#is Enormous restraint for me

[justablah56]

oOooo mutuals you wanna get into rwd sooooo bad ,,..,..,.

[thelvadams]

spending the weekend in that place from professor layton (london)

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Miguel O'Hara having you bent over the kitchen counter, legs spread wide and back arched. His enormous hands on your hips, holding onto you with bruising strength while he pounds you.

You're a sobbing, moaning mess, your every sound a pathetic whine that begs for more. And he gives it to you.

He fucks you almost too hard, his thick cock pushing your velvet walls to their limits, the bulbous head bruising your cervix.

“You're so pretty when I'm inside of you, princesa,” he grunts, an enormous hand spanking your ass. “Makes me want to take a picture of you, all full of my cock.”

You reply with more mewls and whimpers, nails digging into the counter top, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Miguel!” you cry out, cunt clenching as your orgasm grows nearer and nearer.

“Already?” he taunts, laughing almost maliciously. “I've just started with you.”

You whimper, an embarrassed blush spreading over your face.

Miguel tangles his fingers in your hair, tugs on it hard, forcing your back to arch even more. “If you come before I let you, I'm going to punish you. And it won't be pretty, princesa.”

You try to hold yourself back, but every ounce of self-restraint vanishes when his rough, calloused hand slides under you to play with your swollen, throbbing clit.

You come hard, body shaking, mouth falling open as moan after moan of ecstasy leave you.

Miguel smirks. “Oh, princesa.” He clicks his tongue. “You owe me now. You're gonna be my pretty little toy for the rest of the night,” he says, his mouth moving to your ear. “I'm going to use you over and over again until you're broken, see if you learn your lesson then, hm?”

You shudder, knowing there's no escaping this, knowing you'd never want to escape.

-----

Just a little thought that popped into my head while I was trying to fall asleep :)

-----

@yagirlheree @sukioyakio

-----

Blog masterlist

[omega-e123]

!! NSFW !!

cw: Biting, Cum, Breeding Kink, Squirting, Vaginal sex

In a rut…

Odd Behavior || Restraint || Indulgence || Part 4 (HERE)

Adoration.

The thought of knocking you up and bearing his children has him geared up and ready for another round.

A low primal growl bubbles in Shadow’s throat as he bites down hard onto your shoulder. Your own groan harmonizing with his as Shadow hits that sweet spot in your core again and again. His muzzle curls up into a snarl while his eyelids flutter closed. His mind focusing on how your bodies feel pressed up against each other.

Hot bodies melt into an intoxicating pool of sweat and passion. Nails dig deep into black fur as you hold for dear life. Electricity shoots down Shadow’s spine, spurring him on more. So much stimulation that your mind hasn’t had a moment to recover and process. It’s become a dream like haze as your stomach feels like a thousand flowers are blossoming all at once. Where his body ends and where yours starts is now a mystery. At the same time you are separate but one.

Semen drips out of your cunt, creating yet another pool on Shadow’s mattress. He notices you’ve yet to come again. That simply won’t do. His love is every bit deserving to feel that rush of delicious adrenaline.

Although overstimulated, Shadow begins to slowly pump into you. One hand reaches between your bodies and begins to trace circles on your clit. That familiar tension rises up in your core. Whispers of sweet nothings fill your ears. You loved his velvety smooth voice. One of the ultimate life form’s greatest weapons. A quiet whimper passes your lips. Energy surges back into Shadow, picking up the pace. Wet slapping fills the bedroom air for the umpteenth time.

“Is my lovely mate close? Are you going to cum? Go ahead. Relax. Show me how good I make you feel.”

It’s as if a string snapped. Legs tremble and quake beneath the hedgehog as your head tosses side to side from the intense sensations. Shadow holds the side of your cheek, holding you still to lock lips. His lips turns upward into a smug smile, only to be broken by a moan. Your walls clenching around him causes his fur to bristle. Absolutely enamored with the fact you’re taking every last drop. 

Squeezing him so tight, his cock is pushed out of your hole. Gasping at the loss of sensations, Shadow glances down to find your pussy quaking and pushing out enormous amounts of fluids everywhere. Clear liquid mixed with creamy white flood the mattress covers and splash onto Shadow’s thighs. Some of it even manages to squirt back on to your stomach.

He watches in amazement as you empty yourself out in front of him. Purring into your ear, “That is certainly new. Who knew you could squirt like that, my love? I’m so proud of you. Can you do that again?”

Whimpering, you shake your head no, “I don’t.. I don’t know.. How?” You’ve never done something like that before. Hands reach up to cover your embarrassment, but Shadow grabs your wrists and pulls it away. Fuck that was so hot. You looked so perfect, like a marble fountain those stereotypical rich people have. Sweat, tears, your cum, glistens on your body as if it was the night sky.

“Well then,” he begins, “we’ll just have to try and recreate that feeling now, don’t we?” His hard length is shoved back in and a breathy moan slips past your lips. The folds of your vagina part with ease due to the new slick your body provided.

He pulls all the way out. Back in again. Out… In.. Out.. and Shadow’s shaft massages between your folds, teasing the entrance. It glides so smoothly and effortlessly. Addicting. He stops teasing you only because you asked oh so nicely. His bare hands wander the front of your body, memorizing every minute detail. Each beautiful curve carved into his mind. How is he so lucky to have an angelic being such as you to be his partner?

All care is thrown to the night. Shadow desperately wants you to know that he loves you. Over and over, he chants it like a spell. An indisputable fact. Kisses pepper your entire face before nuzzling into your neck.

You are his everything.

All the marks you’ve made on Shadow, he will display it with pride. It is no mystery whether or not The Ultimate Life Form is taken. Any one and everyone knows that his heart belongs to you.

Hormones do funny things to hedgehogs in love. Shadow is no exception.

[lizardkingeliot]

He had taken what he called un petit coup. The little drink. Not enough to kill me, but just enough to keep him fit. It takes an enormous amount of restraint for us, the little drink. For a human, experiencing it for the first time, it was... unsettling. And not for the physical toll on my body, which was significant, but for the feelings of intimacy it awoke within me.

[katszumi]

every room stood still. your kitten, katsuki insisted on naming 'skullcrusher', also didn't dare to move.

your head hung low, feeling the stuffy air sneak into your lungs. you glanced at the clock on your watch. 7:19. the usual time katsuki arrived at the doorstep.

normally, you'd rush to the door, showering your boyfriend with short pepper kisses on his face. but you remained on the velvet couch, the same couch you picked out when house shopping with katsuki.

a click sounded, indicating the door was recently unlocked. you harshly breathed in the same stuffy air, forcing yourself to swallow the panic that resided inside of you.

katsuki slugged through the door, immediately dropping his bag at the front door. his eyes met yours then to the kitchen, his face contorting slightly at the sight. it was empty?

"no food. what's up with you?" his words came off more formidable than he liked, especially when he knew something wasn’t right.

katsuki inched towards you, his eyebrows wearing an expression of its own. they were furrowed, his right eyebrow a little deeper than the other.

"katsuki," you started, breaking your words off.

he slightly cocked his head in confusion and worry. as he came closer, not only did he see your presence shaking alongside the couch, but he also saw two suitcases behind you that were clearly filled to the brim.

you watched how his eyes widened, how his teeth unclenched leaving his jaw to drop. his ruby irises instantly shot back towards you, scanning your face for any signs that you were playing a joke on him.

"what the fuck." the words leave his mouth too quick for him to register.

you swallowed nothing. "katsuki, we need to talk."

"talk?!" his mouth opened to continue yet no words seemed to come. oddly enough, for the first time, he was speechless.

"i-i need you to listen to me." you hated the fact that you stammered on your words.

"and then what?!" he paused, "you leave me?" katsuki's voice lowered in volume, a tone of angst leaked within his words.

you attempt to stand strong. you weren't even sure if this was the right choice now by looking at his wounded face.

slowly, you nodded.

"yes."

katsuki was expecting that. hell. who wouldn't when their girlfriend has two suitcases behind her? but hearing the words leave her mouth was entirely different. it was like a shot through his heart, the bullet penetrating every piece of restraint he had.

his head turned to the side. he was battling his thoughts; every fucked up thing he did occuring to his mind.

"is it because i left my bloody rag on the counter the night before? because if so, i promise to god, i will never do it again. i know how much you despise it." he went on his own plethora, his words and body language holding enormous amounts of panic.

"katsuki." you reinstated again. if he went on like this much longer, you were afraid you'd never have the strength again to walk out of the door.

"or because i yell too loudly at ungodly hours?" he ignored your words.

"katsuki." you repeated.

"i understand i'm not the easiest person. fuck. i'm even shocked i've gotten this far." he rambled, not caring about a word you have to say. he had to say something, do something, in order to convince you. bargaining with all of his strength. "what have i done? what do i need to fix?"

you reach for his hand, molding your hand to fit in his. you placed your open hand on top, soothing small circles into his skin.

"it's not you, katsuki."

katsuki's face fell. "then, why are you leaving me?"

"i can't live like this. i was not taught to be a housewife. to clean, cook, wait for your arrival every night at seven o'clock just to eat dinner with you." you shook your head. "i don't have a job or even a hobby! i am stuck within these walls everyday, the paparazzi at damn near every corner doesn't help either. i am exhausted being alone all day."

you could feel the sweat accumulate on katsuki's palms.

"i'll tell the media to back off. i swear to it. a-and, i know somebody who's looking for help with their business, i can set it u—"

"katsuki, i am miserable here!" you interrupted his words, slightly raising your voice. "i can't do it anymore! you are a pro-hero, dedicating your life to these people everyday. and what am i doing? making sure that your stomach is filled and that there's no stains on a countertop!"

katsuki was quiet, allowing the words to settle in. taking the moment of silence of advantage, you slipped your hands from his.

"you're a pro hero. you've made the ranks. you've accomplished everything you've hoped for." you sighed. "i just don't fit within your schedule."

katsuki remained silent, reality now kicking in for him. he bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the tears that were welling in his eyes.

"i'm sorry. i truly, really am. i just need to accomplish my own goals before it's too late."

katsuki's eyes fell to the ground, a very slow nod coming from him. he cleared his throat, also sniffling to remove the snot that was aching to run down his nose.

"where will you be staying?"

you echoed his action from earlier, turning your head sideways. you couldn't face him anymore after utterly destroying his heart.

"it's best if you don't know."

he paused. "right."

you spun on your heel to bend down behind you, grabbing your overly stuffed suitcases. you increased the height on the handles, slowly trudging them towards the door.

you couldn't believe that this was happening. it was a last minute decision. lying down in bed, realizing that if this continued, you'd be nothing more but a trophy wife that's made no true accomplishments on her own.

you were more than that. more than a cleaner and cook.

"i didn't accomplish everything." katsuki broke the silence.

you halted your steps, peering at him over your shoulder. you hoped he took the silence as permission to continue.

"i wanted to marry you. have a big ass wedding reception and drink until we could barely see anymore." he dryly chuckled. "maybe even have a few flowergirls of our own. that goal mattered more to me than any accomplishments i've made before in this life." your heart clenched at the fact.

tears covered your vision, your breathing starting to become sporadic.

"you can keep skullcrusher." you faced forward, grabbing the door handle. "i love you, kats. thank you for everything." your words trembled, tears uncontrollably streaming down your face.

as the door shut behind you, katsuki buried his face into his hands, and cried like a little boy in his now empty, silent home.

[ozzgin]

I really hope you continue the eldrich God story. I may or may not have become obsessed with the idea, and i think it's actually really funny and I also just love the idea of a God being in love with a human.

Also, I love your writing and art! I hope you're doing well!

Yandere! Eldritch God x Detective! Reader

Based on this prompt and this meme. You're sent to a remote island to investigate a string of murders, and end up with a horde of cultists and their Lovecraftian God who is very much obsessed with you. Don't worry, he just wants to help you with your case!

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, tentacle tomfoolery again

[More Monsters]

The island checks all the boxes for a stereotypical shady place: the grimy boat captain who talks in riddles and vague warnings, the constant fog, the tavern filled with rumors and fears, the bizarre statue of a creature with tentacles. You were expecting most of it, save for their patron God being a literal monster.

Soon after your arrival, you discover that you’re being followed by men in dark robes. Could it be related to your case? A little alcohol-aided interrogation, and the locals confess to you about the existence of a cult. The dots begin to connect.

Unfortunately for you, whatever theory is cooking up in your mind couldn’t be further from the truth. The patron Beast of the land has been watching you from the moment of your arrival. He’s rather intrigued by your nonchalant city attitude, your stubbornness, your lack of any sense of danger. Thus he demands that you’re brought to his lair.

A game of cat and mouse. You are now convinced this said cult is responsible for the murders, so you delve deeper into their secrets. At the same time, the men put all their efforts into chasing you down. The Lord's wishes are their command; for how long can you outsmart sheer numbers?

At last, they succeed. You’re dragged over, cocooned in thick rope. “My Lord, we’ve brought you the sacrifice”, one cultist proclaims victoriously. Sacrifice? The ancient creature gazes at the men with utmost confusion. He frees you from your restraints with a mere point of his tentacle appendage, and proceeds to lecture his devout following for treating his special guest with such shameful brutality. Everyone blinks in disbelief, you included.

What the hell is this, some beastly romcom? Once everything is cleared up, you dust your knees, stand up unceremoniously, and tell the cosmic deity you’ve no time for idle gossip. “There’s a criminal running free and it’s my task to stop it”, you bark. Aha, that’s the very same attitude that got his nebulous heart pumping with curious desire. He cannot explain the maddening interest he’s taken into you. The monster releases a monotonous hum, causing you to jolt in surprise. The cult leader gasps. “He…he wants to help you solve the case”, the man concludes, defeat in his voice.

“Does it have to be all of you?” You whine, clicking your tongue at the sight. It’s the morning after the godly encounter, and you’re greeted outside your room by the cult leaders and their monster. “I can’t be discreet with a dozen monks after me. Not to mention…” your eyebrows furrow. “What on Earth is he wearing? Is that a detective hat and a mustache? Are you mocking my job?” You demand, glaring at the eldritch beast and his ridiculous disguise.

“Excuse me, I’ll have to ask you to quiet down”, an employee suddenly interrupts. “You and the gentlemen over there.” You stare at him incredulously. Can he really not see he’s facing an enormous, tentacle monstrosity? You swear you can discern a grin forming across the creature’s amorphous, unholy features. Alright, you’ve been convinced. What now?

As a child, Sherlock Holmes was one of your favorite books. You'd flip through the pages and daydream about your own future as a detective, though your little fantasies never included Watson as a cursed entity of a thousand tentacles. The eldritch creature seems to be more interested in you than the case itself. Eyes always fixated on your movements, tendrils creeping around you, never leaving your proximity.

Why would he need to look elsewhere? He can already tell how things will unfold. He is, after all, the God of this land. He knew your wanted culprit had been hiding in a sealed room right under your nose, as you dusted for footprints and scribbled hurried notes. He knew the underground tunnel had deadly traps, which would have normally put your investigation to a swift end. "Kind of suspicious to leave his trail unguarded like this", you mumble in deep thought. The cosmic God smiles.

He wouldn't dare ruin your fun. Consequently, he only interferes when your safety is involved. As annoyed as he is by the criminal's persistent attempts to kill you, he doesn't want to steal your grand capture. Besides, he is very much content with the current circumstances.

As the two of you follow along the dark passageway, you clear your throat, lips pursed awkwardly. "Uh...Thank you for dealing with the obstacles", you finally say. The monster pretends to ponder your words. "Hey now, don't play dumb with me. The conveniently deactivated bombs? The mutilated guards clumsily stuffed behind the door? I am a detective, after all."

You feel a thick tendril wrapping around your arm, and you turn to glance at the creature. His eyes of spiraling depths regard you intensely. A voice suddenly echoes in your head; is he trying to communicate with you? Deep, resounding, and imposing. "I am looking forward to our next case."

"Next case? Sorry pal, I work alone-" your throat clenches involuntarily. Somehow, your innards are flooded with a particular kind of certainty, dictating an ironclad truth: you do not have the option to refuse. You sigh, exasperated. "Fine! Have it your way. At least skip the fake mustache", you beg, then pause. You slap a second tentacle that has made its way under your shirt. "And avoid groping me when I'm thinking. You interrupt the little gray cells at work." You tap your temple to prove your point, and the eldritch God bows lightly. Of course.

He'll refrain himself until you're off work, Detective.

[honeyryewhiskey]

it's just a stupid holiday

abt, dean takes his cupid to a valentine's gala, where a rogue angel has been preying on adulterers. you're just excited to be part of the chaos, and dean is trying desperately to keep his focus on the mission and not on his bubbly lovebird wrapped in a little red dress. what could possibly go wrong with this situation?  cw, grumpyxsunshine go on a fake date  ! dean practicing restraint ! and failing bc this stupid cupid is just so sweet ! fluff !  mentions of violence but no gruesome details, mdni, 18+  3.9k words

“i still don’t get why it has to be me doing this crap,” dean groans, shifting uncomfortably in his usual seat behind the impala’s wheel. his fingers drum against it as he scowls out the windshield.

sam, sitting to his right, doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers he’s reviewing. “because you’re better at the whole…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, “pretending-to-be-charming-with-women thing.”

dean snorts, tossing his brother a sideways glare. “gee, thanks, sammy. real boost to the ‘ol self-esteem.” he rolls his eyes and adjusts the rearview mirror—only to catch a glimpse of you in the backseat.

that stupid dress. that strappy, red, distracting dress. you’re busy fiddling with the silky hem, completely oblivious to the way it hugs you in all the right places.

dean clears his throat sharply. fidgeting with his suit tie, he forces his eyes back to the road. “hey, cupid,” he growls, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “remember, this is a job. we’re not going to this thing to drink champagne and play house. we’re hunting. focus.”

you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of their seat. a playful grin spreads across your lips as you reach out to pinch his cheek. “oh, dean, don’t you worry,” you assure, ignoring his quick swat at your hand. “i’ll be the best hunting partner ever. all business. no play.”

you deepen your voice, mimicking his usual gruff tone. “just like you.”

dean groans louder this time, and sam smirks faintly without looking up.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the plan for tonight? attend some high society valentine’s night gala as dean’s date, while sam kept watch of the perimeter. honestly all you really heard was sam and dean entrusting you to go undercover on a hunt with them—and you smiled so hard your cheeks ached (to which the brothers again started bickering about whether or not including you was a good idea). then they explained the holiday, humans practically worshipping cupids for a day, the excitement thrummed through you so hard you damn near passed out right there in the middle of the war room. 

sam and dean made it sound so straightforward, but as you walked into the venue—your arm looped through a stiff and uncomfortable dean’s—it became glaringly obvious this event would be anything but simple.  

red and pink heart shaped balloons spilled out from the entrance, framing a sleek red carpet scattered with rose petals that guided you into the heart of the party. the ballroom was enormous, yet nearly every inch of the room was drenched in lavish decor—flowers, jewels, endless shades of red and pink. a sizable crowd mingled beneath the dazzling display, their chatter blending harmoniously with the soft, elegant symphony flowing from the orchestra on stage. 

a small gasp left your painted lips as you took everything in, “this is incredible.”

dean, watching you carefully as your eyes darted from one dazzling detail to the next, murmured, “yeah, sure is.” his voice was barely audible in that soft tone. 

you peeled your gaze away from the galore, meeting his with that sugary sweet smile that makes his knees grow weak. “this is really all for cupids and love?” 

his brows cock as he considers your words, trying for once to not immediately destroy the innocence beaming from your eyes with his charmingly pessimistic perspective on, well, everything. “yeah,” he clears his throat, his arm slipped from yours, absentmindedly raising his hand to push the stray hairs that had fallen in your face, he hated when anything—anything at all—hid that view. “all of this exists because of what you lovebirds do to us.” 

you’ve gotten sharper in the weeks you’ve spent with the winchesters. picking up on what they call sarcasm and double meanings isn’t the easiest, but you’ve become so observant of dean you can almost feel it when he says one thing, and inside guards his true emotions. something in the way his face tightens, how deep of a breath he takes to release the stress, you’re not even sure if he’s aware of these tells but you know better than to clue him in on your cheat codes for decoding this ever-complicated man. 

dean sighs, slipping his hands into his dress pants as his eyes scanned the crowd, “alright little angel, let’s—”

you’re about ten feet away before he can finish his sentence, bee-lining to a side table overflowing with chocolate boxes, teddy bears, bouquets, flower-shaped ornaments, and so many little cherubs adorning nearly every item. 

a woman dressed in crisp black and white approached you with a polite smile, balancing a platter of dainty, bite-sized cakes. “please, help yourself to anything you’d like. mr. and mrs. nightingale donated all of these lovely trinkets for our guests.” 

“uh, we’re good on toys, thanks.” a gruff voice booms over your shoulder. dean snakes one arm around your waist as he reaches out with his free hand, swiping two mini cakes off the platter. the woman shot him a withering glare before turning away. 

“here.” he muttered, plopping one of the treats into your open palm, devouring the other in one bite. 

“but, dean,” you whine, dropping the cake onto the table and reaching for a plush brown bear sitting front and center. 

dean’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you snug against his chest. the sudden shift made you wobble on the cherry-red heels you’d only recently learned to walk in.

“nuh uh.” he hums, low and firm. “business, lovebird. focus.” 

your pouted lips and narrowed eyes meet his steady squint—a silent warning for you to cut it out. 

“fine.” you whimper, giving the bear one last wistful glance before turning reluctantly back to the crowd. “what are we doing again?” 

“trying to figure out who the next victim is, while sam watches for the angel.” leaning down so only you could hear. his breath on your ear sends little sockwaves down your spine, his tone low to avoid drawing attention from the nearby guests. “think your cupid crap can sniff out any cheaters in the crowd?” 

your brows knit as you try to focus your energy on observing with your angel vision. you can’t necessarily see or smell infidelity, but there are glittering strings that exist between connected humans and only a cupid is capable of detecting them. 

slowly, the ballroom came alive before your eyes, dozens of ribbons in gold, red, white, and silver weaving through the spaces between bodies. each color represents a distinct bond woven in fate. but the sheer number of people packed so tightly together made it difficult to pinpoint who belonged to what thread. the tangled web shifted and shimmered, overwhelming your senses as you struggled to unravel it. 

“i can’t smell infidelity,” you state plainly, your tone clipped as you strain to focus on the red strings in particular. a throbbing begins in your head, growing sharper with each passing second. “There’s red, but—”

the throbbing quickly escalates into a pounding ache, forcing you to release the energy of the room. your vision shifts back to that of a mortal’s as your hands instinctively clutch dean’s arm for support.

he reacts instantly, turning you to face him as his strong hands steady your swaying form at the waist. “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low but firm, concern flashing in those jade-green eyes as they search your face for an answer.

“i can’t, dean, i’m not really strong enough to read this many people,” your eyes find the floor, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze, “the energy, it just kinda pushes me out.” 

when cas left you with the brothers, he failed to mention that you were a bit of a heaven reject. a cupid with faulty powers—and the whole issue with you not always wanting to follow heavenly orders. cas saw something in you, at least, and you hoped that the winchesters would, too. 

“c’mere.” dean huffs, locking your fingers in his as he guides you down another hall. you step into a smaller room where a few people are scattered about on lavish couches and chairs. standing slightly behind you he places a reassuring hand on the small of your back he leans over your shoulder, “try it in here.”

with a nod you focus again, dean’s thumb rubs against your back soothingly, his other hand tightly wrapped over the top of yours as he watches you with care. again the room is dancing with ribbons, but the power isn’t nearly as overwhelming. “there’s a lot of gold in here.” you speak without looking away from the crowd, a smile finding your lips as you notice the elderly couples bound in glittering gold. 

“what’s that mean?” 

“purity turned everlasting.” you release his hand to face him, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you describe the phenomenon that makes you most excited to be a cupid, “they were fated with white strings, or bonds, to have something sweet between them, a simple fling or a good marriage. but it could have easily turned red and fragile from something like cheating, and it didn’t. these souls will probably find themselves in the same heaven, now, because of their commitment to the bond.”  

dean grins down at you, catching the way your excitement practically vibrates through your body. truthfully, it all sounded like a load of crap to him. but then there’s you—with that unbound energy, one he’s certain no one else—angel or human—could ever replicate. the way your infatuation with love seems so genuine, so pure, it softens parts of him that have been hardened for years, wound tightly in cynicism for the very thing you embody.

before he can stop himself, his mind drifts. he’s already considering leaving sam to handle the case on his own, just for one night, so he can watch you explore this world with that wide-eyed wonder. to see you smile up at him like that a little longer.

and maybe—just maybe—to catch a few more glimpses of you prancing around in that little dress, oblivious to the way it rides up your thighs when you move, or how your bouncing excitement causes… other things to bounce right along with you.

dean clenches his jaw, mentally reprimanding himself as he forces his gaze away from you. focus, winchester. focus.

“so, you’re saying we need to find red bonds or whatever,” he mutters, working to keep his voice steady. “but you can’t see ’em with all those people in there.”

you nod, watching him closely as he weighs his options.

“uh-huh,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess that means we’ll have to chat up some of the drunk old birds with loose lips.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

dean’s plan worked. after about an hour of mingling with the party guests, the two of you find yourselves on the edge of the crowd, watching a middle-aged married couple whom numerous women had whispered about. rumors swirled of the wife and her tennis coach, the husband and his secretary—long trips taken without the other, late nights at the office. all the signs of mutual betrayal.

the exact kind of relationship the rogue angel has been targeting. 

“classic,” dean mutters, eyes narrowing as he observes the couple, now mingling on opposite ends of the room. his stance is tall and stiff, locked in hunter mode.

you tilt your head, less focused on the case and more on the glittering display of treats and trinkets catching your eye a few tables away. a quick glance confirms dean is too busy scowling at the couple to notice you quietly slip off.

the desserts are as extravagant as the rest of the party, each treat adorned with ribbons and delicate designs. A small card catches your attention: cordial cherries. intrigued, you pop one into your mouth. the sugary red juice takes you by surprise, spilling down your chin and all over your fingertips. 

the flavor is sweet against your tongue, the chewy red center tart in contrast. you reach for another, taking it whole, and another for good measure, needing more of that sugary taste. you hadn’t heard dean approach, closing in on you with a confused scowl etched into his brows.

“love,” dean’s gruff voice startles you, his hand suddenly grasping your sticky chin to turn your face towards his, “you’re making a mess.”

embarrassed, you freeze, cheeks flushed as you glance up at him with cherry-stained lips. dean’s eyes darken slightly, flicking down to your mouth as he brushes his thumb along your sticky chin. without a second thought, he sucks the sugary residue off his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. 

a strange, warm sensation blooms in your chest—and lower—making your eyes widen in surprise. that was a new feeling, and something about dean’s expression told you now probably wasn’t the time to ask him about it. 

dean looks over his shoulder toward the couple again, his expression unreadable. looking back to you, he sighs. “bathroom,” he nods to the corner, “now.” he orders, his voice a little rougher than usual. 

You pout but follow him obediently, weaving through the crowd until you slip into the lavishly decorated restroom. Dean locks the door behind you, the click of the latch oddly loud in the quiet space. In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection—smudged lipstick, syrupy streaks trailing down your chin, and little splotches on the swell of your breasts.

without a word dean is behind you, in the reflection his face is blank, barely hiding his agitation. he spins you to face him, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. his hands find your hips and in one motion you’re seated on top of the porcelain space between the sinks. 

“���m sorry, dean.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in lap, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he grunts a ‘mhm’ in response, making that warmth in your center morph into a ball of anxiety. the feeling you usually get after doing something terribly wrong, and dean gets that familiar scowl and grumpy tone. 

like he is now, except he usually isn’t this quiet. 

he comes back to you with a handful of wet paper towels. his eyes are focused on your lips as he wipes away the lipstick and sticky sugar. 

“stop pouting like that.” he grumbles, folding the paper before dragging it down your chin. his hand stops, eyes flicking between your chest and eyes for a moment before he’s handing the paper over to you, “you can get the rest.” 

as you dab at the mess on your chest, the silence stretches between you, weighted by unspoken thoughts. your mind drifts back to the couple in the ballroom, their entwined red strings sullied by betrayal.

“why do they do that?” you ask softly, breaking the quiet, “that couple, why do they do that to each other?” 

dean shrugs, standing between your legs with his arms crossed. “just what people do, lovebird. it’s not something i can really explain. everyone makes choices for their own reasons, hell, they probably don’t even know why they do that to each other.” 

you nod, mulling over his words. “i wouldn’t make those choices,” you say after a moment. “if I could be human, i wouldn’t waste it. What they have… it’s a gift.”

dean chuckles dryly, “and somehow i believe you, little angel. but being human isn’t all kittens and rainbows, mortality sucks. our emotions suck. and making the right choices, it—it’s hard.” 

“but you get to feel,” you say, your voice softening. “you get to fall in love. those emotions are what make humans so… special. sometimes i wish i could feel that.” you pause, suddenly shy. “maybe that’s why I’m not a very good cupid. i get too distracted by all these questions.”

Dean’s gaze softens, his arms uncrossing, planting his strong hands on either side of you, leaning closer. “You’re not a bad cupid,” he says gruffly, fighting with himself to sound more gentle than usual. “you care, a whole lot. if it were up to me, i’d say that’s not a bad thing.”

before you can respond, the ring of dean’s phone echos in the room, shattering the tension. he pulls away to retrieve it out of his pocket, scowling at the screen. “sam says the angel’s outside. we need to move.”

his hand finds yours, instinctively, tugging you out of the room and through the crowd. dean is locked into hunter mode again, his entire body on high alert as he’s practically dragging you across the ballroom.  

reaching the furthest wall, large windows give view to an expansive flower garden shimmering under the moonlight. a rather beautiful sight, where each bush is perfectly trimmed to line the weaving cobblestone paths. dean pauses at the door, looking back at you with a look that makes you wonder if he’s about to be sick.

before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s dropping your clasped hands, “just—stay in here. keep watch of the people while sam and i handle this.” 

“what?” you begin, flustered. sam and dean had spent days prepping you for whatever might happen. you learned how to actually use your own angel blade, the one you only carried around because it was an order but had never intended on using. dean taught you how to shoot his guns, and despite your distaste for their sharp sounds and harsh rebound—you sucked it up because the boys were trusting you. “no! i’m in this, too, remember? i can help—”

“no.” his voice is stern, his mind already made. he was giving you that look again, that made you feel like a helpless baby. it was comforting when it got him to ease up on you for little mistakes, but right now it was annoying. irritating, because you finally felt like you’d get to prove your worth with this hunt. 

“dean—” you start, but the door swings shut behind him before you can finish. with an exasperated groan, you rush to a near by window, heart pounding as you watch him dart down the shadowed path. 

the moment he’s out of sight, a sick twist of nerves coils in your stomach. seconds stretch into centuries, a burning lump rising in your throat as your imagination runs wild. then, movement catches your eye in the darkness.

dean’s body flies through the air, crashing hard into the ground like a ragdoll. 

your breath stutters. you’ve never witnessed a hunt before—not firsthand—but you’ve seen the aftermath. bruises, cuts, even broken bones you’d healed despite dean’s gruff protests against your divine touch helping him.

he struggles back to his feet, but he’s too slow. the angel—a tall, imposing figure in a crisp suit—stalks towards him with eerie precision, circling like a predator toying with its prey. from your vantage point, the angel’s back is turned to you. that’s all the opening you need.

without thinking, you dart for the door. the cool night air sends goosebumps rippling over your skin, the chill mixing with the nervous heat burning inside you. you catch sam out of the corner of your eye, lying on the ground further up the path and groggily coming back to consciousness as he sits up. 

stopping short, you kick off one of your cherry-red heels, gripping it tightly in your hand. it may not be a bow, but you’re still an archer—and this will have to do. with a flick of your wrist, you send the stiletto flying through the air.

the heel collides sharply with the back of the angel’s head. he stumbles slightly before spinning around, fury etched into his face as his silver blade flashes in the moonlight.

fear floods your system, making your knees weak. you’re not sure if it’s bravery or recklessness keeping you standing as he charges towards you. but your distraction is enough.

dean is on his feet again, blade in hand. with one swift motion, he drives it deep into the angel’s neck. the being’s body flickers with light before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

for a moment, everything is still. to stand frozen, gawking at the scene before you as dean slowly staggers back, panting heavily. when his eyes find yours, they’re sharp with anger. with a huff he’s crossing the grass towards you, that grumpy scowl having taken over his pretty features. 

“dean, i—i’m sorry, but—”

he closes the distance in two long strides, hands cupping either side of your face. the firmness in his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. before you can say anything more, he gently tugs, pressing two rough kisses to your forehead.

you blink up at him, your thoughts a buzzing, tangled mess. 

“save it, lovebird. i know.” he sighs, dropping his hands. his voice is gruff but softer than you expect, his relief shining through the cracks of his frustration. “just never do that again.” 

sam slowly approaches, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek. his expression wavers between amused and impressed. “nice shot, cupid. i told dean you’d come through.”

“shut it, sammy.” dean snaps back, his scowl deepening as he glances over his shoulder at the angel’s body. “let’s get rid of the angel’s body and get the hell out of here.” 

you bite back a sheepish grin, slipping your remaining shoe off to follow behind the brothers. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

back at the bunker…

you had tried, several times, to get out of the stupid red dress. the thin straps came loose from your shoulders easily enough. but the damn zipper in the back was just out of your reach, no matter how you twisted or stretched, it remained out of grasp. the nice lady at the dress shop who helped you get into the damn thing, wasn’t around to get you out of it. 

with an annoyed huff, you padded barefoot out of your room and down the hall, the hem of the dress swishing faintly with every step. you stopped in front of dean’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. 

there was a pause, followed by a muffled shuffling sound. the door swung open, dean took up most of the door frame clad in an old band shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from sleep and his expression distinctly unimpressed.

“what?” he grumbles, voice rough and gravelly, clearly annoyed at having been woken up. 

“i need help,” you whine, turning your back to him and gesturing over your shoulder. “i can’t get to the stupid zipper.”

he let out a long-suffering sigh, but his rough finger tips brush against your skin as he grips the top of your dress in one hand and tugged the zipper down with the other. 

you’re not really used to wearing dresses, and you’re too tired to think about how, y’know, gravity works. 

the silky red material drops to the floor, pooling over your feet. “oh.” you mumbled, looking down at the discarded dress. 

“jesus,” dean muttered, his voice strained. when you looked back at him, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together as if trying to keep a lid on something. 

a wicked giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “thanks, dean!” you chirp, abandoning the dress on the floor and darting down the hall in nothing but your pink underwear. 

the sound of his exasperated cursing followed you, echoing against the hall as your laughter trailed behind. 

[comicaurora]

hi red!! i'm doing an analysis of sun wukong's (and journey to the west in general's) impact on modern culture for my world mythology final, and for some reason i'm having a hard time finding sources. is there anything you can recommend?

The fact that Journey to the West has contributed an enormous number of tropes to modern media is very clear when the media in question is examined, but I don't know of a specific secondary source that's already done that analysis for you. However, this IS a very good excuse for you to plow through a metric buttload of shonen manga, since the lineage is basically Sun Wukong -> Son Goku -> like a solid third of all shonen action heroes written in the last forty years.

Dragon Ball kicks things off:

Started in 1984 and almost unquestionably the most influential manga ever made. Its first arc features the weird super-strong monkey-kid Son Goku - which is just the japanese pronunciation of the characters of Sun Wukong's name - meeting up with a wacky crew of thinly-veiled expys of the Journey to the West crew, with teen inventor Bulma filling the role of Tripitaka, Oolong the pig-man filling Zhu Bajie's role and Yamcha the desert-based bandit as Sha Wujing.

Hijinks ensue, and while the story drifts pretty far from Journey to the West's original plot, it actually stays pretty solidly referential in weirdly unexpected ways. Several the villains of the week are JttW references, and even the later appearance of three more Saiyans lines up with the surprise reveal of three more Wukong-like mystical apes in the original story.

The connection between Dragon Ball and JttW is very unsubtle and a frequent reference in the chapter covers and supplemental art.

Not every subsequent JttW reference is the result of Dragon Ball popularizing it or anything, since it was already enormously popular, but I think it's pretty hard to extricate Dragon Ball's influence on anime and manga from the original influence of Journey to the West itself.

One way that a distinction can be drawn is in the differences in characterization between Goku and Sun Wukong himself. A lot of the next generation of shonen protagonists were kind of Goku-alikes - pure-hearted dumbasses who only care for the three Fs: Food, Fighting and Friendship.

But the original characterization of Sun Wukong is not really all that similar. He's a trickster, sure, but he's far from a young, friendship-motivated goober. He's profoundly intelligent, pretty much the most well-educated entity on the planet, and routinely brings up that he's centuries older than most of his peers. The Goku-alikes from the later decades of shonen anime are tellingly far-removed from that original characterization. So you get characters based on Goku's cheerful idiocy, but it's just a small subset of the broader influence of Journey to the West on the space of literature.

In general, Journey to the West frequently shows up in very small, bite-sized tropes in other stories. It's less "this is wholly based on Journey to the West" and more "oh, I know where they maybe got this idea/aesthetic/power/weapon/villain of the week from." There are way too many to list, but some of the ones that tend to jump out at me are-

Sneaky characters with monkey motifs:

Tricksy, highly mobile characters who fight with a staff:

Characters afflicted with a magical restraint artifact that allows a much weaker character to stop them from misbehaving:

Specific esoteric weapons, eg. magical fans, rakes, gourds, namedropping The Sword of Seven Stars, etc.

Villains with prominent ox or pig design motifs:

Characters whose primary combat strat is just making Shitloads Of Disposable Copies Of Themselves:

Honestly it just keeps going like this. It's kinda everywhere. Finding the JttW in things is my favorite conspiracy theory rabbit hole because it's 100% harmless and more often than not completely correct.

[jayybugg]

dreams come true

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Mattheo can't resist each other and have some fun in a tattoo shop.

Warning: Tattoo Artist AU!Mattheo, Dirty talk, Takes place AFTER Hogwarts, Smut (18+), No use of Y/N.

Note: I'm embarrassed to admit how long it took me to write this but personal Tumblr friends know this was a long time coming. Based on feral thoughts from @finalgirllx tattoo Mattheo edits (Please go check them out if you haven't). @cafekitsune for the banners as always! Hope you enjoy!

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, looking up from his drawing station when the bell of the shop’s door rang. It didn’t take long for him to recognize you. A grin spread across his face.

“Back already, Love?” Mattheo’s sultry voice asked, pulling your attention to him. You tilted your head, a smile curving into your lips. “Missed me, Riddle?” You leaned over his drawing station, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

Mattheo kept his eyes trained on your face. He knew if his eyes wondered, they would go straight to your chest. As much as he loved to flirt with you and found you insanely gorgeous, you were still a client and he needed to be professional.

“More than you know, Princess.” Mattheo stood up, walking around the table to tower over you. “What are you here for now?”

Mattheo had tattooed you last month, so he was shocked that you were already back for another one. You looked up at Mattheo through your lashes, “I have a new tattoo idea.”

“Well, spill the beans.” He leaned against the table, focusing on you. He crossed his arms across his chest, unintentionally flexing his muscles while showing off his ink-covered arms. You wet your lips, dragging your eyes from his arms to his eyes. “A dragon.” You said.

“A dragon?” Mattheo asked, looking at you curiously. You nodded quickly, “Yeah. Specifically, a Hebridean Black dragon, but more colorful.”

Mattheo smirked, walking back around the table, retaking his seat. He picked up his pencil to start a sketch. “I’m assuming you’re picking the Hebridean for its enormous size. This will be a large tattoo, huh?” He asked, eyes focused on the paper in front of him.

“You know me so well, Riddle.” You laughed, “Yes, this will be a large tattoo. I want it to wrap around my whole thigh, the head starting on my hip and the tail ending around the knee area.”

Mattheo nodded slowly, looking at you. “Those are sensitive areas, Princess. Are you sure?”

He knew you would be fine with the areas. He had already tatted your spine, leg, ankle, sternum, and side boob. He was the one who wouldn’t be okay. Mattheo was using every ounce of restraint to stop himself from simply bending you over one of these tables and taking you there.

“Of course, I’ll be okay.” You raised your eyebrow. “Who do you think I am? Some rookie?”

Mattheo chuckled at the question. “Fine. You got it, Princess. You can hang out in my station while I get it drawn up and printed.”

You smiled at him, walking into the familiar room. All the ink and equipment were neatly placed and clean. You sat on the tattoo bench, leaning back as you waited for Mattheo to join you in the room. He didn’t leave you waiting for long. Mattheo entered the room with the printed-out stencil and a pair of smooth, black rubber gloves.

“I forgot to bring a change of pants.” You said, slightly embarrassed, “This was a kind of impulsive decision.”

Mattheo stared at you before shrugging. “I’m comfortable if you just want to do it in your underwear, Princess.”

You smiled, standing up and peeling your jeans off. Mattheo turned on his heels fast to face the wall. His eyes trained on the ceiling as he took a deep breath. You laid back on the table, looking over at him. “I’m ready, Matty.”

Mattheo nodded, clearing his throat. He slid his gloves on as he watched you shift around on the bench in just your underwear and top. He held back his groan and pulled up his chair. He prayed to Merlin that he would make it out of this session with a piece of his dignity.

The beginning of the session was easy. Mattheo focused on the designs while he listened to you rant about how hard school was. It wasn’t until he got to the inner part of your thigh that it got difficult.

To have precise lines on your tattoo, you had to spread your legs with Mattheo nestled in the middle of them. He gripped your thigh, keeping the skin stretched as he worked. He couldn’t focus on what you were talking about or what he was even tattooing. He thanked Merlin for his motor skills because if he was still a rookie, this would end with a lawsuit.

You couldn’t help but notice Mattheo’s heavy breathing so close to your core. It was making you wetter than you ever expected it to. Of course, you were attracted to Mattheo, and with him so close but so far away from fulfilling your fantasies, it was killing you.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as you couldn’t keep your voice leveled anymore and Mattheo kept his mouth closed and his eyes focused on the tattoo. After a few more hours, Mattheo finally finished your tattoo and looked at you proudly.

“It looks good, Princess. I would have never thought to do this if you hadn’t asked.” Mattheo observed it, “I ran out of wrap, so I need to run over to the store to get some. Just give me like 10 minutes, okay?”

You nodded, smiling at him. “Of course, I’ll be here.”

Mattheo winked at you before leaving the shop, locking the door behind him so no one just walked in and scared you. You let out a breath of relief, your hand traveling to your underwear. You hooked your finger around the cloth, pulling it to the side and letting another finger tease your folds. You were soaked.

“How the fuck am I this wet? He didn’t even do anything.” You mutter to yourself. You glanced around the room, sighing softly before dipping two fingers into yourself.

It was probably a terrible idea to finger yourself in Mattheo’s shop and on his tattoo bench, but your desire was stronger than your common sense at that moment.

“F-fuck…” You moaned, keeping up the pace, “Shit, Mattheo.”

You kept going, wanting to reach your climax before Mattheo got back. You picked up the pace of your fingers, now slamming them into yourself. Your moans were loud, and your thoughts were so clouded that all your awareness was thrown out the window.

With your eyes screwed shut, head thrown back, and fingers still buried deep in your pussy, you reached your orgasm. You let out a deep breath of relief as you finished.

“That was a nice show to come back to, Princess.”

You jumped to cover yourself, and widened your eyes, looking at the door where Mattheo leaned against the frame. He had his arms crossed, his muscles flexing and his tattoos moving. Your jaw slacked open as you tried to find any excuse for what he had seen.

“I…. Mattheo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…. I wasn’t….”

Mattheo sat the wrap down on the table, walking over to you with a smirk plastered on his face. He placed a hand on your leg, moving them apart slowly. You looked between him and his hand, pulling your lip between your teeth.

He bent down to lie between your fully spread legs, groaning at the wetness that he was met with. “Fuck, you wanted me this bad, Princess?”

He took a finger, rubbing it over your clit, adding a small amount of pressure. You let out a whimper, gripping the sides of the bench. “Mattheo….”

“I’ve been wanting to see this pretty pussy for so long. Wanting to hear you moan my name since I’ve heard that beautiful voice of yours.” He looked up at you. “And now you’ve soaked my bench just thinking about me?”

“I didn’t mean to……I just…You were so close that I got turned on.” You whispered, letting out a moan as he dipped his finger into you, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace.

“I’m not mad, Princess.” He kissed your thigh. “I want to hear it again.”

Mattheo dipped his head down, sucking your clit into his mouth as he added another finger inside of you, picking up the pace. Your hands flew to his curls, tangling your hands into them, tugging slightly. Mattheo groaned softly at that, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

“Fuck, Matty, Oh my Gods.” You whimpered out. He slid his fingers out and hooked his hand around your thighs, being careful of your tattoo. Pulling you close, he flicked his tongue up and down your clit, letting it occasionally slip into you. You bucked your hips as you felt another orgasm coming. “Matty, I’m about to, fuck, I’m about to cum.”

“Good. Be a good girl for me and cum all over my tongue, Princess.”

You let out a breathy moan, bucking your hips up to grind out your climax on Mattheo’s face. Mattheo chuckled. Standing up, he sunk his fingers into his mouth and sucked your juices off his finger.

“Sweet.” Mattheo smirked at you, “Now c’mere.”

He grabbed the wrap off the table, effectively wrapping your tattoo before pulling you off the bench and to the floor so you were on your knees in front of him. You stared up at him, your eyes wide as your hands trailed up his legs and over the growing bulge in his pants. “Go ahead, pretty girl.” Mattheo’s voice came out soft and demanding. Your fingers fumbled with his belt and zipper, eventually popping open to allow you to tug them down.

Mattheo smirk, moving your hands gently and tugging his boxers and pants down quicker, stepping out of them. He let out a small grunt as he pumped himself slowly, precum already dripping from his tip. He reached his hand out, weaving it into your hair and gripping it from the roots as he pulled your head back. Your mouth fell open, in shock and want, causing Mattheo to smirk down at you. “Look at you, such a needy slut. You want my cock that bad?”

“Yes,” You whined softly, squeezing your legs together, “Please, I want it.”

Mattheo stepped closer to you, causing you to widen your legs a bit. “Don’t go trying to pleasure yourself, Princess. Wait for your turn. Now, open your mouth.” You followed his directions quickly, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.

Mattheo groaned at the sight of you being so obedient to him. He slapped his cock against your tongue before pushing his hips forward and jutting his cock into the warmth of your mouth. His body shivered at the moan you released from just having him in your mouth. “This is what you wanted, huh? For me to face fuck you in my shop? Am I making all those dirty little fantasies come true?”

Mattheo moved his hips at a faster pace, slamming in and out of your throat. Your eyes welled up with tears as saliva trailed down your chin and chest. Your mind was dazed as your core got hotter and hotter from the rough actions. Mattheo’s moans were enough to keep you riled up. “You look so fucking pretty, Princess. Choking on my dick, eyes filled with tears from pleasuring me. Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.”

Your heart leaped at the praises. To make Mattheo feel good and use you in whichever way he wanted is what you desired this entire time. Your endless wet dreams and daydream fantasies were a reality. You felt Mattheo’s thrusts get sloppier and more reckless as he let out a string of curses. “I’m about to cum. I’m going to cum in this slutty fucking mouth of yours.”

He pulled your head closer to him as he released deep down your throat, ensuring that you didn’t waste a drop. He groaned softly, pulling out of your mouth to let you relax. He leaned over, grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. He gently wiped your tears and pulled you in to meet his lips. The kiss was passionate and feverish as he slipped his tongue past your lips. You moaned into it as you stood up, not breaking the kiss.

Mattheo kept one hand on your jaw as he wrapped his arm around your body to roughly palm your ass. He walked you backwards to the tattoo bench, causing you to instinctively jump up on it. Mattheo pulled only an inch away from your lips, mumbling softly to you, “You better stop me now, Princess. If this is something you don’t want….”

“I want it. I want it so bad, Matty. It’s all I’ve thought about since I’ve met you.” You reassure him, your hand reaching down to jerk him off slowly. “I want you. I need you, Mattheo.”

“Fuck, Princess.” Mattheo groaned, kissing you deeply before pushing you on your back and positioning you on the edge of the bench. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and wrapped the other one around his waist. Grabbing the shaft of his dick, he teased your folds before pushing his tip into you.

Whimpers fell from your mouth as Mattheo teased you with just his tip. “Matty…. please….”

“You’re so fucking hot when you beg for me.” Mattheo said, sinking into you. He groaned at the warmth and tightness. “So, fucking warm, Princess. Tell me when to go, baby.”

“G-go…. You can go.” You moaned, gripping the side of the bench. Mattheo didn’t waste time to thrust. His slow thrusts didn’t last long because, within seconds, he was pounding into you. Your moans drowned the creaks of the tattoo bench out. “Fuck, Mattheo, feels s’good.” You babbled; your eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

“You’re taking me so fucking well, Princess. Such a good fucking slut, letting me rail you on my tattoo bench.” Mattheo groaned, his hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boobs. “My pretty little slut, aren’t you?”

The touching, the thrusting, and the dirty talk were making your mind fuzzy. Pleasure taking over your body was making it impossible for your mind to string together any type of words. “I asked you a question, Princess, answer me,” Mattheo grunted, taking his hand from under your shirt and moving it to wrap around your throat while leaning forward to plunge deeper into you. You mewled at the feeling, your hand gripping his sides and clawing up his back.

“Y-yes! I’m…. I’m your p-pretty little slut.” You finally pushed out, “Fuck, Mattheo.”

Mattheo left wet kisses down your neck to your collarbone. “I’ve been wanting this for so long. To hear your pretty voice moan my name, to hear you beg for me to fuck you. You’re a fucking dream come true.”

Mattheo moved his hand from your neck to your clit, rubbing it as he continued to fuck you. You whimpered at the overstimulation. “I want you to cum all over my dick, Princess. Make a mess all over me and my tattoo bench.”

You moaned, feeling the growing knot in your stomach as you got closer to your climax. One more thrust from Mattheo had you whining and your legs shaking. Tears pricked your eyes once more as Mattheo kept thrusting and rubbing your clit. “I can’t- I can’t take no more, Matty.” You whined, looking up at him.

“Yes, you can. You can take more until I cum, baby girl. I’m almost there, I’m going to cum in this pretty pussy.” Mattheo said, “Gonna let me breed you, Princess? Fill you up with my seed?”

“Yes, please, cum in me. I want it, I want it so bad.” You babbled.

“Good fucking girl,” Mattheo mumbled, groaning as his thrusts became more erratic. He slammed into you once more, burying himself deep into you as he came in you. He pulled out slowly, grabbing your arm and pulling you up into his chest. “That was amazing, Princess. You’re amazing.” He whispered into your ear.

“Thank you.” You felt a blush rush to your face. “Guess I should go pay now, huh?”

Mattheo chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You think you’re paying after all that?”

“It’s only right that I pay you for your work.” You said, your eyes meeting his.

“Trust me, Princess, you’ve paid me with something way more valuable than money.” Mattheo smirked. “And now that’s all I want. I’ll tattoo anything on you for it.”

You blushed, laughing at him. Your heart raced at all the future possibilities with Mattheo.

Today was truly a dream come true.

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - XIII

Chapter XIII: Ruthlessness

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader . Warnings: violence, kind of graphic depictions of death . Notes: You can blame/thank the quotev audience for making me write a very specific moment (you'll understand), they've been asking for it for a while. Jk I don't blame them.

Previous chapter │ Next chapter

Masterlist

The only sound that cut through the unbearable silence of the crew was the rhythmic crashing of waves against the ships, the water churning violently around the jagged rocks looming before you. It was as if the sea itself had a pulse, a living, breathing entity filled with rage—its surface moving with the twitching agitation of a cat’s tail when provoked.

For a fleeting moment, you clung to the fragile hope that the voice you'd just heard had been a trick of your disoriented mind, a hallucination caused by the haze of just waking up. But that hope was shattered the instant an enormous hand tore through the water’s surface with no warning. The hand rested atop the sea as if it were solid ground, the only indication of the water’s true nature being the ripples it sent out, making the ships rock violently beneath you. You stumbled, barely catching yourself as a second hand emerged, followed swiftly by the rest of the towering figure.

The being heaved itself above the waterline, using its arms to drag its colossal body into view—though only up to its waist. Its face was hidden behind thick curtains of what looked like soaking-wet hair, but at the same time, it seemed like the very waves themselves clung to its head, cascading down in long, unbroken streams. Or was it water taking the form of hair? You couldn't tell. It flowed seamlessly into the ocean beneath him, blurring the boundary between hair and sea.

Not like you needed to see his face to know who he was.

The entire fleet did.

The Earthshaker.

The god of tides and the sea.

Poseidon.

Straightening his towering form, he pulled his head back and swept a hand through his drenched locks, pulling them away from his face. The water seemed to vanish the moment his fingers passed through, as though simply touching it commanded it away. His hair drifted behind him in fluid motion, mirroring the waves beneath him, following their rhythm as if they too bent to his will.

His gaze swept over the fleet with a slow, deliberate lack of amusement, scanning each and every one of you like he was deciding if you were even worth his wrath.

Everyone held their breath.

Then, in a voice as deep and vast as the ocean itself, he spoke. “In all my years of living, it isn’t very often that I lose my temper. I try to go with the waves… But you have crossed the line.” His tone remained composed, eerily so, as if he wanted you to believe he was still in control of his rage. But even you—a mere mortal—could feel the storm simmering beneath his skin.

You found his claim difficult to believe. Poseidon? Not easily angered? But you swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your mouth shut.

“I’ve been so gracious.” That facade of restraint snapped. In an instant, he lunged forward, closing the distance between himself and your ship with terrifying speed. His massive form bent forward, his face now inches away from the ship’s bow, looming directly over your brother. Odysseus stood at the tip of the deck, frozen.

You all flinched at the god’s sudden movement. That made Poseidon smile. “And yet, you hurt the son of mine.”

A sickening realization settled over you, sinking like lead into your gut. From the horrified glances of your fellow crewmates, you knew they had reached the same conclusion.

Oh. Oh, no.

What had you gotten yourselves into?

“That’s right,” Poseidon continued, relishing the fear on your faces. “The cyclops you made blind is mine.”

Your blood ran cold.

He was enjoying this. He was toying with you all, drinking in the panic tightening in your chests. And yet, beneath that amusement, he was fuming.

Your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears that you barely registered the faintest breath of a word from Odysseus. “No…” It was barely a whisper. A useless denial.

Poseidon straightened once more, his colossal form rising like a tidal wave ready to crash down. “I’m left without a choice, and without a doubt.”

The sea churned violently at his command. The waters around the fleet began to swirl, the currents tightening in a deadly spiral, sending the ships into chaos. You all scrambled to hold your footing, gripping the rails, trying desperately to keep control of the ship before it capsized. The wooden hull groaned in protest as waves battered against it, the sheer force threatening to tear it apart.

And all the while, Poseidon watched with disdain.

“Looks like the pack of wolves is swimming with the shark now. I can’t let you go just like that. I have to make you bleed, I need to see you drown. I’ll make you learn how ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.”

Without warning, Poseidon’s massive hand slammed down on your ship’s front, stopping it dead in the water. The force sent you all stumbling forward, barely catching yourselves.

“You are the worst kind of good, because you are not even great!”

And then, he began to shrink. Taking on a smaller, more ‘human-like’ form. You’d think that taking on a smaller form would make one be less terrified of him, make him seem like less of a threat but you’d be wrong, it was just as terrifying. He moved with unnatural ease, stepping onto the ship in one swift motion. The air itself seemed to tense as he approached, his presence suffocating. He crept forward, closing in on Odysseus.

“A Greek who reeks of false righteousness.” Poseidon sneered. “That’s what I hate!” Then, at the last word, with a sudden movement too fast to react to, his hand shot out and closed around Odysseus’ throat.

The force of it knocked the air from his lungs instantly. His fingers clawed at Poseidon’s grip, legs kicking uselessly beneath him as he was hoisted into the air. Even in his smaller form, the god still towered over all of you, holding Odysseus at eye level as he struggled.

“You fight to save lives, but won’t kill, and don’t get the job done.”

Odysseus’ strangled gasps filled the air as his body fought against the crushing force at his throat. His limbs trembled from the strain, his knuckles white from how hard he gripped at Poseidon’s wrist. His face was turning red, veins bulging from the effort of trying—and failing—to pry himself free.

“If you had just killed my son, none of this would be happening.” Poseidon’s tone shifted. Mocking. “But no.” He rolled his eyes, the contempt in his expression unmistakable.

Poseidon slammed his face against the nearest mast with brutal force. Before he could even compose himself, the god wrenched him back and smashed the other side of his head against the ship’s railing. No mercy. No hesitation. Just cold, unrelenting wrath.

You stumbled back, bumping into Eurylochus. “We need to do something,” You whispered urgently.

“He’s a god—there’s nothing we can do,” He muttered back.

“We can’t just let him manhandle hi—”

“Oh?” A chill crawled down your spine. You hadn’t noticed the god’s attention now fixed directly on you. “What do we have here?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You should have kept your mouth shut.

The moment his eyes locked onto yours, the air in your lungs seemed to vanish. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t move, you almost went to plead your case but remembered this was a god, one wrong move and you’d be dead.

Poseidon’s grip on Odysseus loosened, letting him crumple to the deck, coughing violently as he gasped for air. His eyes were watering, his face twisted in pain. But you couldn’t focus on him. Because Poseidon was walking toward you.

Each step was slow, deliberate. Not a single soul on the deck dared to move or even breathe.

He stopped right in front of you.

His presence engulfed you entirely, his towering form casting a shadow over your own. His breath was cool against your skin—not warm like a human’s, but crisp, like the biting chill of the ocean depths. He radiated a cold, suffocating power, the kind that made your bones feel like ice.

Then he tilted his head, examining you like you were some fascinating little thing he had just discovered.

“Oh, do go on…” He murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Don’t let me interrupt your little chat.”

His smile stretched wider, otherworldly, but not in a good way, his teeth were visible, sharp as a piranha’s or a shark’s, yes, a shark’s seemed more appropriate.

“Oh? Nothing to say anymore? Or is the little wolf all bark and no bite?”

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away. But your body betrayed you. Instinct took over, and your gaze flickered downward for just a second.

A mistake.

Before you could react, his fingers clamped around your jaw.

His grip was rough, his fingers digging into your skin with a cold, unnatural strength. It wasn’t just firm—it was commanding, like he was holding something fragile, something beneath him. His palm was damp, like seafoam lingering against your flesh, and yet the pressure he applied made it feel as solid as iron.

"Look at me when I’m speaking to you."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the thick, suffocating air like a dagger.

You tried to fight against the instinctual urge to turn away again, but his grip tightened, forcing your chin up so that your eyes locked onto his.

Dark pools of blue and black swirled within his irises, shifting like the endless tides, stormy and unfathomable. And beneath it all, glimmers of gold shimmered like sunlight breaking through a violent sea.

They were beautiful.

They were terrifying.

Your breath hitched. You were drowning, yet your feet were still on solid ground.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows raising in mock expectation.

“So? What did you say?”

Your pulse pounded against your ribs. Your mouth felt dry, like all the moisture in your body had been stolen by the ocean itself.

Every muscle in your body screamed at you to stay silent. To not provoke him.

But you knew silence wasn’t an option.

Swallowing hard, you forced out a response—your voice barely above a whisper, but steady enough to hold the small bit of decency you had left.

Poseidon’s smirk widened, his teeth flashing like the sharp edge of a harpoon. And he let out a roaring laugh that tore through the vast sea.

“Good girl.” The words slithered from his lips, rich with satisfaction, his tone dripping with something almost condescending. He patted your cheek lightly—mockingly—as if you were nothing more than a pet.

He hurled you toward Eurylochus, who barely had time to react before you two went tumbling to the deck in a heap, limbs colliding. The impact sent a sharp jolt through your body, but you hardly had time to register the pain before Poseidon turned his attention back to Odysseus, who was still struggling to regain his breath.

Eurylochus was the first to recover, scrambling to his feet and reaching for you. “Are you alright?” His voice was quiet, cautious—like he feared Poseidon might return and punish him simply for asking.

You could still feel the ghost of the god’s grip on your jaw, the icy imprint of his fingers lingering against your skin. But you swallowed hard and gave a single nod, letting Eurylochus help you stand. You didn’t trust your voice, not yet. Not when the air still felt so thick.

"Mercy has a price." Poseidon's voice was a low growl, his teeth gritted as he glared down at Odysseus.

Odysseus, still catching his breath, forced himself to meet the god’s gaze. "You reveal your name, then you let him live?" He let out a bitter, humorless laugh, as if the idea was so absurd it hardly deserved consideration.

Poseidon’s expression remained stone-cold. "Unlike you, I have no mercy left."

With that, he leapt off the ship in one fluid motion, his body slicing into the sea like a creature born from it. He vanished beneath the waves, swallowed whole by the water.

Silence barely had a chance to settle before a dark shape surged back to the surface. Poseidon rose in his original form, massive and towering, the sea itself bending to his will. His hand brushed the water’s surface with an eerie gentleness—yet the ocean obeyed, twisting into a monstrous wave. From its crest, massive horses of water thundered forward, their hooves crashing down upon the fleet.

The ships rocked violently, the impact sending sailors sprawling, wood groaning under the pressure. Water sprayed in every direction, waves slamming against the deck so forcefully it was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. You barely had time to process the chaos before you caught sight of something tumbling across the deck—the wind bag, sliding dangerously close to the edge. Determined, you lunged forward, managing to snatch it before it was lost to the sea.

Poseidon’s voice cut through the storm. "Today, you die—unless, of course, you apologize for my son's suffering."

His arms were crossed, chin raised, a cruel patience in his stance. There was no true offer of mercy there—just the illusion of it, the baiting of a god who wanted to see you grasp for hope before ripping it away.

Odysseus, having steadied himself at last, saw an opportunity. He stepped forward, standing at the very edge of the ship, his voice firm yet pleading. "Lord Poseidon, we meant no harm. We only sought to defend ourselves. There was no pleasure in his pain—we only wished to escape."

Poseidon’s expression remained unreadable, but his words carried the weight of something ancient and unyielding. "The line between naivety and hopefulness is almost invisible. Close your heart—the world is cruel. Ruthlessness is the only mercy."

As he spoke, the sea obeyed once more. Two massive tentacles of water rose from beneath your ship, lifting it high above the ocean’s surface. The sudden shift sent the crew stumbling, gripping the railing for dear life. The height alone was dizzying, and Poseidon—expression unchanging—held you all there for a moment, as if savoring the sight of your helplessness.

Then, he gave his verdict.

"Die."

Without hesitation, he turned his wrath on the rest of the fleet. Water surged forward in a merciless attack, waves slamming into the ships at full force. The force shattered hulls, splintered masts—men screamed, their desperate cries swallowed by the roar of the ocean. Men pleading—begging for their captain to do something, anything—but there was nothing to be done. Crew members clung to whatever they could, but it was useless. One by one, the ships were swallowed whole. The sea showed no mercy.

All you could do was watch as the fleet was destroyed, as bodies and wreckage alike were carried away by the current.

And then—stillness.

The waves calmed. The only sound was the wind, whistling through the broken silence. Poseidon let the ship down gently back onto the water, an eerily careful motion after the devastation he had just wrought.

Bodies drifted across the surface, unmoving. From where you stood, you could see them floating facedown, the life stolen from them in an instant.

"What have you done?" Your brother’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet.

Poseidon tilted his head, a cruel satisfaction in his eyes. "Forty-three left under your command." His voice was almost smug, relishing the weight of Odysseus’ loss.

His form shimmered slightly, the water around him shifting, twisting. Slowly, a trident began to take shape in his hands. At first, it seemed as though it was made entirely of water—but as he lifted it, the liquid solidified, forming a weapon of rock and coral, a deep, muted blue with jagged edges and signs of ancient wear. Even in its imperfections, it radiated power.

Poseidon lifted the trident, readying to strike. He had drawn this out long enough. He had played with his prey. Now, it was time to finish it.

"Any last words?"

Odysseus barely hesitated. His eyes swept the deck—then locked onto yours.

And in an instant, you understood.

Poseidon was too slow to stop you.

"Where did you get that?!" His voice roared in anger, but it was too late. You tore open the bag, and the wind within exploded outward.

The ship lurched violently, caught in the gust’s embrace. The force propelled you, sending the entire vessel soaring through the air—away from Poseidon, away from certain death.

The wind howled in your ears, deafening. And yet, beneath the roar, you swore you heard something. A voice, distant but unmistakable.

"Remember me…"

. Taglist: @permanently-nothere @lemonberryberry @supernatural-bangtanboys @doodle-with-rhy @yonkersworld

(if you want to be added to the taglist just comment on this post or send me an ask or dm me, I don't really mind)

[belit0]

Uchiha holding their child for the first time please?

My favorite version of all these idiots: vulnerable because of parenthood.

Indra

The child is impossibly small. Indra stares down at them, his hands steady, but his mind strangely unsettled. Power, war, leadership—these things he understands. But this? This fragile life, warm and breathing in his arms, is unlike anything he has ever held before.

He expected to feel only duty. To see this child as an extension of himself, a future warrior to mold, a legacy to shape. But when the child shifts, tiny fingers clumsily grasping at the fabric of his clothing, something foreign grips his chest. Something he cannot name.

His thumb brushes over the child's cheek. Soft. Delicate. Mortal.

For the first time in his life, Indra feels the weight of something he cannot control. The enormity of it sits heavy in his bones, unshakable. His child will be strong, of that he will make certain—but for this one moment, in this quiet, private space, he lets himself exist outside of duty.

A slow breath. A lingering touch. His child sleeps, and Indra, for once, does not feel entirely alone.

Madara

Madara never thought of himself as the type to be sentimental. But the first time he holds his child, the first time he feels their warmth against his chest, he understands something he never did before.

A heartbeat. Small fingers curling near his armor. A tiny breath against his skin.

His child.

Pride swells in his chest, overwhelming, intoxicating. The future of the Uchiha Clan rests in his arms. He smirks down at them, his voice a low murmur.

–You'll do great things, won’t you? How could you not? You carry my blood.

The child lets out a tiny noise, their expression scrunching up as if they already have opinions. Madara chuckles.

–Hn. Feisty. I like that.

Izuna

–Hold them properly, Izuna.

–I am holding them properly—what do you think I’m—oh, shit—

Izuna almost drops his own child. Not because he means to, hell no, but because he’s suddenly realizing just how terrifyingly small they are.

He stiffens, his grip careful, too careful. The baby stirs, making a small sound, and Izuna freezes. His pulse is racing. He’s fought wars. He’s taken down enemies twice his size. And yet, nothing in his life has ever been this nerve-wracking.

Then, the baby shifts, their tiny hand clenching into a fist against his chest. His heart stutters.

–…You’re tiny. And warm.

For a moment, he just stares, his usual bravado absent. Then, a slow, awed grin spreads across his face.

–Okay. Yeah. I got you.

Obito

Obito holds his child close, his arms wrapped around them like they are the most precious thing in the world. Because they are.

He swallows hard. His vision blurs. He tells himself it’s exhaustion, but it’s not.

–Hey, little one…- his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. -I’m your dad.

Dad. That word never meant much to him before. But now? Now it feels like the whole world.

The baby shifts, their tiny fingers curling around his thumb. His breath catches. He lets out a small, watery laugh, pressing his forehead against their soft skin.

–I swear, I'll be better. I'll make sure you never feel alone.

He means it.

Shisui

–Oh god, they’re cute. Like… really cute. Like, way cuter than I expected.

Shisui is grinning like an idiot, staring down at the tiny human in his arms. The baby blinks up at him, their little lips parting slightly.

–Oh no. His voice is full of mock distress. -You're already wrapping me around your little fingers, aren't you?-

He sighs dramatically, but the joy in his eyes betrays him. He presses a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead, rocking them slightly.

–You're gonna be a handful, aren't you?- He chuckles, his eyes shining. -Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.-

Itachi

Itachi has never been one to let his emotions surface. He has trained himself into quiet control, into calculating restraint. But as he holds his child for the first time, something in his carefully structured world shifts.

They are so small, so light against his chest, their breathing barely a whisper against his skin. He stares down at them, unreadable, silent, but inside, a quiet storm brews.

He never thought he would live to see this moment. Never dared to imagine it. And yet, here it is; fragile, fleeting, but real.

A small hand twitches, tiny fingers curling against his palm. He swallows, something tight catching in his throat. His voice, when he finally speaks, is almost too soft to hear.

–You're safe.

A promise. A vow.

His child will never know the burdens he carried. They will never feel the weight of impossible choices. He will make sure of it.

For the first time in a long, long time, Itachi allows himself to believe in something beyond sacrifice.

[aricchiin]

“Claimed by the Swamp”

[Yandere Crocodile Man x Male Reader] — (Nonhuman, One-on-One, Horror)

(CW: Yandere behavior, non-consensual themes, obsession, emotional manipulation, fear/panic, mild physical restraint, stalking)

(~1,460 words)

You didn’t think it would be like this.

You’d only come back to finish your project. One last trip. In and out. The first time wasn’t even that bad—just weird. Off. You didn’t see anyone, but it always felt like someone was watching. That uncomfortable crawl across your skin like you were being tracked.

But nothing happened. You left without issue, and your camera caught most of what you needed. Almost.

The problem was, one of the mushrooms didn’t show clearly in your shots. The image was blurry, the lighting awful. Your professor was strict—he’d want better proof. So, despite the warning crawling at the back of your brain, you came back.

The trail looked different this time. More overgrown. The water smelled stronger. You marked the path, but the moss and twisted vines made it hard to tell where you were going after a while.

Then it got late. Too late.

You pushed through hanging moss and almost stumbled onto the dock—an old, half-sunken shack nestled at the edge of the swamp. It wasn’t there before. You were sure.

You stood there for a moment, unsure. Just shelter, you told yourself. Just somewhere to stop for a second. Maybe ask for directions—if anyone lived in that old thing.

So you stepped up and knocked.

Nothing.

You turned back, muttering to yourself. That’s when you heard it. Splash. Heavy. Thick.

Something big.

You looked over your shoulder—and froze.

Something was coming out of the swamp. Tall. Towering. The silhouette was enormous, hulking, shouldering through the water like it was nothing. Thick arms. Wide chest. A heavy tail dragging behind.

He stepped onto the dock—and you stopped breathing.

He was a monster.

Seven... no, eight feet tall. Broad as hell. Muscles rippling under swamp-slick scales, shoulders so massive they nearly brushed the shack doorframe. His chest was covered in scars, his arms thick enough to crush you like a twig. His face was part-man, part-beast—elongated in the jaw, with sharp, yellow eyes that stared straight into you.

You couldn’t move.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

Then, voice deep and raw, he said, “You came back.”

You blinked. “W-what...?”

“I saw you. First time. Bent down. Picked mushrooms. You were quiet... pretty.”

You took a shaky step back.

“I didn’t know anyone was here. I—I’m sorry, I was just—”

“Why come back?” he interrupted, taking a slow, heavy step forward. “You were mine already.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I wasn’t—no, I just came to get photos for class, that’s it.”

“You came back,” he repeated. His head tilted, like he was confused you didn’t understand. “Means you want to stay.”

Your eyes scanned the trees behind him, the swamp, the way the sun was nearly gone. You took another step back. His eyes followed your every twitch.

“I didn’t mean to bother anyone,” you tried again, voice thinner this time.

“I followed you,” he said, chest rising. “Last time. Saw where you walked. Watched what you looked at. You smiled. You laughed.”

“I wasn’t smiling at you,” you said, more desperate now.

His face twitched. Confused. Hurt. Then... amused.

“You were soft then,” he murmured. “Now you're scared. It's good. Makes you warmer. Heart beats faster.”

You turned to run. You didn’t even think.

But he was faster.

Something thick and heavy slammed around your waist, yanking you back. His arms wrapped around you like steel, one hand gripping your side, the other bracing your neck as he pulled you against his chest.

You kicked and screamed.

“Let me go!”

“No,” he growled into your hair. “I waited. I made a place for you. I cleaned it. Smelled like you.”

Your blood ran cold.

“What?”

He dragged you toward the door, your heels scraping the dock.

“I made it nice,” he continued, completely unfazed by your panic. “Blankets. Soft things. I even found a pillow.”

You started crying before you even realized it. “Please—please don’t—! I didn’t mean to come here, I didn’t—!”

“Don’t cry like that,” he murmured, rubbing his jaw against your cheek. “I love when you cry... but only when I’m holding you.”

He kicked the door open and carried you inside.

You gasped.

It wasn’t a shack anymore.

It was a nest.

Blankets layered thick on the floor. Clean clothes—your size. Trinkets and shiny things stacked on shelves made of driftwood. A little spot where he’d clearly built something like a bed. Everything was arranged neatly, obsessively. Soft moss along the walls. Even a little tin bowl filled with cut-up fruit.

He sat you down in the center of it, the wood creaking beneath his massive weight as he leaned over you.

“This is for you,” he whispered. “All of it.”

You shook your head, breath hitching.

“No—no, this is wrong—!”

He blinked slowly. “I heard your voice, even when you were gone. You stayed in my head. I felt sick... but good.”

He traced a claw gently down your arm. “I thought about you. Lying here. Wearing what I found.”

You cried harder.

“I didn’t mean to lead you here,” you whispered.

“You did. You smelled like home. Like you were made for me.” He leaned closer, his chest rising with a shaky inhale. “You fit in my arms. You fit here.”

He reached out to stroke your hair. “Don’t be scared. You’ll see. You’ll feel better once you stop trying to leave.”

You flinched, pulling back.

His smile twitched. His pupils narrowed.

“Don’t move away from me.”

You didn’t listen.

So he grabbed your face with one massive hand, claws pressing just enough to make you wince.

“You don’t move away from me,” he growled. “Not anymore.”

You sobbed, frozen under his grip.

He stared at you—hungry, breath heavy, trembling. Like he was fighting the urge to do something worse.

“You belong here,” he whispered. “With me. I’ll make you believe it.”

He let go.

You collapsed onto the blankets, crying, and he watched you like he’d just won something.

He didn’t chain you. Not yet. He just sat beside you, watching. Waiting. Knowing you wouldn’t make it far.

Not in his swamp.

Not now that he’d claimed you.

(First serving of yandere swamp stew and I’m already drowning—in fear and feral affection. Sir Scaly’s got me sobbing, sweating, and second-guessing my life choices… and I kinda love it?? 10/10 self would get emotionally kidnapped again.)

[cloudsofbespin]

It takes an enormous amount of restraint for us, the little drink. For a human, experiencing it for the first time, it was… unsettling. And not for the physical toll on my body, which was significant, but for the feelings of intimacy it awoke within me.

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022 -) S01E01: "In Throes of Increasing Wonder…"

[relia-robot-writes]

The high priestess stood over the stone slab, raising her knife to the stars overhead, gleaming in the torchlight. "Now, finally, with the sacrifice of this woman, the seed of the father will begin to germinate!" She turned from the slab to genuflect towards a gnarled, ancient oak, the firelight making shadows dance in its crooks and crevices.

The woman on the slab, bound hand and foot, was stretched out and dressed so her abdomen was fully open to the air. Her eyes reflected the stars as she gazed in rapture and trepidation at the high priestess. She annointed her with sacred oils, causing the bound woman to shiver in the cool night air. Another priestess creased her palm with the knife, and the high priestess drew sigils all over the sacrifice's body with the blood. Chanting and singing and dancing continued through the night, until at last the high priestess twirled towards the great oak. She prostrated herself, holding out her hands in reverence.

The woman on the slab craned her neck to see the great oak twist and move, writhing in the flickering light as its leaves shook in a nonexistent breeze. Something fell from the high branches, rolling gently along the ridges and pathways of the colossal tree until it came to rest in the high priestess's hands. She turned back, holding her arms high, to showcase an enormous acorn, the size of two fists together. The woman on the slab shivered again in anticipation.

The high priestess strode over to her, holding the blade in one hand and the seed in the other. The chanting rose to new heights as the fires blazed, the high priestess bringing the knife's edge to rest against the bound woman's stomach. "The seed will rest within this vessel," she declared, "until it devours her whole, creating a new tree. A new life." She made a slice across the top layer of the sacrifice's skin, letting her blood mingle with the dried sigils and oils. The bound woman cried out and writhed against her restraints, but above the scream the priestess cried, "She will give herself wholly for the Father's spawn! We honor her for her sacrifice!"

She made another cut with the knife, deeper this time, cutting down through the skin. She gently reached between the sacrifice's folds, seeking a place within to plant the seed, and frowned. The chanting stuttered for a moment before continuing. The high priestess closed her eyes, muttering a prayer to the Father, before making a third incision and reaching down inside. "No... no, it cannot be!" The chanting devolved into chaotic murmurs as the high priestess began slashing away at the woman's waist, tearing away chunks of flesh, stabbing relentlessly with the blade to reach the inside of the woman. Her eyes wide with fear, she turned and kneeled before the great oak. "Father! Father, forgive me, I did not know! I could not! I was deceived! Forgive me!" Roots began to erupt from the ground beneath her, and she tried to rise, to run, as the other priestesses were, but she was locked in place. "No! Father!! I am- I am always your faithful servant!" The roots climbed up her body, piercing through the skin, making her scream with pain as blood watered the ground beneath her. "No! I don't deserve this! It's not my fault! It's her! Take her! Take her!!!" Her scream was cut off as the roots sliced her throat, her lifeblood spilling out of her as the knife and the seed both tumbled onto the ground.

The woman on the slab, covered in red fluids, abdomen shredded, shuddered at the sight. She balled her fists and tugged, and her bonds snapped. She pushed herself up to see that she was, now, completely alone. Her left eye practically glowed red with warnings. Synthskin damaged. Padding shredded. Structure (torso) damaged. Structure (pelvis) damaged. Gyroscope destabilized. Hydraulic fluid leaking. Pain sensors failing. Damage. Damage. Damage... she reached for her eye and dug it out, snapping the cable that connected it to her, stopping the flow of reminders. She looked down at her flayed stomach. Nothing was inside, save for a pool of fluid, some silicone padding, and a few burnt-out circuits. She rolled over on the slab, and found the seed beside her. She took it, placed it in the empty cavity inside her, and waited.

After a long, long, time, she curled her knees up to her chin, covered her head, and let the fluid leak from her left eye socket onto the stained stone slab.

[lincolndjarin]

Bound in Beskar

From the world of Best Kept Secret...

A down on her luck traveler finds employment with a gruff Mandalorian. He's quiet and reserved, she's resourceful and quick witted, and things are heating up in the forge... one can only imagine what happens in this tale of lust and steel.

Some of you may recall our dear princess!reader in bks reading a book in chapter 20, this is that. Vaguely in the style of those campy romance novels that you read in the bathtub with candles and wine.

warnings : armorer!mando, no use of y/n, reader is not described past the fact that she is manhandled and carried by mando, smut, unapologetic porn with a little plot, i use the phrase 'throbbing member' just once i promise it's ironic please believe me guys, spanking, pussy slapping, dom/sub undertones, sir kink, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, humiliation, p in v sex, inappropriate use of blacksmithing abilities, ro makes things up about blacksmithing, bondage, use of restraints, briefly mentioned ass play, inappropriate use of a hammer, size kink, sweet rough sex, power imbalance (mando is readers boss, but both parties are consenting), definitely a few things i missed my apologies, barely beta read i was in a rush sorry!!

word count : 3.8k

a/n : this is so bad but also like i love it LMAO like i promise it's supposed to be kind of bad guys you have to believe me lmaoooo. this was really fun to do omfg this is my magnum opus in the worst way possible

You don’t know his name. 

There wasn’t even an interview. You’d come knocking on his door when you saw the sign in town on the news bulletin board. You’d shown up with everything you owned in the canvas bag on your hip as you knocked on the large brass door. The house didn’t look like a shop, it just looked like a house, a large house, when he finally opened the door you could see why. Just beyond his hulking figure you can see his work space, the majority of the building is devoted to just one room, high ceilings and brick walls surround the enormous forge. 

“I saw your flier for a live-in housekeeper, is the position still available?” You’re so sick of sleeping in alley ways and rooftops, you’d do nearly anything for adequate lodging. 

He had examined you, the cold, unfeeling steel of his visor scanning up and down your body until he nodded. 

“You can clean?” The low, controlled voice drips through the modulator making your blood run hot. 

“Yes, and cook.” You hold your hand out to him, he only nods in response as you tell him your name. 

“You start now.” Is all you get as he motions for you to step inside.

So yeah.

You don’t know his name and he never tells you.

So you just call him sir. 

The room is nicer than any you’ve ever had. A little space at the top of the stairs, a soft worn out mattress and a desk with a crooked stool. You take it with a grin, you can’t remember the last time you slept somewhere warm. 

You set your things down as he instructs you to follow him back downstairs. He shows you around, although there isn’t much to see. The main room is large with an open ceiling for the smoke, an ornate forge takes up the center, the fires crackle from within as he leads you to a small kitchen. 

The first thing you note is how barren it is. One skillet hangs from a hook and as you search through the drawers most of them are empty.

“I will give you extra credits this week for supplies.” He sounds almost embarrassed as he ushers you out of the room towards his own. “Once a week I’ll need you to tidy up here and do the laundry, it is of the utmost importance to me that you knock when you do.”

“Of course.” You nod slowly and he puts his hands on his hips. There’s a moment of silence before he turns and returns to his work without another word.  

You are to cook his meals, buy the groceries, clean the house, and stay out of his way. In exchange he provides housing and a salary of two hundred and fifty credits a week along with any change from the grocery money he gives you. 

You almost want to ask how no one else applied to such a generous job offer but the quiet foreboding presence of your employer makes it obvious enough. It wouldn’t surprise you if people feared him, you’re certainly a bit jumpy around him. He’s just so… big. He takes up so much space, stomping around the shop all day as you take care to stay out of his path, cleaning up the messes he leaves behind. 

You stay extremely vigilant, opportunities like this do not often arise for you so you give him no reasons to question your performance. 

You go to the markets, bundled up in your cloak once a week to keep the kitchen stocked. You wake before him to prepare his breakfast, you tidy up the forge before he opens the shop to make it presentable. You cook, you clean, you repeat. When there is no work to be done he dismisses you, telling you to make yourself busy elsewhere and you always do. Taking walks or retreating to your own quarters. 

You do this for quite some time. 

He doesn’t necessarily soften up towards you but he seemingly grows to tolerate you more. 

You try different things, baking, knitting, painting and anything else you can get your hands on but no hobby ever seems to stick so eventually you take to watching him work. Sitting at the top of the stairs, dangling your legs over the railing as he hammers the smoldering metals. He’s an artist really, the quick precision of his strikes with the hammer, bending steel to his will to craft the custom fitted pieces. It makes you wonder why his own armor looks so worn down when he clearly has a gift. Everything but his helmet is worn down, scratched up dark metals that he often tosses aside when he works late into the night. 

After long days of work when the shop is closed he’ll toss aside his chestplate and pauldrons, opting to remain only in his helmet as he rolls up his sleeves revealing the warm tan skin beneath. You always feel as though you can’t breathe right when he does this. His strong, toned arms, littered with burn scars from years of work. 

You can’t deny his appeal. 

Even without the armor he is huge. The wide expanse of his shoulders that smooth down into a narrow waist. You don’t even need to wonder about what’s going on under the helmet because everything else is just so much. Those hands, that neck, his chest, you’re practically drooling when you watch him work late into the night, sitting at the top of the stairs, clutching a steaming mug of caf as you squeeze your thighs together. You spend most nights with your hand between your legs thinking about your employer.   

It isn’t a bad life, it’s repetitive but it’s happy and safe which is more than you’ve ever had before. The Mandalorian treats you well, sometimes he speaks to you outside of orders, sometimes over dinner he asks you how your day was. You even have enough money to start a savings box. 

Nothing changes and you’re fine with that.

Until one night when he’s working late, working on something smaller and detailed. You had started to tidy up around him, already in your pajamas as you padded around the forge in your nightshirt and shorts. You were sweeping when it happened. 

“Kriff-” You slip on a scrap of fabric, you grab onto the ledge of the forge, trying to catch yourself. Your breath catches in your throat as you knock a hammer off of the stone, nearly falling face first into the molten metal.

You don’t even have time to scream as the wind is knocked out of you and you’re sharply yanked backwards away from the heat. 

“Do you have a death wish?” It’s the most emotion you’ve ever heard from him, anger that threatens to spill out of his helmet. “If you fall face first into that you’d be dead in an instant.” He hisses out, hands now shaking your shoulders. 

“I- I’m sorry, it was an accident.” Your face gets hot with shame as the veins in his neck pulse. “Please don’t fire me.” You whisper, fear of losing everything you’ve worked for over one simple mistake. 

He sighs.

“I’m not going to fire you, I’m just going to discipline you.”

“Discipli-” You start to question him but he sits down on the anvil, motioning you forward with two fingers before patting his lap. Your eyes go wide at the implication.

“Tell me to stop and you can go back upstairs, it won’t affect your job." He whispers earnestly.

You don’t want him to stop. 

So you go to sit in his lap but he clicks his tongue under his helmet.

“On your stomach.” His voice is lower than before as you swallow loudly, bending yourself over his knee, hiding your face in your hands. Your ass is on display for him under the short sleep shirt you wear. “How many do you think you need to learn your lesson?” 

“How many what, sir?” 

“How many spanks.”

Oh.

You pray to the Maker that you aren’t soaking through your shorts right now. 

“Umm… fifteen?” You aren’t exactly experienced in the subject but you don’t want to pick a number too low.

“Fifteen? Look at you my little over achiever, you must truly be sorry.” He muses with an amusement you’ve never heard from him. His large palm massages the globes of your ass, you’re so painfully turned on at this point you’re honestly a little worried you’re gonna come the second he starts. “And can you tell me why you’re being punished?” 

“B-because I knocked over your hammer?” You stammer out and you feel a sharp sting as he pinches your ass. 

“No, you sweet thing.” He bunches up your top a bit higher as he simultaneously yanks down your shorts pulling a yelp from you, he definitely knows you’re wet now. “It’s because you weren’t being careful, you weren’t focused on what you were doing and you almost got hurt.”

“No, I was focused I promise-”

“But you weren’t. You were sitting up there watching me, getting yourself all worked up and by the time you got down here you were so horny you got distracted and almost got yourself killed. What would I do without my pretty little housekeeper?” You’re speechless for several reasons. He knows why you watch him? He knows how much it turns you on? 

He called you pretty. 

And his. 

“Tell me why you’re being punished?” He repeats as you clear your throat. 

“Because I wasn’t paying attention.” You mumble. 

“I want the exact answer.” 

You’re so embarrassed you could just die but something about the shame makes your blood run hot as you rub your thighs together rather obviously, earning a chuckle from your companion. 

“Because I was so worked up from watching you and I was distracted, and I almost got hurt.” You whisper, hearing a pleased hum from him. 

“That’s my smart girl. Are you ready?” 

“Yes.”

“Yes…?”

“Yes, sir.” You quickly correct yourself before bracing yourself for the first smack. 

One. 

You’re surprised by the softness of the smack. It’s more like a pat against your rear. 

“Still good?” 

“Yes sir.” 

Two. 

You squeak a bit, this one being significantly harsher than the first, before you’re prepared he’s back on you. 

Three, four, five, six. 

You’re making a sound that’s a mix between a moan and a squeal as his bare palms come in contact with your ass in four consecutive sharp spanks. He rubs his hands over the flesh that you’re certain is already welted and swollen. The next spanks come long before you’re ready. 

Seven, eight, nine, ten. 

Tears sting your eyes as he lays into you as if you’re beskar steel that he can bend to his will.

“Look at that.” He remarks with a sense of accomplishment as you let out a soft whimper. You feel his finger gliding along your thighs and up your seam making you shudder before he holds his glistening digits in front of your face. “Are you enjoying yourself, sweet thing?” You nod with a small hum, praying he’ll just touch you already but you aren’t so lucky as you feel a slap against your pussy (Eleven.) that has you whining, loud and high pitched as you clench around nothing. 

Twelve. 

Another slap to your cunt, you can feel your clit twitching as a groan is punched out of you. 

“Gods, are you gonna come like this?” He sounds terribly amused as your body tenses. 

Thirteen. 

He spreads you wide open, giving your clit a little tap that has you lurching forward in his lap. 

“Come on, you can do it.” The condescending tone only makes you want to please him more, you want it so bad as he ghosts a finger across your dripping hole. 

Fourteen, fifteen. 

On the final slap his hand stays pressed against your mound, applying just enough pressure to throw you over that edge. You’ve never come quite like this, nearly wailing as tears now flow freely as your body turns to putty in his lap. He has melted you down and made you something new. 

He lets you work through it for a while, rubbing your back until you come back to your senses. He lifts you from his lap, your legs wobble and shake as he stands you up.

“I gotcha.” He murmured as he picked you up bridal style, carrying you up the stairs before laying you down in bed. “You did so good, such a good girl for me.” He whispered as you closed your eyes, absolutely exhausted. You felt the blankets pulled up over you before you drifted off. 

You swore you felt something press against your forehead. 

When you wake for the first time since you started working for him, breakfast is already made. A plate of bread and meat sits on your desk along with a glass of water. Your ass is raw but other than that you feel more than fine. You aren’t sure what to expect when you go downstairs but it certainly isn’t the silence you're met with. 

It’s as if nothing happened at all. 

He doesn’t even acknowledge you as you frown, attending to your daily tasks. 

He barely even looks at you. 

You go to bed that night frustrated and upset.

So you come up with a plan to get his attention.

You mess up in every way possible. 

You ‘forget’ to make his breakfast. You leave metal scraps on the floor. And you go to bed early, hoping he’ll come upstairs and punish you for your mistakes but he never does. You ignore your duties for a full week before you finally snap at him while he’s locking up. 

“Do I have to throw myself into the forge again to get your attention?” You finally snap at him. 

“Excuse me?” He turns to face you, holding his tongs in hand. 

“I have been a terrible housekeeper for days and you haven’t so much as scolded me!” You throw your hands up in exasperation as he shakes his head. 

“Is that what this is about? My forge is a mess because I haven’t been giving you enough attention?” He tilts his head to the side and you actually feel a bit guilty, when he puts it like that you seem rather petulant. You nod, feeling rather ashamed. He points at the anvil. “Lay down. Now.” You waste no time, rushing over and laying down on your stomach across the large steel surface, his large hands pin you down in place as he takes position behind you, clearly fuming and clearly hard as his hips meet your ass. 

It’s a harrowing juxtaposition, how careful yet rough he is with you as his hand holds you by the back of your neck, pressing you into the cold metal of the anvil. You’re practically giddy with anticipation as you feel a faint heat on your wrists as they’re yanked behind your back. There’s a sizzling sound and you register a metal wrapped around your wrists, arousal and fear course through you as you feel a nearly painful heat that has you trying to look over your shoulder. He pushes back harder on your neck.

“Don’t move.” He grumbles as you go still. When he finally takes a step back you turn to look at what he’s done only to find your wrists shackled behind your back, they aren’t just locked in place. 

He’s welded them together.  

“You want my attention so badly? Then you’re gonna get it.” He yanks down everything below your waist, your tights bunching at your ankles as he pulls your skirt up to your hips. “You’re a terrible housekeeper, maybe I should find another use for you.” He kneels behind you, spreading you wide open with his hands, the cool air from the skylight chills your soaking folds. His fingers poke at you as if he’s examining you. You’re grinning as you wait for him to finally touch you in earnest but instead you feel cold steel pressing into you. You flinch away from the sensation but he holds you in place. 

“Sir- please-” You whine but all that gets you is a slap on the ass as he pushes the object in deeper. You groan, it isn’t all that thick but Maker it’s long, brushing up against spots inside of you you’re certain you’ve never reached before until the base of it bumps against your clit, the heavy weight shifting inside of you as it clicks. 

He put his fucking hammer inside you. 

“Maybe I can use you to hold my tools.” He remarks as he stands. “Would you like that? If I kept you around to hold my things?” He walks over to kneel in front of you now, tapping your face with his fingers. “This is a lesson, you know.” 

“What lesson?” Your voice is more strained than you expected. 

““That if you want something, you need to ask for it.” He whispers through the modulator as you nod.

“Please.” You whimper.

“Please, what?” 

“Please, I want you to touch me.” You sway your hips as best you can like this as he runs his fingers across your cheek.

“Like this?” Bastard.

“I want you to fuck me.” No point beating around the bush. “Sir.” You add on a beat later, hoping to encourage him. 

“That’s all you needed to say.” He stands back up and you groan as he yanks the tool out of you, running his fingers through your wetness as you hear the rustling of fabric and zippers before something thick and soft swipes through your folds. As he sinks himself into you at last one of his hands grips the meat of your hips so hard you’re certain it’ll bruise. The other holds the metal linking your cuffs as he pulls you back onto him, impaling you on his cock at a distressingly slow pace. 

Ask for it. 

“Please sir- I need you- I need you to fill me up.” 

“Such a polite girl.” You can hear his grin as he slams forward. Your hips are flush now as he thrusts his throbbing member into your soaking heat. “Such a- sweet cunt.” He groans as you slump forward, the size of him knocks the wind out of you as he splits you open. His cock stretches you open wider than ever before as he immediately takes on a punishing pace. 

Your body is on fire, your nerves igniting as he pounds into you. The hand on your hip moves lower, circling your clit sending another jolt of fire through your veins as you barrel towards an unavoidable orgasm. 

You cry out as he angles his hips to hit that spot inside of you and all too quickly you tumble over that edge, strangling his cock within you as you spasm wildly. Your eyes flutter shut as you soak him. 

He doesn’t let up for a second. 

“Gonna give you enough attention to keep you content for a few days.” He spits out through grit teeth, already pushing you towards another climax your body isn’t at all ready for. 

“So fucking needy. Maybe I should make some toys for you to play with while I’m working.” He grumbles, you feel his thumb prodding at your other entrance as you gasp. “Could make you something real pretty to put in here.” You nod furiously as he laughs, rocking his hips forward again. It’s a good thing you’re being held up by the anvil because your legs go limp underneath you as you come again. He pinches your clit, nowhere near hard enough to hurt but enough to make you sob as your eyes go wet from the overstimulation of everything that’s happening. “Think you can give me one more?” The dominating condescending tone is gone as he leans down, his helmet knocking against your spine as if he’s kissing you there. 

“I- I don’t know.” You manage to whisper out as he slows his brutal pace, an act of mercy to your puffy, sensitive cunt. 

“Do you wanna try?” His voice is sweet now as he stills inside of you. Keyword there is try. Your skin tingles in a way that is nearly painful as you nod. 

“Yes sir.” You turn your head to the side, resting the hot skin on the cold steel.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, starting a new pace, a gentler one as he pushes the blunt head of his cock against your cervix, pulling a drawn out whine from your chest. “That’s it, just a little more, such a good girl, so good for me.” He begins to ramble as his thrusts grow a little erratic and sloppy, his fingers tensing against your hips as he stumbles forward, his entire body flush with yours as he empties himself into you. You can feel the warmth leaking between the two of you as you’re hit with an entirely new sensation that makes you come one last time. Your vision goes entirely white now as tears wash down your face. He steadies you, holding you through it and whispering more praises that don’t entirely register before he carefully pulls out of you. Your eyes remain shut as he carefully takes your wrists, after a moment they’re back at your side as he puts you back together. Pulling up your panties and tights, keeping his cum inside of you in the process as he lays you on your back, eventually sitting you up. “Are you okay?” 

You grin. 

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles, leaning forward just enough to tap his helmet against yours for a moment. You look down at your wrists where the metal bands remain. 

“I made them for you, they aren’t always shackles, they're pretty when they aren’t stuck together.” You bring them up to your face, getting a closer look at the intricate details. There’s a small mythosaur embossed on each one. A symbol, something that binds you to him. 

“I love it.” You smile up at him, looking around the still dirty shop. “I should probably catch up on my work…” You start to stand but he sits you back down. 

“Take the day off, worry about it tomorrow.” He walks past you, you turn to watch him throw more kindling into the forge. 

“What are you gonna do with the rest of your day?” You tilt your head, watching as he takes the hammer that was inside you only moments ago and spins it in his hand. 

“I believe I owe you a couple of toys.” He tosses a handful of steel into the hearth as you sit back a bit and watch him start to work. 

a/n : this was ridiculous but also i did take it very seriously. this genre was what i was unapologetically born to write.

if you liked this and aren't familiar with my work this is a one off from my mandalorian series Best Kept Secret, which you can find here!!

I don't have taglists but follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates on any and all fics!!