room was comforting, warming you up as you slipped off your jacket.

You didn't call out for Gabe, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep by now. You wouldn't be surprised if he was, it was later than you expected. You quietly walked down the hall, opening the bedroom door as slow as you could manage.

Light from the hallway leaked into the dark room. You were right, Gabe was already asleep. You kicked your shoes off, stripping down to your underwear before getting in bed with him and cuddling close to his chest.

He whined softly at the disturbance, his eyes blinking open. When he processed that it was you, his irritated face relaxed immediately, a sleepy smile breaking out across his lips. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

"Hi, baby," he mumbled, pushing his face into your neck so he could kiss the soft skin. You hummed, heart swelling with adoration. He was so sweet, always happy to see you. It always made you feel better, no matter how bad your day was.

"Hey there," you chuckled, hands falling on his shoulders. You rubbed them gently, enjoying the warmth he was providing. "I missed you," you added, feeling him nip at your neck a bit.

"Mhmm.. I missed you, too," he agreed, clearly distracted. You grinned, your hands slipping to his chest. He was getting more eager with his movements, pulling you closer and biting your neck lightly.

"I can tell," you giggled, pulling back. He huffed in protest, trying to get his lips back on you. You held him back with your hands planted firmly on his torso, shaking your head. "No, no.. that's not how you get what you want, honey," you cooed, and it was like a switch flipped in his mind.

"I've needed you all day. Please," he begged quietly, sounding more awake now. You could feel his hands running up and down your sides, making you shiver gently.

You pulled back, tugging him up so you were both in a sitting position. You leaned on his shoulder, looking down at his pajama pants. He was already semi-hard, making your lips twitch into a smile.

"My pretty boy, were you waiting for this? You poor thing.." you pitied in his ear, listening to his shaky breaths. He whined softly, embarrassment tinting his tone as he nodded. You pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder, one of your hands rubbing his thigh lovingly.

"Use your words, hm?" you encouraged, ignoring his humilated little noises. He parted his shaky lips, forcing out an agreement.

"Y-yes, I was."

You smiled at his obedience, allowing your hand to tug on his pants. "Good boy, Gabe.. take these off for me," you ordered. More blood rushed to his dick at your words as he scrambled to do as you said, pushing the pants down before pulling them off his legs. He didn't have underwear on, making you bite your lip absentmindedly.

He was almost fully hard now, precum leaking from his tip as he shuddered, cold air hitting the sensitive area. He attempted to turn away and hide his face again, but you shook your head, your hand inching closer and closer to where he needed you.

"No, Gabriel. Watch what I'm doing, like a good boy," you motivated quickly.

He whined again, but still did as he was told. He thrived off your praise, he needed it. He would do anything to earn it.

You took hold of his throbbing cock, his hips jerking when your cold fingers wrapped around the heated skin. You sighed at the weight in your hand, not realizing how much you'd really missed it.

"I need you to be still, baby. Can you do that for me?" you asked gingerly. He nodded, his eyes watching your hand as he was told. "Yes, I can do that f-for you," he muttered shyly, earning another kiss to his shoulder.

"Hm, good.." you said before you started pumping your hand slowly, listening to the low moan that left Gabe's throat. His head feel back, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He remembered your order to keep watching and quickly corrected himself.

"Such a pretty cock, just aching for me," you mused. He let out a shaky whimper, trying not to move when you started speeding up.

He moaned loudly when your thumb brushed over his reddened tip, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your touch. You stopped moving, tutting in disappointment.

"Oh, no.. what did I tell you? Bad boy.." you scolded in a quiet voice, looking up at him. His eyes widened as he shook his head, his eyes watery at the lack of touch.

"N-no! Nononono, I'm your good boy- please, I won't do it again. I'm s-sorry, please. I'll be good! I'll be good, please," he begged in a cracked, panicky voice, a couple tears slipping down his red cheeks. You had never seen him beg so frantically before, he must of been really pent up.

You shushed him, leaning up and pressing a silencing kiss to his trembling lips. He kissed you back, his eyes squeezing shut. He released a broken moan against your lips when you started moving your hand again, faster this time.

"Oh, f-fuck! Mmh, please," he whimpered, the sound music to your ears. He was extra good for you, pulling back to watch what you were doing. He stayed still for you, other than his dick occasionally twitching in your hand.

"A-ah.. I'm gonna cum, fuck," he moaned, his voice shaky and his whimpers more consistent.

"Yeah? Hold on a bit longer, baby. Be a good boy and wait," you purred, ignoring his whines. "I can't! Please, I can't," he cried, his legs trembling and his lower abdomen spasming.

"Yes, you can. I promise you can," you assured him, your hand stroking him feverishly. He was fighting back his orgasm for dear life, praying he didn't accidentally finish against your orders.

You tormented and edged him for a bit longer before leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek before your lips moved to his ear.

"Alright, baby, you can cum for me. Good boy," you mumbled, feeling his cock throb as he moaned. He tossed his head back, a whimper escaping the back of his throat as he released white, sticky ropes of cum all over your hand and his torso. His hips pushed up a little, but you didn't mind anymore. You just let him get through the orgasm, kissing his neck.

"Oh my god, oh shit~ thank you, th- oh, thank you," he moaned pathetically, slumping against you.

You smiled when he turned, catching his lips with yours in a slow, affectionate kiss. He had done so well for you, and you were immensely proud.

"Good job, baby.." you started, pulling back. You looked at your cum soaked hand, beginning to lick it clean while you held his eye contact. He moaned quietly at the sight, his dick pulsing subtly.

You leaned your head down, lolling out your tongue and beginning to lick up the salty cum from his abdomen. His breath hitched, his dick already starting to harden again at the sight.

"My turn," you said against his skin, slowly moving up so you could hover over his cock..

A/N: sorry for robbing you guys 🤭🤭. i loved this request, it's so sweet! i haven't proofread this yet, but i hope you enjoyed <3. thanks again, anon!

#rory culkin #rory culkin smut #angelsnkisses #mdni #gabriel 2014 #gabriel #culkin cult #dom!reader #gn!reader

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comradekarin · 1 year ago

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I saw your Beyonce/Taylor Swift post and What's wrong with "comparing two queens that are killing it". line? Isn't that what it comes down to with female artists? Why can't we just appreciate all female artists instead of the competitions?

I’m going to take this as you asking this question in good faith so here’s the short answer: No. There is nothing inherently wrong with that statement, and depending on the context, I agree with it. But here’s the long answer:

A lot of fandoms do take it upon themselves to start unnecessary, unprovoked beef between artists, especially female artists of color (i.e the Cardi and Nicki drama), consequently ruining the love a lot of people have for those artists. However, the Taylor and Beyoncè comparisons have a few problems I want to address that aren’t actually new when talking about female artists of color and their white counterparts. Firstly, the whole comparisons only started because of the uptick of insufferable swifties online discrediting all of the work, effort, and impact Beyoncé has had on people before and today (and Beyoncé fans are simply responding to these ridiculous claims). Secondly, swifties also have a strange tendency to compare her exclusively to objectively better black artists (Beyoncé, Prince, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, and more) by diminishing their work and influence in order to prop her up. Noticeable so, they never really do this with Taylor’s fellow white peers. It begs the question: Why do so many swifties feel the need to put Taylor on a pedestal by discrediting arguably more popular, influential black and queer artists? While I do agree with the notion that female artists should be celebrated and giving the props they deserve, we can no longer pretend that black artists like Beyoncé don’t have to give twice the effort, twice the dedication, twice the energy, and twice the style in order to be given their credit. Meanwhile, an artist like Taylor is rewarded and worshiped for her white mediocrity and performance activism, never really pressured to perform to the degree other black artists are expected to, or forced to show allyship when it really matters. So for her fans to degrade Beyoncé’s high quality vocals, performance, and production—which has been consistent and improving over the years—and be rightfully told off just to resort to the corny “let’s just celebrate all women” is, in my eyes, the epitome of white feminism.

Taylor’s fans have even admitted that she isn’t the best singer, only marketing herself as a good “songwriter”. Ok, so an artist that can’t sing that well, can’t dance, has easily replicable lyrics we could get from other Indie artists, and has a very specific demographic as her fans is someone to be considered a legend? How is this considered the standard but influential black legends’ work are downplayed and diminished? Why does it hurt swifties to see black women be given their credit? Why does Taylor have to be included in every conversation (I.e the Lizzo situation at the Grammy’s where Taylor Swift fans took Lizzo’s appreciation for Beyoncé as hatred for Taylor or Beyoncé’s success on the renaissance tour being overshadowed by the eras tour). And when called out on this, why do her stans resort back to the fake “just support all women” take?

It’s why I can’t really stand by that one post up here that states we shouldn’t debate over female artists because at the end of the day, “they’re all female artists subjected to the harsh lens of the patriarchy.” That statement ignores the intersectionality present in the topic of female artists’ treatment in the industry. It ignores how the expectations of white female artists more than often than not tend to be different for woc artists. I see the “let’s just all get along” saying as a way to deflect from the valid criticism and complaints people of color have for white artists like Taylor Swift. And considering how Taylor’s online brand is playing victim and being the poor innocent white girl whenever she is called out on something, the behavior her stans exhibit are nothing out of the ordinary.

In summary, I don’t think comparisons between female artists are needed. Especially female artists in entirely different genres of music and style. But I do know a lot white Taylor Swift fans love to play the racism card and then hide behind misogyny to cover their tracks. Once again, something Taylor herself does WELL.

#ask #my first ask in a while and it’s this woman that’s super funny lmao #anti blackness #white mediocrity #beyonce #anti swifties #anti taylor swift #renaissance tour #the eras tour

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with-love-from-hell · 11 months ago

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I am begging you all to stop supporting AI. Not the AI chat bots, not Art, Not the song covers on youtube, not the filters, not writing. NONE OF IT. I am already starting to see advertisements using AI art in their marketing. This shit takes jobs and income away from artists, you fucks.

Look at this ad and tell me an artist or photographer could have done it better.

The toes are fucking backwards. They're all big toes. The right foot is smaller than the left and the skin on the leg is a different color. The socks look fucked up. All of this is bad.

And what's worse is that the people in marketing are having their livelihoods threatened because of this shit. Freelance artists are already struggling with getting commissions, and are being replaced by a shit generated image where the character you like has 6 fucking fingers on each hands because it doesn't cost anything. Voice actors are losing out on gigs because people can use their voice to say or sing *whatever they want* without their consent. Photographers and photo editors are struggling with getting people to hire them to restore and fix photos, because anyone on tiktok can just slap an AI filter over it and make it visibly worse, but now I look like I'm in star wars, right? Writers are struggling to bid for columns or get commissions because people would rather use a text generator to do the work for them easily and faster. And for why?! It's hurting people! It's stealing from people who are already struggling! People arent griping for no reason- it's purpose is to make artists obsolete so they wont have to be paid. It's happening in real time. This isn't a damn joke. STOP USING IT

And even if it wasn't hurting people now, it has the potential to! just think of the consequences of being able to generate images of people at any place at any time, or being able to make someone say -anything- at all, and claim it as real. This is horrifying, and people decide to ignore posts like this because haha they can make themself look like a barbie doll! Or put their fav in a situation! or personalize a song from their fav! Are we really so impatient and greedy for content that we're willing to destroy the livelihoods of the people who also enjoy our fav content and are generous enough to make it come to life because there's a free way to get very poor quality content pumped so rapidly that it dulls our appreciation for the content itself?!

#sorry for the rant. I just saw this today and became fucking floored #I have so many friends who are artists and seeing this just really pisses me off #stormy speaks

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stardusthuntress · 1 year ago

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The Right Attire

Hunter x AFAB!reader

Word Count: ~4.6K

TW: reader has anxiety and some vague, poor past experiences with attempting to be sexy; Hunter is a sweet, comforting, feral partner; the anxiety thing is just a vague attempt at plot so it’s not just smut, but really it’s mostly smut anyways, hehe! Basically, this begs the question: how would Hunter react if his partner put on something tempting and sexy? Needless to say: minors begone!

A/N: I found the below pic on pinterest (I know, not the best way to cite something, sorry, and sorry for the terrible quality of the image!) and it inspired me to write a fic about something similar! I’ve wanted to do something like this but always struggled with it, just like the girl in the image, and I thought this might be a good way to work through those nerves. Feels weird saying I relate to it though, considering I look very different than the depicted female… but I'm not sure why I feel weird about it, I know I shouldn't feel weird about that considering I can still relate to it... Anyways tho, reader isn’t described in detail except to say that she has female body parts so hopefully this works for you regardless of whether you can relate to the image or not! I loved the comments on the image, so hopefully you can still read those too!

I'm considering making this into a series of sorts with one fic for each of the batchers, considering how they would each respond to a partner doing this for them. But I'll probably only do that if people like the idea? What do you guys think? Comments on this idea are welcome!

Just in case it needs to be said again, minors DNI!!!

She was nervous, there was no way around it. She’d only done something like this once, and it hadn’t even remotely gotten the desired effect. To say the least, she’d been flat out ignored. And she hadn’t even gone all out for that partner like she did this time. She didn’t want that experience to hold her back, she wanted a chance to be free to do fun things like this when she wanted for her partner, knowing it would be fun for both of them. But the fear that it would once again be received as poorly as it had last time wouldn’t let her go. It wouldn’t let her pack up the courage and step through the open doorway that she was hiding next to. She leaned against the wall, trying to pack up the courage to just do it. Instead her fears were getting the better of her. With every passing second, she felt less and less like she would ever be able to walk though that door like this. But she’d put so much effort into it, finding the right red and black lace lingerie set that was the right combination of attractive (to catch his eye and hopefully make him just a little feral) and modest (to make her feel okay enough to actually put the damn thing on). But with every second that passed she only succeeded in convincing herself she was not ready for this.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the door jam tightly to keep from trembling. Hunter was in the other room, doing his own thing, with no idea what she was going through in the hallway. Or so she thought.

In the other room, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Hunter had sensed her presence approaching. But he didn’t tune into it until his subconscious informed him that she had been standing just out of view in the hallway for quite some time without ever actually entering the room.

Worried, he turned towards the door, but didn’t make any moves towards it just yet. Using all his heightened senses to the max in an attempt to figure out what was bothering the woman he loved so much that she wouldn't enter the room. On the edge of the door jam, resting where she thought he couldn’t see it, her fingertips peeked into the room. The pads of her fingers were white from the strength of her grip on the doorframe.

Hunter stood still and focused on her fingertips for a moment. He could hear her heartbeat. It seemed rather frantic or nervous. And she kept taking deep breaths. They were soft, and barely audible, even to his ears, but clearly nerves.

Suddenly those fingertips slipped away from the doorframe, and he could hear the soft padding of her feet slip away across the hallway, retreating towards their shared room as quietly as possible. That’s when he knew he had to do something.

With a few quick steps he burst into the hallway to catch his lovely partner before she tried to deal with it all by herself again. He wanted to be there for her for everything, whether or not she needed him there.

It wasn’t until he slipped a gentle arm round her waist as she tried to cross into the bedroom that he figured out what it must have been related to. Instead of her usual cotton comfort clothes, his arm brushed against the softest silky material. That was new. She never wore anything except her favoite lounge clothes when they were at home. This was a silken robe that she seemed to be desperately pulling tighter around her as she tried to avoid his eyes. He could feel her heart rate speeding up with nervousness as she glanced desperately around the floor, but for what he wasn’t sure.

Carefully, he spun her towards him so he could figure out what it was. His arms cradled her to him gently, knowing she was too nervous to look at him right now. Instinctively, he pulled her face to his chest so she wouldn’t feel forced to look at him if she didn’t want to. His hands ran up and down her back and arms to soothe her, but beneath the silken robe he could feel her trembling.

“What’s wrong, Love?” Hunter’s calm voice matching the gentle strength with which he held her.

“Nnn-nothing,” she mumbled against his bare chest, the turmoil of getting caught by the very man she had initially wanted to catch her 20 minutes ago, but now wanted to hide from, swirling through her mind, turning her thoughts to mush.

“I know you better than that,” Hunter whispered against her temple, one hand stroking her hair, the other pausing to rub the sleeve between his fingers. “What’s this pretty, soft robe?” He asked softly, no pressure to answer if she didn’t feel up for it.

“Don’t worry about it… it’s… not important,” she mumbled again.

He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, hands returning to running up and down her back, comfortingly. As his hands continued up and down in soothing patterns, he noticed the silky fabric seemed to catch every so slightly on what felt like swirling patterns of fabric beneath the thin material. He could feel her legs against her own, no soft pants keeping her even softer skin from his. And he could smell her natural musk stronger than usual. That implied she wasn’t wearing much under that delicate little robe. He hugged tighter, thinking she must be cold, swaying back and forth just a little.

Suddenly he stilled, her reasons for sneaking around with a soft robe and little to nothing else beneath it became clear to him. He pulled back a bit, so he could look down at her. She felt him pulling back and looked up at him with a worried expression. But his eyes weren’t looking at hers, his eyes were more focused on where her hands still gripped the opening of the robe to pin it tightly closed, as though she was afraid to let him see more of her beneath it.

His eyes skimmed her trembling form, then returned to her eyes. “Is this…?” He couldn’t keep his eyes on her worried expression, he kept glancing at her white knuckled grip on the robe. He wrapped one hand around hers, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “It’s alright Love, you know I love you.” He crooned, forehead resting against hers so he could look into her watery eyes. Her hands were relaxing just a little beneath his comforting movements.

They stood still, just breathing for a few moments. His presence and gentle habits soothing her nerves, allowing her grip on the hem to loosen ever so slightly.

“May I?” He asked, ever so slightly beginning to try to tug her hand away from clutching the robe shut.

She tensed against him, worry painting her brows as she looked away.

“Please?” He asked so politely, “It’s okay, I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

She closed her eyes for a second, and took a deep shuddering breath. It was then hat he knew he’d wait an eternity for her to feel comfortable enough to open up to him.

“I’ve got you,” he crooned, “I’m here for you. You can say no.” He waited patiently, rocking gently, and holding comfortingly.

After a few moments, she trembled less and he could feel her relaxing against him again. Slowly, her grip on the edge of the robe slipped away.

Conscious she seemed nervous to let him see, he decided he needed to do more to reassure her. So he scooped her hand into his own, and brought her graceful fingers to his lips. His eyes closed automatically when he kissed her knuckles. And when his lips departed from her hand, they didn’t move far. His lips and breath still danced over her hand, as his eyes slowly opened. His half-lidded eyes found a look of surprise and awe in hers as she watched him intently.

His gaze slowly trailed back down to the hem of the robe now resting on her chest. The tiniest hint of lace peeked out of the edge as he ran the back of his fingers down the line between fabric and the woman he loved. Ever so gently so that she barely even felt it, he let one finger slip beneath the edge, and he rubbed the soft fabric between his fingers.

“I like this material,” he murmured, thoughtfully, going slowly to give her more time to decide if she was okay with this.

She smiled shyly, ducking her head, afraid to admit she was glad he’d a) noticed and b) liked the fabric. She’d tried to think through every detail, not sure how any of the fabrics nor lace patterns would pair with his heightened senses. The corner of her lip twitched up as she looked away, heat rising in her cheeks. Despite her initial panic, maybe this was going okay after all? Her extra effort seemed to be paying off, so far.

She took a deep breath as Hunter pulled back enough that he could untie the robe and begin to unwrap her frightened exterior.

He watched her face carefully as she closed her eyes and took one more deep breath, before looking back at his eyes and nodding at him; her way of giving him permission to continue with his current actions.

Hunter smiled and let his eyes return to the tie looped round her middle. The loose knot came undone without much effort, allowing the fabric panels shielding her from his eyes to slip away.

Hunter’s jaw hit the floor, and his eyes widened. HIS colors adorned her in the most delicate and beautiful little lace number he’d ever seen.

“WOW,” he whispered, unable to restrain himself. His self control was wearing thinner and thinner with each passing second. Slow enough that she could easily push him away if she didn’t want it, his hands reached for her hips.

She’d looked away when she finally let him reveal herself to him. Fear of a repeat of a lack of appreciation for her effort distorting the hope in her minds eye. But his whispered awe and the way his fingertips danced over the details as he carefully examined the pretty patterns of roses and skulls woven into the lace, brought her attention back to him.

The way he kept licking his lips and swallowing hard as he admired every detail, captured her attention. She’d never had a partner as hungry for her as he was in that moment. His eyes roamed every inch, as he fingers followed, far more soft and appreciative than she’d ever expected a former soldier could be.

His desperate gaze returned to her face as his arms wrapped around her hips, and he let his forehead rest against hers as he stole one more glance downward. Words were not within his capacity anymore.

Her palm found it’s way to his chest, just to rest, settling comfortably there. To her surprise, his chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried desperately to get his hormones under control. He quickly moved one hand from her back to her hand on his chest, holding it against the bare skin of his chest so she could feel his heartbeat like he could always sense hers.

“Damn, woman. You look gorgeous!” His whispered fervently against her temple, he could barely control himself anymore.

She giggled and hid her face in his neck, letting the occasional giggle surface as she too tried to get her breathing patterns back under control too.

As she nestled into his chest and neck, her scent flooded his senses. Hunter leaned his head towards hers, placing a kiss on her check, and letting his nose nudge her ear as he took a deep breath of his favorite scent in the galaxy: her.

She could feel his length hardening against her abdomen as he clutched her tightly to him, his arms wrapped beneath the robe still draped over her shoulders as he let his nose and lips drift softly down her neck. He began to dot languid kisses across the skin now exposed to him, as they became more and more open mouthed and hungry the farther down her neck and shoulders his lips traveled.

Unable to hold back any longer herself, she whimpered beneath his ministrations.

Hunter groaned in response. He knew she never fell apart this easily, she must have really wanted this, wanted him! And boy did he want her badly right now!

Still standing in the hallway, not far from the bedroom door, his hands gripped her hips and steered her backwards against the wall.

Leaning heavily against her as he gently pinned her to the wall, Hunter surfaced, gasping for breath as he let his head rest against the wall next to hers. She too was panting heavily, he noticed, but there was something more to it too.

He leaned back enough to look into her face. She was smiling as she clung to him, but in the dim light from the room he’d left only moments before he could see something glistening on her cheek and in her eyes. She was crying.

He found himself driven to cup her cheek and use his thumb to wipe the tear track from her beautiful face.

“Was that okay?” He asked, concerned that he might have let himself go too far, still petting her check with his thumb.

She laughed faintly, nodding happily. “It was wonderful, Hunter.” She pecked his cheek, but let it linger a bit. Hunter hummed in delight, subconsciously leaning into her affections.

Hunter racked his brain, trying to figure out why her tears carried the scent of both relief and sorrow when the rest of her suggested they should be purely tears of joy. He wanted her to only feel happiness from a moment like this, so he peppered her cheeks and nose with kisses until she giggled and wriggled a bit in his grasp.

When he stopped, she nuzzled back into his chest, and he held her tight. He could feel her smiling against him again. Relieved that her spirts were picking up, he placed a long kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you for taking that so well,” she muttered against the hairs on his chest as her fingers played with them ever so slightly.

“Why wouldn’t—“ he cut himself off, her former nervousness painting a picture for him that he didn’t like. “Someone didn’t take this well in the past?” He asked, delicately.

She did her best to hide the tension in her limbs when he asked, but he loved her too much fonot to notice. He could feel the slight inhale and teeth clenching as her posture shifted into one of an anxious insecurity.

His hands returned to their soothing stroking up and down her back and shoulders and he clutched her to him.

“Well, I love this,” he stated, using the wall as an anchor as he slid one hand beneath her ass to hoist her into his arms. Feeling her warmth through the sheer fabric and her heartbeat so close to his sparked his hunger for her again, he walked swiftly to the bed and clambered onto it, placing her down on the comfy surface. He leaned back again to let his eyes roam her body again and again. The robe had fallen off one shoulder during his quick adjustments to get her to the comfort of their shared room. She rested on her elbows, biting her lip as she looked up at him, brows furrowed with anxiousness, knees on either side of his hips. “I really love this.” He swooped back down to her, needing to feel her warmth against him again, pressing hot kisses to her neck and upper chest. “Just like I love you.” He whispered in her ear, “so much.” His panting was growing louder and louder as his hands roamed her body. “I will always love you… always!… and things like this.”

He groaned loudly as she pressed up into him, wanting to feel his hardness where she needed it most. Needing the same, he kicked off his pants and boxers then gripped her thigh and maneuvered it to once again wrap around his hips, like she’d done when he’d picked her up only moments ago.

In response, she quickly wrapped her other leg back around his waist and locked her ankles behind him. Hunter moaned again in satisfaction, pressing her into the bed with everything he had. There was no holding back now, he needed her to know how deeply he wanted her right now.

She could feel Hunter losing control, becoming more and more feral with each passing breath that danced across her skin.

He seemed to be enjoying alternating between the different sensations of tasting her through the sheer fabrics and slipping his hands and tongue beneath them.

“Will you keep this on for me, Babe?” He asked, panting hard as he searched for her eyes again.

She shyly glanced away, trying hard to look back at his eyes, but the intensity with which he looked at her made her nervous. She’d never had someone this hungry for her before. It made it difficult to find any words at all to tell him what she wanted, even though she knew that’s what they both needed her to do right now.

“Oh! Dank ferrik! You want me to take this off of you, don’t you?” Hunter’s excitement was palpable.

She bit her lip and nodded, eyes finally able to look into his for more than a second or two again, grateful he’d put it to words when she couldn’t.

Hunter’s restraint snapped when she nodded. His roaming grip on her tightened, his groans deepened, and his lips and teeth became less forgiving as his need to mark his woman in appreciation rose to an all time high. Feral Hunter was loud and needy, and she loved it.

Her hands gripped him to her with a strength he had only seen on the battlefield as she arched beneath him. One hand fisted in his hair, the other letting her nails scratch their way down his back, making him shiver with arousal.

His hands still roamed and massaged with intensity as his mouth explored, fervently.

Too needy to move the pretty lace off of her wetness, he began thrusting against her, making the bed bounce. The friction of the lace spreading the wetness of her arousal across his cock was one of the most amazing sensations, he decided. And based on the way she’d thrown her head back and began meeting his every thrust with one of her own, she must also have liked it as much as he did.

Desperate to make her fantasies come true, his fingers searched the delicate lace and silky straps crisscrossing her back in a frenzy until he figured out how to get it off of her.

Suddenly between thrusts she became aware of the cool air of the room on her chest again and realized he had figured out how to unwrap his present. She looked back down at him as his thrusts slowed and found him admiring the soft patterns on her wrappings, before winking up at her and diving down to suck her nipple into his mouth. The force of his thrusts picked up again, making him moan into her breast with every push of his hips. The bed shifted and squeaked beneath them, but they didn’t care.

Hunter’s strong grip squeezed the plush of her thighs as he massaged and spread them. His lips slipped from her breasts with a pop and began to trail languid, open mouthed kisses down her tummy towards his favorite taste in the galaxy.

His fingers danced beneath the pretty lace and satin straps, playing first with the lace and then with her folds as his nose nudged her clit. He paused for a moment, breathing deep, letting his nose and lips press against her through the mesh of fabric.

Without warning, he licked a quick stripe up the lace and plunged a finger as deep into her as her body would let him.

She arched with a breathy squeal. The feeling of Hunter smirking against her as his lips sought her pearl through the lingerie making her pant harder. When his mouth found it’s goal, he sucked hard, wanting to keep her back arched like that for as long as possible. And just when she thought he might let her relax it, he curled his finger into her, pressing into that lovely spot deep within.

There was no holding back the impassioned way she cried out with pleasure when Hunter turned feral like this. Once again, she found herself white knuckling the fabric around her, but this time it was the bedsheets as Hunter rewarded her courageous attempt to rile him up with his unbridled, passionate affections.

She was still panting hard, the arch in her back unrelenting as he massaged a second finger into her to press into that spongey spot. His fingers moved in small circles as he did his best to give her sensations of both thrusting and attention to that little, internal button.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted her tight grip on the sheets. His free hand shot out to slide his fingers between her own. He wanted to feel her desperation for him. He needed to know how good he made her feel.

Her fingers closed tightly around his own, as he continued to suck on her pearl and swirl his fingers inside her. The circles he rubbed into her insides became more tighter, mirrored only by her grip on his hand.

As she neared her release, he became desperate to feel her coating his cock as they climaxed together. His need quickly grew into an uncontrollable desire, and he quickly pulled out of her.

Her squeak of despair only spurred him on as he quickly sucked her juices from his fingers. Only letting his eyes roll back and close for just a moment, before popping back open to focus on her as he crawled hungrily up her body. On his way, he licked a strip across one nipple, enjoying her noises.

He hovered over her, his hunger evidence in his eyes as they bore into her own.

“Hunter,” she murmured, voice a little hoarse.

Hunter smirked, watching her lips for a moment, barely holding himself back from continuing to ravage her as he attempted to catch his breath.

He licked his lips, finally able to find his voice again, “I need… to be inside you,” he panted.

“Yes, please!” She whispered against his lips as she tugged him down to bring his mouth to hers again.

Hunter groaned happily, aware and proud of how often she’d pulled such noises from his lips tonight.

As she clung to him, he rolled, putting her on top of him, and manuvering her legs parallel to his own. His hands returned to grasping at the plush of her hips, but this time from beneath the stretchy straps. He used his thumbs to coax the last of her garments down her thighs.

She tried to wriggle off of him to help him get it off, but he wasn’t having it. His hands immediately left her hips, sliding upwards until he could hoist her body higher up his own until her breasts were level with his face, careful not to smack her into the wall behind them. She giggled as he rolled her again, using his tongue on her breasts to encourage her to keep her body flush against his own as he maneuvered her panties from her body. But instead of flinging them across the room, like he usually did, he stashed them under his pillow with one hand, still sucking her breasts as he did so.

“Oh, Hunter!” She cried out, watching him.

Hunter chuckled against her, licking his way down her body again, leaning to one side for one last taste of her pussy before again covering her with his own body. His lips sought the companionship of her own as soon as his heat settled over hers. Teeth clashed and tongues entwined, as their arms and legs tangled together. He ground his length down against her wetness, making sure they were both well lubricated as he adjusted his hips to line himself up.

“You ready, Babe?” He asked, mouth never leaving hers.

“Hurry up and get inside me, Handsome,” she breathed back against his lips.

Slow and sensual was no longer on Hunter’s agenda after a request like that. With a groan, he thrust in fast and hard. She arched against him, and he could feel the vibrations of her humming in ecstasy against his tongue as she began rolling her hips against his own. Hunter began to frantically hammer her into the bed, both of their rhythms rapidly deteriorating into erratic patterns as they neared their releases together. The way her walls pulsed, tugging him deeper and deeper with every thrust only urged him to thrust harder.

“Where?” He gasped, worried he wouldn't be able to pull out in time if she asked for it.

“IN,” she nibbled his lip, “Inside! Inside!” Her desperation leaving her stuck on repeat for a moment until his tongue distracted her as he moaned in acknowledgement.

He enjoyed the feeling of her bouncing against him as they both hit their peaks, simultaneously. They both cried out, lips separating, as they skyrocketed into hyperspace, clinging tightly to each other. As he pulsed within her, her fluttering walls continued to tug him deeper and deeper.

Slowly, each found their way back to the present moment, but made no move to unwrap their intertwined limbs. Instead, they simply remained where they were, reveling in the feeling of their shared wetness as it overflowed. Hunter shifted slightly, enjoying the feeling of tightness still clinging to him.

She stroked his hair, attempting to fix his bandana, which must have been set askew when she tugged on his hair earlier.

Hunter laughed as he relaxed against her, using one hand to swipe the bandanna off of his head, and slip it onto hers instead.

She laughed too, stealing a few more kisses from his lips.

He propped himself up with his forearms framing her face, and looked down at her, glad that he was able to wipe the insecurity from her mind.

Beneath him, she continued to lean up and snag kisses here and there, making him chuckle again. He returned his head to the crook of her neck, still on top of her, her legs locked around his waist.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” He asked, uncharacteristically shy.

“Yes!” She whispered back, “I’d gladly stay like this until tomorrow morning… if that was something you wanted?”

Hunter hummed his agreement, and made himself comfortable atop her, tugging a blanket over the top. “Wake you up in the morning to more if you’d like?” He mumbled against her neck, as the sleepiness began to set in.

He could feel her smile against his hairline as she whispered back, “Yes, please!”

“And can we get you more of these soft lace things?” He asked, his hand playing with the piece he’d hidden beneath his pillow earlier. “And can we do this more often?”

“I’m glad you liked it that much. I wasn’t sure if you would. Do you want to pick the next one out with me?” She murmured.

Hunter shivered in anticipation, and licked her neck in answer.

“I take that as a yes?” she giggled.

“Mmm-hmm,” he grinned, nuzzling into her hair, “I will gladly help with that!”

Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it!

Again, please let me know if you think I should make a series with one fic for each of the batchers (and maybe a few bonus Boys in Blue and/or Orange too!)

taglist: @amorfista (I'm pretty sure I'm missing a few people tho, I need to make an actual signup thing for this soon)

#tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #tbb hunter smut #zenith writes

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ponds-of-ink · 2 months ago

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Very Quick Springtrap & Y/N One-Shot: “A Dumbfounding Comparison”

Is it still considered a Y/N thing if it’s not written in second person? ..Regardless..

I got inspired by a post by @alexthesillybilly talking about Springtrap being compared to a childhood teddy bear, so here this is. The prompt sort of changed mid-writing, but I hope this is still good.

–

Springtrap hid behind the open door. If it weren’t for the fact that the newest guard was chattering on the phone, he would’ve given ‘em a proper scare.

…Not because he was scared of being seen or anything. Such a feeling couldn’t register even if it wanted to.

Rather, it was this looming sense of being ignored that was the issue. On and on this guard rambled, even as he peeked his head into the office. Topics like “You’ve got to see this place!” or “The computers are so slow here..” was all the newbie could talk about. Nothing about him nor the fact that he was right next to the office. Just… standard conversations one could have on a first night at some new job. Like it was a mere nine-to-five desk affair.

Honestly, all this chatter left him feeling hollow. Bereft, even.. Though what exactly prompted the feeling was unknown.

Yet, not being one to leave a “job” unfinished, he continued to linger. All he could do was silently beg for the sweet sound of those three rapid beeps. At least the guard was quieter now. That seemed promising.

“Hey, before I go,” the newbie piped up, “I gotta tell you about something I found tonight.”

Springtrap’s ear raised. Oh?

“it was the prettiest! So velvety and soft, it made my heart race.”

His ear lowered right back down. Ah. Never mind. It must have been some fluffy pillow at some nearby store. Thirty years had not been kind to his animatronic body— Let alone being considerate enough to not mess with the quality of the fabric.

“…Well, I mean, it was pretty to me,” the newbie corrected sheepishly, snapping him out of self-introspection. “Kinda like how your old teddy bear gets all grody with age. The memories are still there if you look past the muck and stuff.”

A staticky counterpoint pierced through the air. Springtrap finally peered into the room again. There was the guard, all bundled up in Autumn attire. That modern phone still buzzed with some unseen voice explained how “something that tall” couldn’t be compared to a teddy bear. Whatever that something was didn’t matter. This was his chance.

He trudged up to the desk. His posture slowly readied itself for an attack. The countdown in his head staggered just in case the mere pain in moving spiked.

Three… Two… One—

“Oh, there you are!” the guard cried out, finally making eye contact with him. “We were just talking about you!”

Springtrap faltered mid-pounce.

All that “soft and velvety” nonsense was about him?

“I forgot to tell him that you were able to move too,” the newbie added, cupping the one side of their scarf-covered cheek. “Thanks for reminding me!”

The voice on the phone bounded back to life. Many questions were raised, but Springtrap was too stunned to pay attention. It took him even longer to realize that the phone had now morphed into a miniature camera of some sort. His own gruesome features were, thankfully, jarring enough to bring him back to reality.

Except now that long-lost fear came along with him.

All he could do was just go through the motions of a typical introduction: Wave “Hello”, attempt to look hospitable, then don’t panic if you catch yourself being filmed. Easy said, a-little-less easily done.

Fortunately for him, this only lasted a minute or two.. Merely because the person on the other side was desperate to not hurl on “camera”. The guard, strangely enough, was not in the least bit repulsed by this towering mess of a rabbit. “Thanks for stopping by, Springs,” the newbie said cheerfully, returning to work as if nothing happened. “I really appreciate the company.”

Springtrap loomed beside the poor soul. He watched for a look of dread, but nothing came. Battling the pain, he turned the chair to face him.

“What’s the matter, Springs?” the newbie asked, finally sounding concerned. “Am I doing this job all wrong?”

Springtrap leaned towards the guard. He stared them down to the best of his ability. Why… did this one think… he was “pretty”?? He was supposed to terrifying! Absolutely nauseating, given the “friend’s” reaction! Oh, yes, he heard the excuse all right. Loud and clear. But was it a lie to tell oneself or was it a genuine delusion? Even if it was the honest truth, then what could possibly—?

“I know this is a bad time to ask,” the guard said, interrupting the furious tension, “but where’d you get such haunting eyes? I don’t think any of the old Freddy’s animatronics had that kind of glow to them.”

Springtrap blinked. Well… That.. was better. An absolute shame he had no idea how to answer that.

#springtrap #fnaf fandom #fnaf y/n #third person #one shot #fnaf fanfic

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sophswritingthings · 12 hours ago

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HIIII, how are you? <3 I just finished Candy Candy and Blue Eye Samurai at the same time and I just thought it would be fun to see how Mizu would deal with a cheesy, golden retriever, extrovert reader. (I see them close from the Enemies to Lovers trope).

Just imagine them when it comes to fight other people, they would be a nice duo.

pairing: mizu x fem!extrovert!reader

a/n: oh my god hi guys... i... ive been gone... i know... but im really getting back into writing recently. and. im here. hi! ive missed this i really have. i just rewatched blue eye samurai so the hyperfixation is kinda back.

warnings: nothing!!

word count: 597 words / 3,218 characters

you and mizu never ever got along, per say.

you were maybe the most extroverted person she knew; and god, did she hate it. you were on her side, yes, but she avoided you at all costs. and had threatened to attack you more then once if you didn't keep your mouth shut.

you got along well with ringo, which was maybe the only reason she was keeping you around. it wasn't that annoyingly pretty face, or those smarts that seemed to appear whenever she truly needed them. no. just ringo.

"mizu, i think you should learn to be more social," you said this to her sometimes. it especially ticked her off. did you not understand the gravity of her situation? or were you blatantly ignoring that fact?

maybe you did understand. but you were a fool in her eyes.

one night, you were visiting a nearby village, you needed supplies. without supplies, you weren't going to last one more day in the thick snow of japan's winter.

she was hesitant to let you even set foot in town.

she knew what would happen. you would chat it up with the wrong people, get yourself in danger, and she would have to save you much like every other time you got near people.

she practically kept you at her heel the entire time.

"but mizu," you whined.

"but no," she replied, her voice curt and not any less angry then the last time you had whined at her. if anything, it was worse. "you're not wandering off."

"i wont," you say for maybe the hunderth time, while the woman holds tightly onto the back of your kimono.

"you will.''

"i wont!"

"you definitely will, (y/n)," she sighs, glancing at you. that cute pout on your face was her kryptonite. the way your eyes pleaded with her, the way your bottom lip jutted out. with a scoff and a roll of her eyes under her orange tinted glasses, she loosened her grip on the back of your kimono. "stay. close."

"i promise!" your smile beamed up at her. she was practically melting where she stood. you knew mizu was slowly warming up to you, but you could see a very uncharacteristic softness in her eyes.

"you better keep that," she grumbled, heading down the street. the streets were full of brothels, con-men, and supply shops.

you stop in front of a shop, rifling through the supply shop and picking out just what you needed. it was a few items, that were obviously very overpriced. mizu tried to bargain, but it wasn't working.

"no is no, sir," the merchant shakes his head, gazing at mizu; who is obviously getting more upset by the second.

you gently step in front of her, giving the merchant the sweetest smile you could manage, "excuse me, sir... your items are of so much value, and such good quality... i'm sure they're worth as much as you're selling them for! but, we need these to survive... and you wouldn't want a poor young woman to pass in the snow, right? i mean, that's just horrible!" you place your hand on your chest, gazing at him with begging eyes.

"well, i mean--" he pauses, taking in your sweet and begging expression, "-- i suppose i could sell them for a bit less."

"thank you, sir!" you grab the items, and watch as mizu hands over the needed money. as youre walking away, you say with a laugh, "maybe talking so much isn't that bad after all, huh?"

she rolls her eyes, and sighs, "maybe not."

#txt post #txt #mizu #asked and answered #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x you #blue eyed samurai #blue eyed samurai fanfic #x reader #x you #fanfic #ringo #IM BACK!

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trickybonmot · 4 months ago

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cw: mention of childhood sexual abuse. This post isn't about that but it mentions a specific case of csa in the second paragraph.

So, my dad is a boomer and a pro-Trump Republican. Like a lot of people in that situation, I've been very puzzled, confused, and betrayed at how the person who taught me many of my progressive values, like belief in science, being kind to others, etc. can support what Republicans support.

I read something the other day that made it much clearer to me. Actually, it was in this post by Brandon Taylor about the sexual abuse suffered by Andrea Skinner, daughter of celebrated writer Alice Munroe, at the hands of her stepfather. The author, Brandon, draws a parallel to their own experience of disclosing their sexual abuse and having their family ignore it, minimize it, and even make jokes about it. Why did the family act that way? Why didn't they empathize with the victim and seek justice?

Here's a quote from the article:

Among my people, the rural and working poor, to make a history out of the past is taboo. To speak of a thing done is to make too much of it. To be fishing for sympathy, and for what, when there’s nothing to be done about it anyway.

Here is something that I remember about my dad. We used to watch David Attenborough's nature documentaries together, the old ones, Life on Earth and The Living Planet. In those days David Attenborough himself was in the shows; he would go to the locations and walk along and talk in his nice calm accent and point out the plants and animals. My dad, like me, was an atheist, so we didn't share any mythos of the workings of the world except the one that David Attenborough gave us: the cold, hard, fascinating, miraculous truth of evolution. To me, this was religion.

The last episode of each series was about Man on earth. Even back then, the closing message was a cautionary one: Man was changing the earth, Man was destroying nature with pollution and unchecked urbanization. My dad? Wouldn't watch that. He would turn it off and tell me that he hated that stuff. He didn't tell me that it wasn't true! But I came to understand that he felt there was a kind of wallowing, finger-wagging quality to it that simply made him cringe. Still to this day, when I see this kind of media my first thought is my dad would hate this.

To speak of a thing done is to make too much of it.

This quote hit me like a ton of bricks because I think this is exactly my dad's attitude toward everything bad in the world. This is why all talk of environmentalism, racial justice, reparations--any issue where people are seeking redress or repair of something awful that happened in the past. To make a history out of the past is taboo. To speak of a thing done is to make too much of it. To be fishing for sympathy, and for what, when there’s nothing to be done about it anyway. THAT IS MY DAD. And if you're wondering whether it also came up in the context of being raised by him, IT SURE FUCKING DID but that's a story for another time.

I think he knows that climate change is bad. I think he knows that racism is bad, and that what this nation has done to Black people is bad, and all the rest of it. But when people talk about it? When people beg for something to be done about it? Man, he just doesn't want to hear it. It makes him cringe inside. It's just unbearably awkward. In fact, I think the very hugeness of these issues, the very awfulness of what has been done and it still being done, is exactly why it's so out of line to bring them up.

So he's supporting the party that doesn't put that stuff up in his face all the time, is all. That's what I think. His reaction to the progressive agenda is just a knee jerk, gut-level negativity that has nothing to do with whether what we're asking for is good or right. He just can't stand for that asking to happen, because the MAIN value he was raised with was exactly this: you put your shoulder to the wheel and get on with things. I was talking to him about Putin or something and he said, "well, like my old ma would say, the trash still has to get taken out."

Now, for sure he has also been brainwashed by Fox News and he believes a lot of things that aren't true. But I think what initially opened the door for it was this feeling that it's just unseemly to make a fuss, to make a history out of the past.

I don't know if there's any hope, here--if being aware of this attitude can change anything. But it was comforting to me to find this clue, and maybe it can open the door to a way of talking about politics that doesn't activate his fight-or-flight response!

#us politics #personal #boomers

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xiaoli-bh · 1 year ago

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ayoooo. it's yiska again and i'm bringing you the most princess coded girlie because i've been watching til the end of the moon and i'm in love with pianran and needed to make you fall in love with her too. hit that cute lil heart button if you want me to bother you for plotting (i also have discord for ease). as for her pages, i will be linking them and everything else will be under the cut! (ya'll pls ignore i don't have a wanted connections page again. we're going to ignore that as a group)

sᴛᴀᴛs / ʙɪᴏ / ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴs

brief mentions of poverty.

xiaoli grew up very poor. didn't have a home to sleep in and slept under the stars with her family and often went without food. her father and her older brothers did any physical labor they could find while her mother and grandmother used to make/weave garments of beautiful quality.

eventually this talent sees them being summoned by the noble houses of beonhwa to see the garments of unrivaled beauty and quality. the houses agree that they live up to the hype and offer the meng's shelter, supplies, and a formal title of house meng in exchange for making garments for them for celebrations and important occasions.

house meng is only a house in name and get none of the benefits of being an important family. the men still have to work physical jobs and there's no arranged marriage between the children of house meng and other houses. invites to celebrations and political events were never received. to say they felt a bit snubbed is an understatement but they also felt extremely grateful because how couldn't they???

but them being foreigners and "outsiders" was always made extremely clear and never forgotten.

xiaoli attended beonhwa academy and did well, graduating with great honors with an eye for artistry and science.

despite her mother and grandmother wanting her to take after their craft, she chose her own road and after begging for money to start her own business, she soon opened her own vendors stall, the golden flower. you can find elixirs, tonics, remedies, salve, balms, etc as well as very unique and exotic perfumes.

she keeps her recipes for everything a secret but also uses her connections to outside lands to procure ingredients that aren't native to beonhwa to make perfumes that no one else can!

xiaoli gets so wrapped up in making a name for herself that she alienates herself from her family and misses the death of her grandmother and mother and is too ashamed to come crawling back.

now she's basically doubled down and works herself to the bone to be successful because if she can't be the best than she lost her family for nothing, y'know?

i'm sure i'm forgetting something but it's 3am so whoops lmao.

wanted connections:

sis wants a husband by any means. she wants to belong to a family native to beonhwa, preferably a big house so she can feel like she belongs. doesn't have to be mutual. can be one sided, can be legitimate, or both can be using each other tbh! we love angst and pain in this house!

fellow vendors that she has a warm and friendly relationship. maybe they're a little group that look out for each other?

other "outsiders" that understand how xiaoli feels.

listen i love angst and issues and drama so i do love negative plots so if you want them, i'm so game.

someone who wants to steal her recipes to make money for themselves? or sabotage her?

an old flame that she broke it off with after her mom and grandmother died? she felt she needed to focus on business and not love and dumped them unceremoniously and now there's beef?

a fling xiaoli uses to distract herself from problems?

xiaoli flirts a little too much, with men and women and may have flirted or tried to seduce your muse's s/o just to prove she could. she has a bit of a complex but also loves love and intimacy and has poor boundaries when told someone is off limits (plotted only ofc!!)

your muse can't pinpoint why but something is off about xiaoli. her smiles seem empty and she seems a little too eager to belong. what's behind the facade?

or lets brainstorm!!!!

#bhrp:intro

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anxiousgaypanicking · 1 year ago

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Begging

!a series of me uploading the kinktober fics/drabbles i made years ago because i didnt back in 2020 for some fuckin reason. if these are bad/poor quality its because theyre old, and ive improved since then :)!

Royality (Roman x Patton) Day 17: Begging Warnings: roleplay, blowjobs/facefucking, leg humping, exhibitionism, bondage, crying

Roman was forced to his knees in front of a thrown, in a giant room crowded with people. His hands were bound together behind his back, tied tightly with rope that was cutting into his skin. There were murmurs rippling across the crowd. Roman tried to ignore them, but focusing on what was in front of him wasn't much easier.

Patton had his legs spread apart, and was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, and his head in his hands. He was looking down at Roman with a grin, a sparkle in his eyes.

A small crown sat crooked atop his head, and Roman's eyes momentarily glanced up towards it, before looking back towards Patton.

"My king," Roman rushed out, meeting Patton's eyes just for a second, before he bows his head and looks at the floor.

Patton tsks at Roman's words, and Roman can only imagine the look Patton's giving him right now.

"I can't believe you'd betray my like this, Roman," Patton says, voice unnaturally cold. "You were to be my prince. Tsk. But those ideas running through your head..." Patton tuts, leaning down and grabbing Roman's chin, forcing him to look up at his king.

"I think you need to be put back in your place, wouldn't you agree?" Patton asks, although he gives Roman no time to answer, instead pulling him closer by his hair.

Roman's eyes widen as his face is positioned between Patton's legs.

"My- my king," Roman tries to speak, but Patton shushes him, instead tugging down his own pants just enough for his half-hard cock to spring out. Roman gulps as he looks at the size, eyes glancing nervously between it and Patton's face.

"This okay?" Patton asks, quietly, momentarily breaking character, and Roman's quick to nod.

"Yes, my king," he then assures, verbally. He twists his head slightly, catching sight of some of the people in the room. All staring at their king, and the pathetic man who was kneeling at his feet. A shiver coursed through Roman's body at the idea of them watching him.

Patton's hand in his hair pulls Roman's face forward, pulling him out of his own mind.

"Open wide, Ro," Patton coos, and Roman does as he says, opening his mouth for Patton's cock. Patton's slowly pulls his face forward, Roman's mouth wrapping around the head of Patton's cock. He licks over the slit, and listens happily to Patton's small moan of pleasure.

Patton's hand tightens in Roman's hair, and he lets out a small breathy laugh, piquing Roman's interest. He looks up at his king, meeting Patton's smug gaze.

"Oh, sweetheart, that's not what's happening," Patton says, before forcing Roman down on his cock. Roman gags, tears pricking his eyes, unable to use his hands to steady himself as they were locked behind his back. He moans, though, clearly aroused at the thought of Patton continuing to use him.

Under his breath, Patton was muttering soft and encouraging words. Things that sounded more like him. He held Roman's head in place for a few seconds, Roman swallowing around Patton's cock. His tongue ran over the underside of the shaft, determined to please Patton while he was letting him.

That didn't last for long, however, as Patton pulled his head back, before thrusting back into his mouth. Roman moaned, keeping his head as still as he could so Patton could continue to fuck into his mouth with ease.

And Patton did just that. Thrusting in and out of Roman's mouth, holding Roman still by his hair so he was unable to do anything but take it.

Patton moaned and whined as he thrusted, babbling praise under his breath, quiet enough for only Roman to hear, which in turn caused Roman to moan around his cock. Roman attempted to roll his hips against the floor, the minimal friction not doing anything to help soothe the aching erection in his pants. He'd ask Patton to help him if his throat wasn't occupied.

He whines as Patton continues mercilessly thrusting into his throat, a tear rolling down his face from gagging.

"Oh, baby," Patton says, back arching as he moans. "Ro, you're doing so good, God, I love your pretty mouth."

Roman moans again, attempting to grind his hips against the air. Maybe it was embarrassing he was hard just from sucking Patton off, but he couldn't help it. He liked being used, and he loved that Patton was so quick to just use him.

He continues thrusting into Roman's mouth, before he forced Roman's head all the way down on his cock, coming without warning. He kept Roman's head down, forcing him to swallow his semen, before he releases Roman's head, allowing him to pull away. More tears were flowing down his face, and Patton's come was dripping down his chin, but he looked blissful. So did Patton, who was gently running his fingers through Roman's hair.

"You did so good," he coos, tucking his cock back into his pants. "And you look so pretty, on your knees in front of me. That's where you belong, baby."

Roman whines, and Patton smiles softly as he pulls him in for a quick kiss.

He then notices the bulge in Roman's pants, which he's trying to grind against the air. Patton grins.

"Do you want to get off, Ro?" Patton asks, hand coming down to cup Roman's face, and Roman's quick to nod.

"Please, my king, I need to so bad," Roman whines, leaning into Patton's hand. Patton hums in thought, as if he's debating letting Roman, and Roman opens his eyes wide, as if to plead.

And, Patton couldn't just say no to his baby in his time of need.

"Okay, Ro," Patton says, and Roman smiles. He expects Patton to untie him, maybe even lift him off the ground and let him get off on Patton's lap.

But, instead, Patton moves his leg and slots it between Roman's legs, pressing up against his bulge. Roman's face flushes as he realizes what Patton's implying, and once again his eyes dart across the room, and over the waves of people watching them.

Roman already looked pathetic, with a messy red face and his now tangled hair, but he'd look even more pathetic grinding against Patton's leg like a mutt.

"My- my king," Roman stammered, avoiding Patton's gaze. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Patton was grinning.

"What? You said you wanted to get off, Ro, and I don't allow just anyone to get off with me," Patton says. "You should feel honored I'm letting you have even my leg."

Roman gulps, before hesitantly grinding against Patton's shin. He let out a quiet moan at the action, before nervously glancing up at Patton, who was smiling down at him.

"See? Doesn't that feel so good?" Patton encourages, rubbing his leg against Roman's bulge, Roman grinding harder against Patton's leg in response. "Don't worry about other people watching, Ro, they've all already seen what an eager boy you've can be. Have you forgotten that you were just choking on my cock?"

Roman whines, rolling his hips against Patton's leg, biting his lower lip.

How he longed to use his hands, if not to palm or stroke himself, then to at least steady himself against Patton's leg.

But alas, he had to get off with his hands bound together behind his back. He buried his face in Patton's leg, as he slowly continued to grind against it. He didn't want to look at Patton's face out of embarrassment, but he could feel Patton's hand gently stroking his hair, as if praising him.

Of course, Patton continued to praise him verbally, too.

"Such a good boy. This is your place, isn't it? Being good, on your knees. You had a silly idea, didn't you. Just a dumb thought that you acted upon because of impulsiveness, but this is where you belong. Tell me it's where you belong."

"This is where I belong, my- my king," Roman moans. "On my knees, for y-you."

"That's right, baby." He lightly tugs on Roman's hair, Roman grinding down faster on Patton's leg, his face bright red. He felt warmth pool in his stomach, and he whined.

"My king, I'm close, can I come? Please?" Roman asks, continuing to grind against Patton. He doesn't receive an answer, and he whines. "My king, please-" Roman begs again, only for Patton to tug his hair back.

"I wanna see your pretty face, Ro," Patton says, and Roman whimpers. "Come for me."

Roman lets out a moan, coming in his pants at Patton's command, continuing to grind against his leg through his orgasm. When his high eventually fades, the world around them melts away, and Patton's sitting on Roman's bed, with Roman kneeling at his feet. All the people that were watching them have disappeared too.

Patton gets off the bed and kneels down, undoing the ropes that had tied Roman's hands together. He brings Roman's wrists to his lips, pressing soft kisses against the lacerations.

"Are you okay, my prince?" Patton asks, softly, helping Roman stand. Roman nods, pressing a kiss to Patton's lips, who happily returns it.

"Yeah, I'm wonderful."

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes, Pat," Roman answers, pulling Patton in for a hug. "I would like to shower, though. I'm feeling a tad... uncomfortable." He shifts his weight awkwardly, being reminded that there was still semen in his pants.

Patton snorts. "Okay, Ro, let's go shower."

#kinktober 2020 #agp kinktober 2020

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mrssimply · 2 years ago

Text

21th Justice

I really loved The Sandman Netflix Show. I never read the comic but it made me want to, I've not acquired it yet but I will. When I say this is a Sandman AU, it's more that I liked Neil Gaiman's idea about concepts being personalized and I wanted to try my hand at it. Also loved the last episode of the show, though I know it's not everyone's favorite, I really felt for poor Calliope. This led to the fic you're gonna read now.

Also, we're back on the "let's torture Kerry bandwagon", please forgive me.

Also taking revenge on Kovachek for being an ass in the game >:]

Thank you all for your fidelity during this event. I won't lie, it's been really intense and I'll be both sad and relieved when it's done (3 more days!). It's been really intense and the editing process was really done in a rush, I'm sorry for all the remaining mistakes! I might read the works over in a month or two to try and tidy it a bit more.

In the meantime, please enjoy!

You can find the prompt list here.

Every fic will be posted on my AO3 Account here.

The divine being appears in the circle of light as expected, and Kovachek’s eyes reflect the triumph he feels. It worked just as expected.

The god looks around with calm eyes. If his attitude reflects his surprise, he doesn’t appear particularly worried about the situation.

“Ah,” he says. He looks male, even if Kovachek knows he’s liable to change his appearance at will. The Gods have their preferences, but they are fluid in gender and bodies, from what he understood.

This one is naked, dressed only with threads of gold falling from a large necklace of the same precious metal. The strings loop across his chest and go around his hips, but they’re not hiding much. He’s also one of the most beautiful creatures the struggling artist has ever seen, and he has to fight the urge to fall on his knees when clear blue eyes look his way.

“This is embarrassing,” the divinity observes.

“I summoned you, Divine Inspiration, and I’ll only free you if you help me.”

The God sighs and walks across the circle, toeing the runes, and feeling their energy. They're strong, they will hold him captive just fine, he concludes with internal dismay.

“We really need to update our policy on summoning, this is outdated,” the creature mumbles, ignoring Kovachek as he finishes his observation of his cage. The artist frowns, this is not how he envisioned the meeting going. He thought there would be more begging to be let out.

“Fine,” Creativity declares, turning back to his captor, “what’s your name?”

“Lilian Kovachek,” the man declares before wincing. Maybe he shouldn’t have given his name to the divinity he’s just captured. He doesn’t intend to keep him here, just long enough to wrench a deal out of him.

“I’m Kerrylis. You can call me Kerry,” the Divine Inspiration replies with a charming smile that makes Kovachek’s heart beats a little faster. Strange, because he’s never reacted to men before.

“Well, Kerry,” he starts, clearing his throat, “here is what I want: I need you to make me into a rockstar.”

The God, Kerry, looks at him with mischievous eyes.

“Sure, got any talent?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s hear it.”

His smile is sweet, so Lilian doesn’t suspect a thing. He takes his guitar and gets into position, one leg up on a chair, before breathing in to focus. When he starts playing, he finds it easier than other times, and the realization makes something wicked soar inside him: it’s already working.

He stops after maybe ten minutes, only to find the divinity holding his hands over his ears.

“You done?”

Embarrassed and angry, Kovachek nods.

“Yeah, I get why you had to dig up really ancient and outdated blood rituals. You’ll never make it on your own,” the divinity casual throws. “My muses clearly didn’t took an interest in you. You should drop it, I’m sure you have a lot of other qualities.”

“You will make me a rockstar, or you’ll stay here forever!”

“Forever isn’t that long for me,” the God notes, “but sure, if I’m here, I’m not out there inspiring the really talented people, and that would be a loss. So I’ll cooperate.”

“Good,” Kovachek pronounces with dark satisfaction.

“So, let’s start by practicing guitar six hours a day, that should do it.”

“What?”

“Oh, what? You thought I would just snap my fingers and suddenly you would be famous? For that, you should have called Destiny or the Fates. Me and my muses, we nudge people in the right direction, we relieve art blocks, we inspire, but I can’t do nothing about technique. You need to practice,” the God explains with another disarming smile. He is standing with his arms crossed and hips cocked to the side. It moves the golden strings and gives an even better view of his perfect body.

Kovachek feels ideas for lyrics grow inside of him, alongside a few other ideas not music related. Cheeks flaming, he turns away and sits on the chair he was propped against.

“That’s bullshit. I can feel you working your magic. You’re filling my head with weird ideas to distract me, but I won’t be fooled.”

He takes the old grimoire lying on the floor.

“I got a few more things to try out in there.”

For the first time, he sees a flash of worry in the creature’s eyes when he takes notice of the book.

“You know my job is only to inspire, I don’t put ideas into your head, I just make them blossom. Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s coming from you.”

“Sure. Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

Kerry is seated in the middle of the circle. It’s been a week, and it’s been as dreadful as he imagined it would be. The last time this happened, it lasted for a month, and the guy became very violent by the end.

Kovachek is still hesitant for now. Kerry knows the grimoire contains the means of wrenching power out of him, so in theory, the talentless man could force Kerry to give up part of his gift to him. But it’s also said to be really painful for both parties, and highly risked for the receiver, so Kovachek is probably keeping that for last, as always. They love to think they’re good people.

“Hey Ker,” a voice says in the dark and the god wipes around. In his weakened state, he didn’t feel the appearance happening.

“Love,” he breathes and crawls to the edge of the circle. He wishes he could touch him.

The other divinity looks at the circle, then at the grimoire left open by the desk, and his eyes sadden. He’s been subjected to that, too, maybe more often than Kerry even, because his power has been even more ardently coveted.

They are lovers. Well, everyone is Love’s lover, but he has favorites and Kerry is one of them. Together, they made great things: songs, paintings, sculptures, books… Together, they inspired innovations and a better society. Together, they also inspired madness, in their darkest moods. In their names, wars have been fought, too.

“You shouldn’t be here," Kerry whispers, "the Mother knows what idea it will put into his head, and you know how fast they act on ideas when I’m near."

Love just shrugs.

“I felt your pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You’re the one suffering.”

“I don’t want you to be pulled into this mess. Please V, go away,” he begs, using the pet name they have together. It makes Love smile and hold up his hands, as if they could touch. The invisible barrier between them is an abomination, and Kerry feels anger rise inside him, reflected in V’s eyes. How dare a flimsy human separate them!

“He won’t hold you long, Adored, not this time,” Love promises.

It makes Kerry suspicious.

“What did you do? Who did you call?”

V’s smile is wicked, and folly shines in his eyes for a second. Oh, this mortal doesn’t know what will hit him: he’s made Love mad, and he knows no bounds when he’s like this.

“I don’t like to be apart from you.”

Kerry snorts.

“Oh yeah? Want to talk about that time you fell in love with that mortal? What was her name? The warrior chick?”

“Panam,” V replies serenely with a soft smile.

“Well, I sure didn’t see much of you during that time.”

“You know me, it’s in my nature.”

They are all like this: fickle in their attention, changing, evolving, sometimes recluse, sometimes the life of the party. Kerry’s remark is more for the sake of banter than anything else. Panam was a great leader, her tribe thrived under her leadership, and Kerry even granted her a few bright ideas. He’s not jealous, not anymore.

“And right now,” V goes on, “I’m pissed because someone thought they could torture you, posess your gift by force, and take you away from me.”

His gaze is covetous as his fiery eyes trails over Kerry’s form.

“Warn him. If he doesn’t release you tomorrow, tell him Justice will come.”

Kerry has a complicated relationship with Justice. He’s righteous, uncompromising, and swift in his punishment. You don’t argue with Justice, he can read intents and hearts better than any other, and judges by that, and that only. He doesn’t see the rest, for he’s mostly blind to begging and justifications. He asks for compensation and retribution, sometimes in the form of war, sometimes with blood and violence, often by using karma.

On one hand, the wars Justice triggered led to many good ideas and artworks being lost because their creators died in the conflict. It infuriates Kerry to no end, which is why he sort of hates Justice for stepping all over his hard work. On the other hand, humans' many fights for justice brought social innovations, and forced humans to act creatively to adapt and survive. It also led to a few great symphonies and hymns, of painted masterpieces, architectural wonders, and other great artistic or scientific productions. Which is why Kerry loves Justice: for the way his influence leads the human heart to be better, and for the ideal he represents.

So Kerry waits until the sun rises and Kovachek gets down. He looks like he’s in a bad mood, which makes the Divine Inspiration grimaces. He knows people are generally less reasonable when they don't get quality sleep, which seems to be the case here.

“Bad dreams?” Kerry guesses. “A guilty conscience would do that to you.”

Kovachek just glares at him and goes through the book again.

“You’re more stubborn than I imagined. I didn't think what I asked would be so hard for you.”

“It’s not hard, per se, it’s just not how it works.”

“Shut up.”

“Ok.”

A minute of silence where Kovachek peruses the book with angry muttering, before Kerry tries his luck.

“I had a visit last night. A warning.”

The mortal raises his head, obviously surprised.

“The circle prevents you from calling for help.”

“I didn’t call. He came on his own. He tends to do that when you whisk away one of his lovers.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter. He has a good heart, though. He told me to tell you that if you don’t release me today, Justice will come.”

Kovachek pales noticeably, before he starts going through the cursed book again.

“You won’t find anything in there, you can’t stop Divine Justice,” Kerry explains, pacing back and forth in the circle. Now that he knows his captivity is coming to an end, he feels restless. “The Great flood, the plagues of Egypt? That’s him. He can’t be stopped, can’t bargain with him, and he’s got no mercy once he’s passed judgment. Wonder what he will decide once he’s weighed your deeds.”

Kovachek, now visibly nervous, comes closer to the circle.

“There must be something, there is always something with your lot.”

“Not with him. He’s the one that ends the tales, he is the moral at the end of every story. Each time one of you mortal fucks with one of us, it ends the same way: you get punished, and who do you think delivers the punishment?”

As Kerry gives his explanation, Kovachek’s face goes through several expressions: confusion, then realization, and fear, before it suddenly switches to calculation.

“You’re lying, you’re just trying to threaten me into releasing you, but I won’t fall for it. There is only one way for you to be free, and that’s if I decide it.”

Kerry rolls his eyes, but he can’t say he’s surprised. Mortals are surprisingly prideful and self assured for a race that doesn’t live more than a century in the best case.

“Well, don’t come crying when you suffer the Divine Punishment.”

The man laughs, wild around the edges.

“There is no mention of that in the book. It would have told me. There is everything to know about you in there.”

“Yeah, wonder why there is no chapter on Justice. Its many authors never got to write that part. They were dead before they could,” Kerry declares ominously, turning his back on his captor.

Kovachek rounds the circle to face him again, and his expression is now deformed by mad glee.

“You know what? If what you’re telling me is true, then I better get the most of you now. I was hesitant to use that spell, but…”

Kerry freezes.

“Please don’t,” the God of Creativity implores, but it only makes his jailer laugh.

“Ah, now you’re begging, that’s right, that’s exactly how I like you.”

“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” Kerry tries to reason with him, knowing it’s hopeless. It never works: when they get like this, they have to see it through. “This will only worsen your case, and it’s really unpleasant for both of us, I can tell you.”

Kovachek shrugs and goes back to the book, pursuing the content of the opened page.

“I need to prepare. You should do that, too. As you said, it’s gonna be very painful.”

Kerry lies curled in the middle of the circle, shivering madly. He feels weak, and he hates it. Feeling mortal is dreadful, he doesn’t know how they bear it. Then again, they don’t know anything else, except when they steal a God’s power, just like Lilian Kovachek did tonight. It’s not just that he feels mortal, it’s that he feels like a mortal who is dying and it’s excruciating. He won’t die, he knows it, he is a concept and concepts can’t die, but still. At the moment, he really hates it.

Footsteps echo in the ether, making Kerry perk up. He can’t raise his head, but he moves it slightly so he can see black leather boots appear out of the void. The new apparition comes closer, and in his wake comes another, and this one doesn’t make a sound.

The first one crouches in front of Kerry, and blows out the smoke of his cigarette. Back in the 90’, Justice decided to live among humans for a while. He regularly has existential crises, when he sort of disappears to the corners of the universe, or does that kind of thing. That time, not only did he start a revolution that would make the Berlin Wall fall, but he adopted a rocker look and a new name he’s been adamant they call him by. He traded the Sword of Justice for a metal arm and a gun, and his weighing scales for a guitar, arguing justice needed a new face. Kerry thinks it’s his best appearance since the dawn of time, though he has a weak spot for his years as Athena.

“Hello, Ker,” Justice says.

“Hi Johnny,” The Divine Inspiration whispers back before closing his eyes. The relief he feels overwhelms him for a moment and tears burn behind his eyelids.

“Don’t cry,” Justice says softly, “I’m here now.”

“I know. I just — It hurts.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll make them pay,” says another voice, young and full of rage. Revenge. Justice brought his daughter, the one he had with Violence. With her two brothers, Retribution and Retaliation, they form a hellish trio of pain, violence and suffering, and Kerry really doesn’t like them. But at least, he didn’t bring War. Johnny is known to be overdramatic, so Kerry wouldn’t have put it past him. He would have been surprised if Justice had summoned his other daughter, the one he had with Love, whose name is Forgiveness. They have a complicated father/daughter relationship: the father finds his daughter too lenient, the daughter finds her father too swift in his punishments.

But right now, Kerry is glad it’s Revenge here and not her half sister, because in his weakened state, he can’t find it in himself to be kind.

Johnny rounds the circle slowly, testing its resistance, looking at the runes that compose it.

“That one was a bit more intelligent than the last. It can only be undone by his voice. Get him, Revenge.”

“Yes father,” she replies, not bothering to hide the glee in her voice.

“Always that damn book,” Johnny comments, looking at the wretched thing.

They can’t destroy it. As a general rule, they can’t interact with human things, and can only influence mortals. The book has great self-preservation instincts: it knows how to call to the deepest fears in the human heart, and irrevocably, they save it from its fate, just in case.

Justice goes back to Kerry and kneels as close as he can.

“I shouldn’t have waited. Love shouldn’t have allowed him even a chance. We know their kind; when they are desperate, they get violent.”

“It’s in his nature. He believes they can act charitably. He sees the potential in their heart,” Kerry replies weakly, opening tired eyes to look at Johnny, who scoffs.

“I know their heart and their mind. I know them best, Love is a fool.”

“A fool you love.”

“Who doesn’t?” Johnny replies with a smile and a shrug.

Kerry extends a hand until only the invisible barrier separates them.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Always.”

A ruckus starts upstairs and grows closer, making Johnny turn to the entrance of the room. Soon, Revenge appears, her face deformed by manic triumph: every fiber of her being thrums with anticipation.

“Kneels,” she orders, and doesn’t leave Kovachek any opportunity to disobey, hitting him behind the knees to force him down. The man looks pale and afraid, and loses the last of his colors when he catches sight of the strange rocker in the room.

“Who are you?” He still asks.

“I think you know who I am. You’ve been warned I would come.”

Kovachek glances at Kerry before his gaze goes back to Johnny.

“I thought he was bluffing to free himself!”

“Interesting how when mortals play at being god, they always doom themselves. I think the myths are very clear on that. And yet, and yet…” Johnny chides like he’s feeling benevolent. Kerry knows better, but Kovachek doesn’t.

“I didn’t want to play god, I just wanted… I just needed some inspiration, and he wouldn't give it to me, it's… It’s his fault, I was only — I just needed help.”

“I see, you had a good reason to summon him in a prison, then,” Johnny goes on. Behind the wannabe god, Revenge smiles with all her teeth.

“Yes, I never wanted to harm him, never wanted to take it by force! I wanted to bargain, that’s all, but he was being difficult!”

Johnny walks to the man and paces back and forth in front of him like he’s in deep reflection. The other two divinities know perfectly it’s just for show: his mind is made up. Justice is swift.

Then, he stops and faces Kovachek.

“When your race evolved enough to develop higher thoughts and we started to appear in your minds, we made a deal with you. There is a code of conduct, rules to follow when a mortal wants to ask the favor of a God. Do you know them?” he asks, using the Voice of Justice.

Kovachek seems to think hard, but despite his newfound power, he appears at a loss to find the correct answer. He shakes his head.

“You pray to us. That is the way. You offer us precious things, and if we find your gift worthy, if we find you worthy, then we bestow upon you a favor. Now tell me, Kovachek: did you pray to him? Did you offer your most prized possession in the thin hope he would look upon you and find you worthy of his exquisite nature?”

During Johnny’s speech, Kerry found the strength to sit up, which allows him to see Kovachek’s face as he hesitates to answer.

“I…”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Justice’s voice booms through the room, making the walls shake and the floor tremble. The mortal cowers and over him, like a cursed bird of prey, Revenge laughs.

“You broke the rules by trying to make yours what is beyond your understanding. I can feel it already, eating up your mind.”

Kerry looks at his captor, his wide eyes and ashen face, and he can tell the man hasn’t slept: too many ideas and thoughts prevented him from sleeping while the magic now running through his veins tried to find an outlet. Soon, it will turn on him if he doesn’t use it, and the god fears what he would do with it. He won’t get the opportunity, this time.

“Release the power you stole, let it go back to its rightful owner,” Johnny orders, looming over Kovachek.

“I… I don’t know how.”

“Close your eyes,” Kerry answers with a tired voice, kneeling in the circle with difficulty, “my power is an energy coursing through your veins. Feel it, and drive it toward your hands. Form a chalice with your palms, and imagine it pouring out of your fingers into the chalice.”

As he speaks, the divinities watch the man obey, and slowly, light drips out of his fingers and coalesce into a soft looking ball of light. It grows until it’s the size of a basketball, before it travels through the room and toward Kerry.

The god breathes it in and feels the energy fill his veins once more. He sags on the floor again, focusing on leashing the wild power into his body.

“Now, break the seal,” Johnny demands and Kovachek hesitates. He’s weak and trembling, but the relief he feels now that the foreign power has left him makes him too confident. Johnny crouches in front of him and grasps his chin between his fingers, the ones made of steel.

“I don’t think you understand your situation here, buddy,” he says, switching back to his normal voice, using a falsely cajoling tone. “You played and you lost.”

“You can’t undo the seal without me,” Kovachek retorts hotly, seeing what he hopes is a way out.

Johnny’s eyes flicker to Revenge, who suddenly grabs the mortal’s hair to drag him forward. She bashes his face to the ground, right next to the first row of ancient runes that make up Kerry’s prison.

“I’ve been known to be fair,” Johnny goes on with an ironic smile. “If you cooperate, I shall make your punishment less… painful.”

“If I break the seals, do you promise not to hurt me?”

“Are you trying to bargain with the Divine Justice?” Revenge asks, incredulous.

“I won’t release the seals without a few guarantees!”

“That one has balls,” Johnny mutters as he lights a new cigarette.

Revenge shrugs and once again, bashes the man’s head to the ground, until blood starts to spill over the runes. Kovachek tries to protect his face, and move around wildly. With a shriek, Revenge releases him and he falls forward. His hands smudge the runes as he put them under him to soften his landing. Dizzy and with blood dripping in his eyes, he feels more than he sees the seal break.

“That’s cheating,” he garbles.

“You cheated first,” Revenge whispers back, bending over him to say it right in his ear, “an eye for an eye…”

As she holds him down, Johnny steps into the circle and crouches to gather Kerry in his arms.

“I can stand on my own,” Creativity protests, but his companion just ignores him and straightens with a grunt, holding him tight against himself. Kerry loops his arms around Johnny’s neck and hides his face, he’ll deal with his dignity later, right now, this just feels nice.

“Burn everything,” Johnny tells Revenge as the ether opens to him. The book will probably survive, it always does, but that’s a problem they can’t face just by all three of them, especially with Kerry in that state.

“Please,” Kovachek begs as Revenge grins at him.

Johnny passes the portal, leaving the man to his fate at the hand of his violent daughter.

#kerry x v #kerry eurodyne #johnny silverhand #silverdyne #Kerry x Johnny #Johnny x Kerry #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #male v #my writing #fic advent calendar

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motorclit · 10 months ago

Text

All of this.

I've been skinny nearly my entirely life because of my fast metabolism and during middle school I skipped breakfast because my guts were in knots due to the bullying I received, and didn't have much for lunch in high school because it got worse.

I didn't stop looking underweight until my brother died and I hardly did anything or went anywhere and ate pizza, and that's when I looked a little "normal." When my health got worse because of a large ovarian cyst that was endometriosis started to pinch my larger intestine shut (not fully, but created a bottlenecking effect) and my tolerance for certain foods were being lost, I slowly went underweight again despite what I ate.

After surgery, I had no idea how to diet to gain weight back, and before I saw a doctor about it, I made the mistake of seeing a counselor (went to her for abandonment issues and insecurities about how my face simply looks thanks to bullying), and because of my weight and my insecurities, she used it as an excuse to try and say I'm definitely anorexic and wanted to put me into in-patient care "before we get you back onto solid food" DESPITE THE FACT THAT I HAVE ALWAYS ATE SOLID FOOD. She wanted to milk my Medicaid insurance and ignored everything I said that contradicted her accusations. Then she GOT MAD when I told her I didn't want to see her anymore.

Know what I ended up doing? Saw a dietician (who only begged me to eat more, didn't understand how endometriosis could affect what foods I could safely eat, and gave me Ensure until the carrageenan finally became too much for my guts), looking up how to gain weight, and discovered the Yuka app to watch out for problematic additives.

I went from being underweight to looking like a cross between athletic and normal. I'm the heaviest I've ever been because I was never taught how to diet because if I'm not fat, then I don't need to diet. I love weight-lifting and exercising to build muscle, and my thighs feel powerful with a healthy layer of fat. I HAVE BOOBS NOW AND IM NO LONGER FLAT-CHESTED. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS FOR ME TO NOT TOUCH MY TITS BECAUSE IVE NEVER HAD THEM THIS BIG BEFORE?!

I had to figure this shit out for myself. I'm glad Medicaid covered the visits with these useless "professionals."

I've noticed a theme with the professionals who DIDNT help me: they had quite a bit of religious Christian stuff decorating their workspace. The gastroenterologist and the gyno both had their work spaces having some informational posters and charts for patients and they didn't interrupt and were really understanding of me. My gyno is fucking awesome and he even helped ease my anxiety of my first major surgery and stuff.

Part of me wants to see the counselor again. And tell her to eat shit, I built this solid muscle and fat all by myself because I had to thoroughly look up how to diet for weight gain.

Currently, I don't have a very diverse diet in terms of meals, because I'm too poor for a lot of quality stuff and I'm still trying to figure out what all I like that I would like to try recipe-wise (don't wanna waste money on something I'm likely not gonna like).

My whole fucking life up until now, I've been accused of being anorexic by people because of how skinny I was despite eating like a pig either at home or at a friend's house for the weekend. Now I finally have more flesh on these bones. I hope to keep going.

And here's the context of my situation:

I am 5'3", the canonical height of Wolverine. I never made it to 100 pou ds until recently. And now I'm hovering around 109 to 111 pounds (it fluctuates depending on my foods available and how much muscle I've built; the muscle helps me maintain the weight). This is literally the heaviest I've ever been. My tits have boob physics when I move now for once in my life. All because I had to look up with no help how to gain. Weight for my situation.

Because of what I've went through, I will NEVER comment on someone's weight, even if I've noticed a change in their weight, because I don't know what they're going through.

For my entire life people have told me I am "naturally athletic". I am not "naturally athletic": I am an asthmatic with historically really poor cardio health and joints that partially dislocate themselves if I put pressure on them slightly weird. What I *am* is naturally tall and slender, even more so when I did absolutely no physical activity and ate very little because my neurodivergent body didn't give me hunger signals, which most people mistake for "naturally athletic".

That's not to say I don't have the potential for athleticism. My mother, who has never been under 250 pounds my entire life, is built of sheer farm girl muscle, has stellar blood pressure and cardio health despite her weight, and could (and has!) bodily haul me and my grown brother around like we weigh nothing. When I was a kid the woman was biking triathlon distances before we were even awake for school. The woman is an ATHLETE, and her whole life she has been obese (and heard from everyone and their dogs that she needs to lose weight).

I'm not sure where I'm going with this long piece of anecdotal evidence, except to say: my whole life I heard I was naturally athletic, until I actually became athletic. Because the thing is, I put on muscle like my mom. It fills out my shoulders and arms and makes me look big, thick, and barrel chested. "Genetically beefy", as my brother puts it. And suddenly I wasn't getting comments about my athleticism anymore. I'm quite literally the healthiest I've ever been. I can run for miles, lift my weight, my balance and heart health are excellent. I'm just bigger now. And not one stranger has a comment about my physique since I got fit. Because I don't look like what they think "naturally athletic" is.

I guess what I'm saying is, maybe don't let your perception of what "athleticism" or "health" LOOKS like color your perception of like. People's actual health.

#TW: eating disorder mention #TW: mentioning of weight #i wanna be strong to punch n*zis and kick ass

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