#in love reader

[threepandas]

Bad End: Winter's Victory

Cigarettes in this world were different. Odd, I guess. I had never really paid attention to the smell of cigarette smoke, before I ended up here, but I knew it hadn't been? Exactly... well, pleasant? I guess? Not to say that all the ones that existed here WERE, mind you. It was still smokey. The cheap ones an overwhelming incense. They called it "stepping out to pray" for a reason. You ended up smelling like you spent hours in a temple during prayer.

But the smell that lingered here? Clung delicately to cloth and the walls? It was more of a... warm spice. I could never place which ones. There was, yes, a smokey undertone, but? It more or less added to the complex almost taste scent of spices and tea. Dark and rich. Lingering. The sort of thing that takes time to develop.

The entire house was like that. Well, compound really. Austere and ageless, time did not seem to touch the inside of these walls. Did not seem to dare try. It was a blessed relief. A place of respite. All soft, dream-like edges and beautiful gardens. Meandering halls and tasteful, understated art. Peaceful company. Good food and tea.

A lingering smell of smokey spices.

My sister was up to her Protagonist shit again. It was... exhausting. I knew, intellectually, I should be back home. Playing my part. The ever supportive Big Sister archetype. Endlessly kind. Endlessly patient. Supportive to a fault. Smiling and smiling no matter WHAT bullshit nonsense that child pulls. No matter HOW she shames our house or causes trouble I must undo.

But honestly? I can't. I just... can't.

The idiotic little shit SLAPPED A PRINCE. Thank the heavens it wasn't one of the Emperors favorite sons or we'd all be dead, but still! Who the fresh hell taught her that was acceptable?! No. Just.... No.

Let Father deal with this for once. If he insists on spoiling and infantilizing that child? HE can reap the rewards. Her MOTHER can parent for once, instead of sitting around being generically "perfect". I am not there. This is beyond my pay grade. Frankly? I don't even HAVE the power to smooth this over. I could, technically. But not at any cost I'm willing to PAY.

Not for my sister's "she not like other girls", "oh? How interesting", fucking MOMENT.

No WONDER the Elder Sister character disappears in the later half of the royal route, only to turn back up in the palace. She's a freaking Consort! To a letch! Powerful one, yes. But STILL! And all just to protect a sister who not only doesn't notice? But doesn't even attend her wedding?

No.

ABSOLUTELY Not.

I lift the (frankly beautiful) cup of tea I was served to drink while I wait. Breathe in it's rich, soothing scent. Let the steam curl against my face as I stare out the open sliding doors at the fall garden. It borders on too cold for this... but not quite.

The tea is warm. The snacks are warm. I was brought a beautifully embroidered blanket to rest across my lap. Have a robe draped over my shoulders. It is... meditative, almost. Just me and the quiet sigh of vibrant leaves on the breeze. The world muffled. Warm dispite the cold. Ah... the garden really is... so beautiful....

I let it soothe me. Drain away my anger and frustration at the world. Running water, birds in the trees, insects. The silence is so wonderfully full. Alive. I have to keep my mind from bitterly comparing it to constant dramatics filled mess of the gardens at home. Focus on the here and now. This is NICE. Focus on this.

Quiet, near silent footsteps approach. Gait even and steady. Most men his age meander or shuffle, but like the home he keeps? Kaito seems almost untouchable by time. As though not even the Gods dare. I honestly don't blame them. He can be quite commanding when he wishes. Good thing he's rather laid back.

"Come to escape the treasonous?" A modulated voice teases. Wry and dry as salt mines. "Your fool sister is aware that actions have consequences, yes? Or has that idiot father finally succeeded in spoiling her back into infancy? Traditionally, we do not let such young children wander."

Kaito's voice isn't terribly high or husky and low. It is... smooth. Controlled. Like running your fingers across fine fabric. I could honestly listen to him read a phone book and be pleased. He would have made a killing as a voice actor, in my first life. Or reading audio books. Something.

"No retort? Witty defense? Oh dear. You are exhausted, aren't you, my friend?" He noted, dropping the teasing edge. Stepping inside the viewing room and calmly sliding the door shut behind him, I could almost feel him observing me. "When was the last time you slept? Properly. You're a mess, my friend, look utterly exhausted. Has it become that bad?"

Worse actually. They keep doubling down. Doing stupid "girl power!!!1!", poorly thought out, works in a 21th century DEMOCRACY but sure as shit NOT HERE, so called "power moves". I was? So, so fucking tired. Legitimately scared for the servants at this point. Because, honestly? Let stupid reap it's own reward. I TRIED. I was dismissed and ignored. Taken for granted.

Accused of JEALOUSY!

Like? Oh, HELL NO. I know exactly where THAT train of thought ends. I've read enough of the Genre to cut THAT shit off at the pass. Not Today, Satan!

So? Fuck um. I Tried. But I REFUSE to set myself ablaze to keep the ungrateful warm. Especially when they have both coats and just want to roast marshmallows. But... the SERVANTS? They are innocent. Wrong house, shit masters. Half are basically indentured! Much to my outrage.

We HAVE the funds to pay them better. But do I control those funds? Dispite doing ALL THE WORK? Managing the House? No. Of course not. THAT would be Protagonist's mother. And we really need that money for more jewelry and pretty outfits for her daughter. Fuck the household, I guess.

Things are... likely to get bad.

Because I have made the painful, painful choice? To let GO.

I can't keep holding up the house. I am NOT Atlas. Was not granted a second chance, just to throw it away. But at the same time? The servants. Not the enabling, vindictive, lapdogs that circle my family like vultures. The ACTUAL servants. Gardeners, cooks, maids. The no one's that they will not remember.

Somebody has to protect THEM. It must be me. Or no one else WILL.

I'm hoping Kaito will help.

Please, heavens, let this be enough to help. Then... THEN I can figure out how to protect myself. Hopefully. Maybe. Though I am probably running quickly out of time.

"Dear one, are you with me? You are drifting. I need you to come back. Focus on me. The sound of my voice. Can you hear me? Do you see the leaves? Focus on their color. See the reds and yellows beyond them. Like fire, is it not? Can you smell the tea? Dear one, what kind is it? Come here. Back to your body. That's right..."

Smooth and soothing. Closer then what felt like a blink ago. Huh. Yes. The leaves are quite lovely, aren't they? And... and this is red cliff, first harvest, right? Ah. I'm still so bad at telling certain types of tea apart. How mean. He knows this.

.....my brain feels mushy. But back in my body. I manage to scrounge up the edges of a smile. Gods, I am so tired. Worn so thin. But I... I can't rest. Not yet. Kaito kneels beside me, too dignified and reserved to show the full weight of his concern. But it practically howls from his body language. The sheer closeness he has allowed. I must have truely scared him there.

I would tease him, about using my notoriously bad memory of frankly near identical teas against me... but I just... just can't.

There isn't enough energy left in me. I think the soothing nature of his home, his company, has been my undoing. My brain has finally declared me safe enough to break down. Ha ha... perhaps that is why I've been avoiding coming here for so long. I knew I would break down. Would not want to leave.

Unspeakably rude of me.

"The rumors have not done the situation justice, it seems. You seem at your wits end. My dear, you cannot continue like this. Please, let me help. I realize it is overstepping any number of boundaries... but..." the weight of his concern; the words he was struggling to find, to phrase the unkind more palatably, hung between us. "Please, my friend. You are struggling. I can not bear it."

I felt exhausted tears well up. Days of being overwhelmed. Threatened on all sides. Wondering if today would be the day, that the royal gaurds kicked down our gates and executed us all. Struggling against the blindly arrogant and willful actions of my family. The very SAME family that treated me as more of a secretary then as any kind of kin.

Where would I be? If I had not met Kaito, all those years ago? Visiting his cousin, who was marrying a friend of my cousin. Even then, I was desperately trying to keep the name of our family from being filth. My father could not tear himself away from the whims of my sister or his pretty new wife. My grandmother somehow uncaring, tyrannical and doting, indulgent and yet strict.

I was the ONLY ONE who could and WOULD bother to represent us.

Was called frivolous and silly for it. For "seeking parties" to go "play at". As though it was not stressful. As though it was not far beyond my training and skills. Only the concerned eyes of cousins from other houses and guidance of matriarchs from BETTER houses, let me survive at ALL.

Grandmother still does not understand why she no longer gets invitations. Why her name is mud in the eyes of other elders. They did not take kindly, to her abandoning her granddaughter to do HER and HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW'S job for them. But... there I was. Doing my best. Decorated like a little doll, uncomfortable and quite.

Kaito didn't even need to speak to me. Would never have approached such a nervous, unchaperoned child. Forget being simply a young unmarried girl. I was quite LITERALLY a girl. A child. He never would have so much a acknowledged my existence normally. It simply wasn't done. He was after all, an unmarried man of considerable power.

Still is.

But he needed to speak with his cousin. Who, quite rudely, would NOT take a hint. Too wrapped up in his new bride. Thus forcing Kaito to come over. Bless him, he still tried to politely ignore me. So as not to put pressure on a nervous child. But, once again, Cousin Dense As A Brick struck. Introduced us before merrily swanning off to go talk with friends, taking his wife, my cousin, and ONLY CHAPERONE with him.

We were both baffled and aghast. Horrified. It was the sort of gods awful that somehow found its way back around to being funny. Granted, only because we were in a highly visible location surround by other part goers. But still. Why don't you just? Pick me up and dump me in his LAP next? Good gods man.

Needless to say? The roasting was merciless and immediate. He escorted me to a friend of his. Terrifying woman. We had a grand time roasting terrible behavior and I learned SO MUCH. They were Hilarious. Clearly appreciated having an audience who could actually grasp their sense of humor. I left with letter buddies.

Acquaintances that became friends.

Kaito became my single BEST friend. A refuge, a mentor, a confidant. I trusted... TRUST, the man more then any single soul I've ever met. It helps, I guess, that he meets me where I AM not where he assumes I SHOULD be. Doesn't baby me. Infantalize me. Nor does he treat me in any way that would set off a "creep" alarm in my head. He's just... Kaito.

All cunning eyes and slight smiles, dry humor and cutting wit. Ever the rougish yet refined strategist. Bad boy of the highly polite. All the high court ladies still sigh over him.

Grey eyes that bordered on black filled my vision. That whisp of soft silver hair that never wanted to stay put, forever falling across his brow. My view of the garden cut off. When had he moved? Had I drifted back into my head again? It seemed so.

This close, I could not help but notice his eyelashes were still the rich dark of his youth. Few strands of silver yet touching his eyebrows. He'd had a beautiful shade of black hair it seems. It was rather striking....

A pinch on the back of my hand. Bright pain lancing through the fog. Kaito's hands cupped mine, kept me from jostling my cup. Stopping me from dropping now cold tea into my lap. Taking it from me gently, he set it aside. Thumb rubbing the skin he had abused. His face was apologetic.

"And that marks the second time you've drifted away on me, dear. I'm afraid I'm no longer asking. I'm will be helping. This is entirely unacceptable. What in the gods name have those idiots done to you?" His voice was soft. Attention focused on me. I felt... felt so very fragile.

Not weak. Fragile. Like glass under strain. Bones near their breaking point. That final support beam struggling with weight beyond its abilities to bear. He was treating me like I was wounded. Was I? Perhaps I was. I certainly felt that way.

I just... just wanted someone ELSE to take care of it all.

Just for a bit.

Was that so wrong?

I was TIRED. Felt the tears coming back. Here I was, coming to a dear friend, about to ask him to take on a burden for me. Risk enraged royalty just to protect the innocent. Being unspeakably emotional and RUDE. And I... and I... I just....

"Shhhhh. None of this. You've done so much. Have been so, so brave, my girl. No more. It's alright. I'm here. I'll take care of everything." He soothed. Soft and unbearably kind. All I could do was nod. Agree. "There we are, good girl. You'll stay here for now, all right? No more stressful journeys to that house. I'll send someone to gather your things. We can have everything dealt with after a rest."

His hands, boldly, came up to cup my cheeks. I found I didn't care. It felt nice. His palms warm and dry, gently cradling.

I wouldn't be able to stay. He knew that. I knew that. It simply WAS. We weren't related, weren't married. I had brought no chaperone. I... gods, I wanted too. Badly. But I couldn't. I just needed help with the servants. Told him as much. Words rambled disjointedly between us as I struggled to get them all out.

"Ah, but the solution then is simple, isn't it?" He said, looking almost amused. "You just need to marry me."

Blinking, the thought didn't quite process. My confusion clear enough on my face for him to continue.

"Every time I see you, you are suffering some fresh new indignity from that house. Some brand new insult. Isn't it better here? I know you enjoy it. The servants adore you. I adore you." The hands on my cheeks shifted, just slightly, barely daring to let their thumbs stroke just slightly."

"I would give you everything, dearest."

This... did not feel political. Nor some ploy to just protect the servants, offered by a dear friend. When... when had things changed? I knew for a fact, he held no such interests in me as a child. I'd seen him kill a man over the mere suspicion of such things. Yet... it's also not like I'd grown UP in front of him. We talked mostly over letters.

It was harder to remember my physical age through those. Since I didn't exactly talk or write like the child I had appeared. And talking to each other, being friends with each other, for going on a decade... certainly WAS a good foundation for a relationship, wasn't it? I didn't know any more. How old... how old even was I?

His hands were so warm.

Felt strong and reliable, cupping my face. A reserved and refined (if a bit mischievous), pillar of strength that I could finally lean on. Offering up a tempting dream world where I wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to deal with troubles or reality. Just... just endless, beautiful, painting-like peace and serenity.

No more drama... ever again.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Didn't I deserve to rest?

Who else, really, could I even see myself marrying? Realistically? Some untested lout? Character suspect and temperament unknown? What prospects, what LOYALTY, could they even offer? Would they even respect my boundaries? Could they ever hope to match his knowledge of my likes and dislikes? Could... could I ever hope to TRUST them? Like I did, Kaito?

I felt my expression soften. Decided to be a little bold too. Leaning forward, I let my hands come up to lightly grip his arms. Still so corded with muscles. The man never did skip out on his training, be it archery or swordsmenship. My forhead rest lightly against his, that wayward strand tickling my skin just a bit. His breath smelled of those smokey spiced cigarettes while his skin, which I had never dared take note of, smelled of daily things.

He held so perfectly still, as though afraid to spook me. Seemed startled by my boldness. How cute~

I couldn't stop the grin if I tried.

"Yes, yes, mock the old man. Impertinent minx. So scandalous!" He teased, finally unfreezing after gathering his thoughts. That plotting spark back in his eyes. "Whatever shall I do? My guest takes advantage of me! Oh dear, oh no~ I fear for my honor! You will have to make an honest man of me, I'm afraid."

The laugh burst out of me, feeling a lot like relief. Gods, I'd missed this. Just... just sass and light hearted teasing. Droll humor and wit. No nightmare politics or angry royals. No trying to manage the unmanageable. Not responsible for any but myself. Yes... yes this was exactly what I needed, wasn't it?

Honestly? FUCK the Plot. FUCK the Protagonist and her nightmare social blunders! I was gonna get OUT of that house. Live for ME. Marry a nice, reliable man. Have a beautiful home. Maybe get some pets. Eat snacks! Laze about and enjoy the gardens! Have some gods damned PEACE for once! It sounded perfect.

I told Kaito there were no take backs. Congratulations on the terrible idea! I was HIS problem now. Have fun with your new, future in-laws!

Laughter was the best thing I'd felt in weeks. One of the maids I liked was already on standby and ready to lead me to a guest room. We bickered light heartedly, him groaning in exaggerated ways about his TERRIBLE fate of having to deal with IDIOTS! Oh, Darling, how COULD you?! Ha! Suffer.

It... gods, it was beautiful. Dreamlike. A perfect, story book solution to my woes.

Really, if I did not TRUST Kaito so much? I would have been suspicious.

But I did.

So I left with the maid, a smile on my face. Relieved. Happy. Engaged to a "good man". The most TRUSTWORTHY man I knew.

Thus, did not see, like a mask, his expression slide away. His open body language close off, like then slamming of a crypt door, locking the dead back inside. The warmth draining from the room as I left it, as though I had taken every trace with me. Leaving only the cold, cold THING behind. One that wore the face of a man.

A handsome man, yes, but an empty one.

One that was Not Pleased.

"I distinctly recall," his voice cutting the silence like an assassin slitting a throat, sudden and violent yet just as impersonal. "That I ordered her not to be bothered. For you to get rid of that... thing, in a timely manner."

Shadows dropped from the roof. Then too their knees. Kneeling, loyal unto death, before the one that commands them. Many are injured. They do not shake, for all that they have failed. Will likely die for it.

"Give me one good reason to let you live. A single one." The empire's spy master, the Winter Ghost, asks the room at large. Picking up his beloved's tea cup, considering it as he talks. He almost wants to destroy it. So no one else can ever use it. Touch it with their filthy hands. "Well?"

His assassins continue to kneel. Silent. There is no defense for their failure.

Three die instantly, the rest are not so lucky.

He decides to keep the cup.

Running his thumb along the rim where her mouth touched it, he steps out, closer to the garden and slides the door shut. It truely is a lovely view. Behind him, his servants behind the familiar work of cleaning up. Kneeling in the dirt before him, the next set of assassins.

"Let me make my self clear this time. I don't care how you do it, how painful or how slow, but they are to be gone by the time I am wed, understood? If that useless chit or her idiot father darken my door, you will long for the mercy that is death. Get out. And do not DARE fail me."

A quite chorus of confirmation, then like leaves... scattered on the wind.

He was named winter victory. For his mother's success in seizing control of her poor, late, husband's house. Born into the cold, it has always remained. Is it any suprise he covets warmth? In any form he can have it. Every form.

A pity though... that he won't be needing his plans.

She would have made a beautiful widow.

[obsesssedblerd]

You look up from your book to see your husband standing over the bassinet with his arms crossed, his brow raising as he looks down inside of it with a tiny scowl. He stays like that for about a minute. You sit up in your shared bed, then call out to him. “Ryo.” 

“Hm.” He doesn’t look up. 

“May I ask what you are doing?” 

“The little brat is staring,” Sukuna says matter-of-factly. “I am simply staring at her in return.” 

Inside of the bassinet, your baby daughter coos. Her scarlet eyes—exactly like her father’s—glitter with interest. You hear her giggle, and you scoff lightly and return your gaze to your book. “She thinks you’re playing a game.” 

“I am doing no such thing.” 

You flip a page. “Put a hand over your face for a few seconds.” He doesn’t respond, but you know he listens. “M’kay, now lift.” There’s silence for a few seconds, then your daughter bursts into a fit of giggles. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “I do not understand what is so entertaining about that.” When you look up again, you see that he’s covering his face again, then revealing himself to get the same reaction from the baby.

“It’s called peek-a-boo. It’s a game most babies love to play.” 

The little princess babbles as she lifts her arms up, and Sukuna tilts his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You snicker. “One: You’ll figure out what she’s saying the more you talk with her. Two: She wants you to pick her up.” 

He sighs dramatically, then reaches into the bassinet to pick up the small girl. Though she has her father’s eyes, she has your hair, the shape of your nose, and your ears. She also has your fearlessness, because she smiles directly in the face of the king of curses. Now at his eye level, she reaches her arms towards him excitedly. “What is it now, you brat? I’m already carrying you.” 

He looks over at you in question, and your smile grows. “She wants to touch your face,” you say. 

“Why?” 

“Because she’s a baby, and she’s curious.” 

Sukuna pulls her closer, and once in range, his daughter lays her tiny hands against his marked face. She giggles more, and you can see his eyes soften. “Hmph. You have your mother’s smile.” 

— — — —

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen where you hear Sukuna speaking with someone. When he turns to the side, you see your daughter nestled in the crook of one of his muscular arms, staring up at him as he concluded whatever story he was telling her. 

“...At the end of the battle, only I remained. Victory was mine.” 

The baby babbles excitedly, and Sukuna scoffs. “Ha, you will do no such thing. How do you expect to join me in battle when you aren’t even a year old, brat?” 

Her face scrunches in what looks like annoyance, and she repeats to him what he taught her the night before. “Hmph.” 

You burst into laughter, and Sukuna raises a brow at the little girl in his arms. “Great. Your mother’s smile, and her attitude.”

[baobei-bu]

man with horns >>>>>>

[hoernypie]

During sex, when you unconsciously pulled your hips back, it made Satoru stop, "If you try to move away, I'll go all the way in and you won't be able to walk," he said with annoyance, and you tried your best before ending up unconsciously pulling them back again and, as he had promised, he grabbed your hips tightly so they wouldn't move and pushed in with full force, making you see the stars.

[ayyy-pee]

waking up freezing and shivering, teeth chattering every night because your husband is a blanket hog. you know it's not on purpose. he just can't help it. doesn't even know he does it most times. you'd think after years together you'd be used to it, but waking up curled into the fetal position as you try to retain even a smidge of warmth is something you don't think you'll ever adjust to.

so you reach behind you, feeling your spouses large form wrapped snug as a bug in your shared blanket and you grip onto the fabric. you pull as hard as you can but you don't manage to move him even an inch. you try once more...same result.

"ken..." you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself. no response. "kento..."

he doesn't budge. you're tempted to just get up and go grab another blanket, but your husband, despite his seriousness, can get quite pouty when you do that. so you tap him hard instead sure to jab him in the spot you know is his most sensitive. this seems to do the trick as he grunts in response.

"I'm cold," you tell nanami and he sits up quickly, realizing what he's done. his pajama top hangs off one shoulder. his blonde hair is pointing every which way and sleep is heavy on his eyelids, threatening to weigh him down again any minute.

"I'm sorry, love," nanami speaks, voice rough and deep with exhaustion, but the sincerity in his apology clear.

then he's throwing the blanket back over you both. only he adds in a little extra warmth as he wraps his arm around your waist and throws a large leg over your body.

nanami buries his face in your neck, adjusting himself so that he can be as close to you as possible. only a few seconds pass before you hear his light snoring behind you. and you know the warmth you feel is from more than just his touch.

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley that doesn’t correct people for thinking you’re dating. Simon’s minding the trolley while you grab a box of cereal at the store, idly standing by while watching people dip in and out of the aisle. when an older woman says you make a cute couple he just nods and says ‘thank you, ma’am’. he especially doesn’t correct someone when he stalks up behind you, a protective hand on your hip when they scoff and ask, “Is this your boyfriend?”

Roommate!Simon Riley that knows you like the back of his hand - ever changing, but still familiar at the end of the day. a new scar marring his knuckles? he’ll memorize what you like from that new café that opened down the block. a new nick on his wrist? he’s picking up that new movie you were gushing about wanting to see, a genre you wouldn’t necessarily choose usually - he’s ignoring how the main love interest looks like him. at the end of the day, some things never change, like how he’s memorized your smile and the way your nose scrunches

Roommate!Simon Riley that’s fallen into a comfortable pattern with you. your friends always say you act like a married couple, but you wave them off. so what if you guys are in the bathroom at the same time? you need to squeeze a shower in and Simon wanted to brush his teeth - besides, he can hand you a towel when you’re done. so what if you sleep in each other’s rooms? the damn AC is busted again, it’s not your fault Simon is as warm as a furnace and welcomes you with open arms

Roommate!Simon Riley whose favorite start to the morning is seeing you bleary eyed and groggy. your hair is messy, pillow lines across your cheek, and your t-shirt is askew - perfect. he doesn’t care if you have crud around your eyes, he doesn’t care if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet, he doesn’t care that you’re wearing his t-shirt— Simon pauses, eyes glued to you. his last name decorating your back… maybe Simon does care about you wearing his shirt

[celestiamour]

logan howlett vs hugh jackman

(photos not mine, from pinterest & twitter)

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[heartswithinreach]

sylus always answers your calls. always. no exceptions.

he could be in the middle of a gun fight or a messy interrogation but when he hears the inside joke of a ringtone he set for you, he uses his evol to shackle everyone in place while he answers, calm and collected as can be.

“kitten, it’s late in linkon — you should be sleeping. no, i’m not busy at the moment.” a cold glare is the only warning his enemies get to stay quiet. “what do you need?”

some of the world’s most powerful and feared men have had their final agonizing moments prolonged by listening to the leader of onychinus sweet-talk you.

[mostly-imagines]

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

[threepandas]

Bad End: For Us

My sister is the only one who actually knows me. Who looks at me and... and actually SEES me, for who I am. It's because she suffers too, I think. Is beautiful. In that way that drives men too distraction. Poets too the page, artists too a medium. They look at her like she is art, magnificence and beauty given form.

Not a person.

Living, breathing, with thoughts and feelings of her own.

She is... is just BEAUTY to them. Delicate features and graceful limbs. Refined and splendid. A lovely voice reducing all her brilliant thoughts to mere sound. Who cares? How clever and educated, how wise or dignified, she may be? She is decoration. A pretty thing to look at. A prize to be held and won.

And... and I am a cute little pet.

Eternally the toddler, to be pampered and dressed in bows. Girlish things, no matter how old I grow. Handled instead of spoken too. Because somehow I am a child. Fuckable, yet... a child. Cute, innocent, naive. Not because I AM, but because they SAY so. Because it matches their fantasy of me.

I fear what will happen if I dare break that fantasy, with how much they control my life.

My Sister, alone, is the one who SEES me.

And people try to convince me she is... what? Jealous? Bitter? Because I am somehow "stealing" the lecherous eyes of her unfaithful man? I don't want them. I don't want ANY of them. Reborn, somehow, as a Protagonist in some game amongst countless, I can predict the plot points as they come. Read the troupes.

Bah. I am no spunky little bright eyed thing.

As I lay, draped over my sister's splendid skirts, in her private writing room, she quietly sips her tea and writes return missives. Strokes my hair as I hide, curled up like a child against her legs. If the ridiculous outfit I was shoved in would allow it? I would cram myself under her desk. Hide there instead.

As it is? I sit like some sulking maiden, an exhausted pet, seeking comfort in the only refuge I HAVE.

They will not leave me ALONE.

The Knight. Some brash, meat headed, "I'll take care of you" type, crashing into every quiet moment I try to have. Loud and presumptuous. Disdainful of my academic interests.

The Playboy. All too forward "romantic" gestures and ignoring obvious discomfort. More wrapped up in HIS feelings then considering, for even a moment, my own. Selfish and dramatic.

The Duke. Cliché and terrible. "Kind" to no one but me. Endless expensive gifts, pressuring grand displays, and eyes that linger possessively. Violence at the drop of a hat.

But oh, let us not forget the ASSASSIN! Yes, the LEADER of the ASSASSIN'S Guild! That somehow, someway, decided I was a prize worth possessing. A cutesy little "interesting" doll. That? Gods only knows, what will happen when he grows bored.

Lingering and haunting me. Crawling through windows. Standing too close, to touch my hair and drop cryptic bits of information that always hint at terrible things. Having to watch my words so SO carefully. Lest someone end up DEAD.

And let's not forget the WORST offender! The most clingy of them ALL!

My sister's FIANCÉ.

The Crown PRINCE! Yes, not some average noble, but a ROYAL!! And the man can't CONTROL himself! But does anyone else care? Noooooo! It's ROMANTIC. True loooove~! Aren't we CUTE together? Surely my Sister, his FIANCÉE, is just JEALOUS. How VILE. Disgusting, they scoff!

I should start throwing chairs.

This house is a nightmare.

I curl closer to my sister. Releasing her skirts to slip an arm around her waist. Hugging her, pressing my face close. She puts her cup down with a soft clink. A second hand joining the first to stroke my head. Cup my cheeks.

"My Dearest, you can not hide against my skirts indefinitely. As much as I would love to let you." She says, voice soft and cool like swirling mist, tilting my face up so she can look me in the eyes. "You DO need to eat eventually, as do I. Unfortunately, I can not keep you here forever. Come, help me plan the wedding. We can look at cake styles."

I'd rather be planning a funeral.

"Not until I get a son out of him, I'm afraid."

Wut.

I blink, not sure I heard that right. Look up at my softly smile sister. No. No, I probably didn't. Wishful thinking maybe? Or I've just been around Stabby too much. I scramble to my feet. Fighting my own girlish abomination of a skirt. I hate it. It's cutesy to the point of mocking. I'm in my TWENTIES for God's sake! Not EARLY twenties either!

Why do I have a BOW ON MY ASS?!

Because I am the Protagonist. Baby faced and Pwecious~☆. Fucking INFANTALIZED. I could BITE.

I sigh, take the arm my sister offers me, and tuck myself into her side. Rest my head upon her shoulder. It's a little uncomfortable, with all the jewelry she must wear. But damn it! I want my cuddles!

I bask, as we walk, in the comfort it brings.

She's strong and graceful. Smells like a delicate spring morning, all rare flowers and new growth. A hint of expensive spice. I LOVE being the little sibling. When it's HER that's treating me so. Because she makes it precious. Comfortable. Like we could spend our lives, together like this. The best of friends.

Happy.

If only people would... you know... stop trying to FUCK me. I prefer my hobbies. For God's sake, I'm RICH and a second child. I HAVE basicly no responsibilities except "don't embarrass the family". Or that WOULD be the case? If our parents weren't so intent on... "pushy dating advice".

"Would you like some lovely news, Dearest?" Whispers my sister, as she sweeps us past some upset looking maids, towards the tea room. I nod. "I've made some wonderful headway with some... ambitious gentlemen, about your little cockroach problem. They are quite efficient. I'm likely to recommend them."

I stiffle a snort. Oh my god. My sister sent thugs after a few of the suitors? Holy shit! That's amazing! Is THAT why I haven't seen them around lately? They got scared?

We settle in our seats. Tea and snacks. The maid looks... nervous. Weird. My sister smiles kindly, somehow startling the poor thing, making her flinch. Oh dear. I try to smile reassuringly. No harm no foul, right? Yet the poor girl reacts like I've cast myself into a lion pit for her. Flees.

....I'm beginning to suspect someone is abusing our waitstaff.

It's probably that bastard lech of a fiance.

We need to keep him away from the maids. And me. Women in general honesty. If I had my say, he wouldn't be allowed near my SISTER either. But she insists, and- Oooh! This one's CUTE! Sis, Sis! LOOK at the little details on this one!

"Hmm? Oh that IS lovely! Do you like it? If so, we shall sample it at once. I want the day to be perfect for us, Dearest. You're my world after all. There's NOTHING I wouldn't give you. A shame though, that our parent's will likely be too sick to see me wed."

It really was. I had my differences with them, but... it was their DAUGHTER'S WEDDING you know? Whatever they had caught, during their endless string of parties, was ravaging their health. It seemed agonizing. Slow. Yet even in the midst of planning her WEDDING, all the gossip and backstabbing, my sister dutifully visited them. Brought them tea and kept them company.

I didn't know how she could bear it.

She was a better person then I, I guess.

[obsesssedblerd]

when you and satoru gojo started dating and agreed to take it slow, the first thing that you got used to was the fact that his infinity was up 24/7. though you understood and never brought it up, part of you yearned to feel his skin and not the invisible shield that kept him from the rest of the world.

then, during one beautiful evening after a lovely picnic date, you're comfortably lying against his chest—against that familiar shield, until you realize that you aren't.

as he's adorably rambling about something funny that happened while he was teaching the second years, you notice that you feel the material of his jacket against your cheek. then, you realize that the comforting scent you've been inhaling is his cologne. curious, you gently grasp one of his hands that's closest to you, and your heart practically skips a beat when you feel the warmth of his palm for the first time.

satoru senses your excitement and quietly intertwines your fingers with his. it's also his first time touching you without infinity activated, and he wants to savor it. his thumb brushes soothing patterns on your hand, and you don't even realize how hard you're grinning until you feel the strain in your cheeks.

he chuckles, and you look up to see him staring at you, blindfold raised and his blue eyes soft with adoration. "what's got you cheesin' like that, pretty girl?"

you shrug, your smile unwavering. "just thinking about how perfect my boyfriend is."

satoru stares at you for a little while longer, then tilts his head a bit lower. you feel his lips gently press against your forehead, then against your lips, feather-light and brief. the kiss is short, but it's absolutely perfect for the first time.

you snuggle against satoru, and his other hand strokes your soft face. "that's good," he finally replies, "because i'm always thinking about how lovely my girlfriend is."

[nanaslutt]

nanami overstimulating himself to make sure his pretty gf gets off >.<

minors and ageless blogs dni

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

telling nanami “don’t stop” when he’s fucking you because youre sooo close, but he’s at his limit. he tries to relax his kegels so he lasts longer but he can’t help it, it feels too good and you’re so tight around him as you’re working up to your orgasm he can’t help but cum inside you

he keeps fucking you though his orgasm, teeth gritted and eyes rolling back in his head. all he wants to do is freeze up and let his body jerk and flex and he fills you up, but he can’t just leave you unsatisfied. it’s taking everything in him not to stop thrusting, his groans are so loud in your ears.

he abruptly pulls you on top of him and bounces you in his lap, his legs are shaking from overstimulation but he needs you to get there. “use me, make yourself come on me sweetheart.” his words are rushed and breathy, but he manages to get them out. you place your hands on his chest and slow your bouncing, feeling his come start to drip out of you.

“but you already came, ken.” you reason, your voice just as ruined as his as he helps you rock your hips back and forth on his pelvis. his cock is twitching, and his abs are spamming from overstimulation. every atom in his body is telling him to stop fucking you because it’s too much, it feels too good it hurts, but he can’t leave you hanging.

“i know, finish yourself off. don’t worry about me, I can take it.” and take it he does. you start bouncing on his lap and nanami has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from crying out. his tip is so sensitive and you keep thrusting it right against your sweet spot, it’s making him dizzy.

nananmi’s thighs are pressed together to tight, his legs are nearly crossing as his body tries to excape from the painful pleasure, but he grunts and breaths through it. he’s already hard again, forced to get up from your warm walls fucking him and sucking him in. it doesn’t help that you’re so much wetter from his orgasm now, it’s so fucking much tears well in his eyes.

“kento, kento.” you cry, and nanami nods, biting his lip as he forces his eyes open to find your clit with his thumb. he rubs quick, sloppy circles against the little bud, his body shaking and jerking when he feels your walls tighten around him. “come, come honey, f-fuck.” he doesn’t curse a lot during sex, but this called for it.

the second he feels you orgasm around him, his balls draw up and he’s cumming too. his back arches and he wraps his arms around you, keeping you flush against him and still while he fills you up. his eyes are crossed and he swears he’s seeing stars behind his eyes from his hard he’s cumming.

“don’t move.” he grunts in your ear, his sensitive cock twitching with his aftershocks against your walls. if you moved again he would pass out, his tip is probably so red it’s going to ache when he pulls it out of you. “don’t move until… until i tell you to.” he grunts out, biting his lip as he feels his cum overflow from your pussy and drip down his dick.

[osamucide]

⊹ I AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NASTY DOG!

. . . BSD MEN AS OVERUSED PORN PLOTS!

wc: 5.3k

cw: MINORS DNI—explicit sexual content, gn!+afab!reader, a lot of anonymous sex, dirty talk, BIG DICK MEN, probably a good amount of ooc, some questionable dynamics/dubcon that can be read through the lens of roleplay and/or prior consent. character-specific warnings—chuuya: public sex, penetration; dazai: penetration, riding, creampie; kunikida: professor/student, oral (m!receiving); fukuzawa: secretary/boss, office sex, oral (m!receiving), facefucking; atsushi: HEAVY DUBCON WARNING, stuck, perv atsushi, penetration; akutagawa: blackmailing if you squint, degradation, choking, penetration; oda: penetration; ango: public sex, penetration, riding; nikolai: dubcon, home intruder f!masturbation, penetration; sigma: a tiny bit of perv sigma, oral (f!receiving); fyodor: priest!fyodor, religion/blasphemy kink, christianity-specific, oral (m!receiving)

reid: putting my dual major in journalism to work by subtitling these like bad porn videos. little not so thought out drabbles many with no definitive ending just silly whore thoughts. some are more stupid than sexy but either way i hope you enjoy because this was a blast to write HAHAHAHA

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA—HOT GYM BUDDIES CAN’T WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEIR WORKOUT TO FUCK!

“Yeah, that’s a lot better. Look at you, you got it,” the pretty redhead mutters, his hands still firmly on your hips as he spots your squat. “Give me one more, I know you can.”

The praise prompts you to draw in a deep breath that has nothing to do with your next squat; anyway, this gorgeous man, kind enough to help you with your form, believes in you. So you bend once more, squatting down, down, and pushing back up—until on your way back up, you feel your legs begin to buckle.

“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”

You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”

“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”

But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.

There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.

It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”

His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”

He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!

“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”

That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.

And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.

“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.

His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”

So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.

And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.

“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”

“Osamu!”

But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.

“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”

He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.

Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.

“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.

“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!

"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.

"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.

"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.

He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.

Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.

He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.

"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.

You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.

"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!

You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.

Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.

He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.

But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.

"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"

He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.

You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.

"Unh—ugh..."

You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.

Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.

"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."

You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!

"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"

"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"

Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.

"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"

But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.

"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"

His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.

"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."

And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.

And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.

"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."

And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.

"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹

⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!

You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."

The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.

"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."

He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.

"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."

"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.

You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.

"Fuckin' slut—"

When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.

"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."

But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.

You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.

"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!

"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."

You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.

You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."

"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.

"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"

"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.

You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."

"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.

"I mean, unless..."

Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.

“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“

His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.

“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!

The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.

He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.

I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.

You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.

There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.

Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.

He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.

"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"

You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.

An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.

"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!

You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.

When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?

Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?

"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."

You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.

"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹

⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!

"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.

He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.

But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.

"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.

"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.

He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.

He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.

"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."

"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.

Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"

You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.

"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!

“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."

"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."

You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."

"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.

"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."

But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.

"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."

"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."

The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.

"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”

"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.

"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.

"That's it—child of God, follower of Christ; I absolve you of your sins," he gasps as his tip hits the back of your throat which was begging for forgiveness moments ago. His hands reach through the window to stroke either side of your face, and then hold you in place to fuck your throat. "The Lord will forgive you for this." ⊹

[xcharisityx]

Waking up to the sound of deep grunts and resounding moans coming from your monster s/o who is feverishly feasting on your wet pussy. Pleasure warms your body, as you feel slick gushing out of your cunt, making you moan audibly. Once they realize, you've woken up, they begin to babble excuses as to why they needed to taste you.

“You were moaning in your sleep, and y-you smelled soo fucking good. I-I couldn't stand seeing you like that! Mmm- wanted to help you.”