#lava spurts

[starry-bi-sky]

Stillborn? No, still born au - Danny’s ghost form

Nothing too fancy here. Just me detailing Danny’s ghost form in the stillborn au :]. My first rule of thumb for every dp au i make is that danny’s gotta have a different design for each ghost form. It doesn’t have to be super drastic depending on the au (like for my dp godling au his suit remains relatively unchanged).

This is mostly so I can mess with character design and also so each Danny can have his own unique ghost form for identification reasons. And because I just want to, which is the most important part :].

Stillborn Danyal, unlike Things in Threes and Yaelokre Danyal, is the first to not have an assassin-based ghost form due to obvious reasons. He was raised in foster care all his life, the League has had no impact on his life beyond being the place where his mother is. But it’s not like he knows that.

As a result he gave me some trouble, and it took me a few days and a ton of frustration to figure out how I want him to look as a ghost. I could just keep him in the hazmat suit and mess around with the detailing, but i’ll be frank, I hate doing that.

Stillborn Danyal, unlike all his other au counterparts, is a fire core ghost like Vlad is. As a result, in his ghost form he can reach extreme temperatures with just a flick of his hand or a switch in his mood. His emotional regulation is shit, and as a result it’s not uncommon for him to let off heatwaves in either form. They’re just more intense as a ghost.

His hair is made of molten lava, and unlike the other Dannys, is not white as a result. It’s an ever constant flow as well, meaning it doesn’t stop flowing where his human hair ends. It just keeps “growing”. Danny routinely keeps his hair braided back because it slows the lava flow and keeps it off his face and arms. When it reaches his past feet, that’s when Danny superheats his hands and “cuts” his hair by yanking it off. It’s completely painless if he gets the right heat to do it. Afterwards, Danny either uses it as a weapon — braided whip, anyone? — or disposes of the excess lava somewhere it can’t hurt someone.

Molten lava ranges around 1,300 to 2,200 degrees Fahrenheit and can either be very fluid or very viscous and stiff. The heat of his hair, naturally, means that the living cannot physically get near him without proper covering. So Danny tends to keep a distance as much as possible during fights so he doesn’t burn anyone.

His emotions also affect the heat and fluidity of his hair. Which isn’t that great considering he can be pretty emotionally volatile thanks to all of his ✨trauma✨. The angrier or more emotional he is, the hotter and more fluid his hair is, meaning it burns brighter and flows faster. It’s very much possible for the lava to cool down enough to solidify into volcanic glass or igneous rock, but considering Danny’s mental state? He just isn’t capable of doing that on his own. Vlad’s hair is also molten lava, but he’s perfected how to keep it in an igneous rock state. His hair also glows bright enough that it’s impossible to see his face from a distance, and seeing it up close is equally as impossible considering all the ambient heat he gives off.

That’s not the only part thats made of lava and magma either. Danny’s hands and feet don’t have skin covering them, it’s crumbled and melted away into molten lava too. They’re the second hottest parts of his body only to his hair. Around his elbows is where his skin begins to crack and crumble into magma, and as a result he wears welding gloves in order to interact with the living world (and some ghosts) without melting anything. He can also run so hot that he can melt a blob ghost.

All fire core ghosts lack iris and pupils, it’s all one solid color. It is possible to shift their eyes into looking more “human like”, but there’s really no point to it and takes more practice and effort to achieve than its worth. Danny’s eyes are all green just like Vlad’s are all red.

Now for his clothes! Danny used to wear the hazmat suit, paired with an old hoodie he owned but didn’t wear often. Uppp until he was brainwashed by Circus Gothica. Afterwards, the only thing that transferred over was the color scheme.

Danny’s new Phantom outfit is designed more for looseness and breathability, but also means that as a result he gives off even more heat. His hazmat suit trapped most of it. He’s now wearing a white, sleeveless turtleneck (yall know the type. I am not immune to tropes and I think it looks good) with black harlem pants with an open slit up both sides and green flames running from his ankles to his knees, and spandex shorts underneath. He’s also wearing white stirrup socks. He wears green welding gloves. Due to the lack of proper footwear he tends to float everywhere otherwise he burns the ground thanks to the exposed skin. It’s significantly less “hero-like” or “scientist” and more resembling something a performer might wear.

As a result however, Danny is consistently cold. He struggles with his own thermal regulation and keeps trying to balance it between his own comfort and the comfort of the living around him. If he retains his own heat and keeps himself warm, he’s too hot for anyone to come near and he melts everything he touches, but if he cools down in order to interact with the world without his gloves and come near the living and only be “uncomfortably hot”, he’s freezing. He’s frustrated by the lack of balance. It was easier to interact with the hazmat suit, but he doesn’t want to go back to it and it’s not like he can either. The exposure allows him easier access to his powers.

Warm, sunny days are his favorite. He’ll sit out on the pavement and soak in the heat like a lizard. Catch him sitting on top of cars during 90 degree weather and just utterly content. It’s not as nice as the ghost zone’s Molten Springs but it’s the second best he can get without going into the infinite realms. The first best thing is going somewhere secluded and safe and just heating himself up into something that’s comfortable and letting his hair free. Nothing like cocooning yourself in your own magma flow.

[systemadministratorclu]

Okay, I'm doing all my characters here, but only one gets to be in the tags because his survival is epic and badass.

Clu: If it was on the Grid? Yes, because he can use his Admin powers to either stop the sharknado or to shield himself and as many others as he could. In the User world.......yeah, no, he's probably gonna die.

General Tesler: On the Grid? Maybe. If he could get close to Clu. User world? Dead.

Hal 9000: Unless he's in space, or he's a Starched, he's probably going to die.

Sonic and Soneca: They can just run from the sharknado.

Milo Thatch: See tags.

Lyle Rourke: Man is strong, stubborn, smart, and resourceful, he would find a way to live, especially if he heard somebody say he was going to die.

Miro: Unfortunately, he's dead unless whatever or whoever created him intervenes.

Bonus: @the-rovarians

They would all survive thanks to being made of strong alien metal/materials, shooting the sharks with high powered weapons, or just jumping back in their spacecraft getting into space. Whichever makes the most sense for their situation.

Reblog and put in the tags your latest blorbo and whether you think they would survive a Sharknado.

[mind-travel-er]

The ring on Eddie’s right hand is often recognized as a “mood ring”. BUT there's a debate that it might be a specific stone. An obsidian snowflake. In close ups, you can actually see the ring better, with black and speckles of white.

A mood ring would be pretty cool. I'm all for it. But guess what?

Upon further research, an obsidian snowflake just so happens to be of importance in DnD. Here’s the description: “When exposed to dragon's breath, the stone absorbed an unpredictable portion of the damage and disintegrated. It is formed when the scorching-hot lava inside a volcano spurts out and cools down. Its birth signifies that in every chaos, peace is inevitable.” Coincidence? Or is it exactly describing Eddie's character arc? In the most chaotic of all places, the Upside Down, Eddie finally found peace when he "didn't run away this time, right?". Joseph Quin described Eddie as guilt ridden over what happened to Chrissy. Eddie could have found some serenity after all, by avenging her in his own way, and buying time for his friends to fight Vecna. It also builds Eddie's character in such an awesome way. He probably stumbled upon that ring in a shop and recognized the obsidian. Just the kind that would protect him from a dragon's breath. A strong metaphor for people waisting their breath on him, calling him a freak and other colorfull nicknames. Eddie is the kind of guy that pays 👏🏻 attention 👏🏻 to the smallest things, wearing daily a DnD reference that most people won't notice. That melts my heart, because it shows our boy is detail oriented.

AND, in lithotherapy, the obsidian snowflake is the stone of rebirth and emotional growth; also why called “the flowering obsidian”.

[creative1writings]

Warnings: P in V penetration, squirting,Oral (f receiving), Overstimulation, and denied orgasm.

Virgin Nanami who was already in disbelief that someone as pretty as you would agree to even talk to him let alone be his girlfriend.

Virgin Nanami who seems so nonchalant most times gets flustered around you when you show the tiniest bit of skin even if it's just your stomach.

Virgin Nanami who could care less about Gojo but gets feelings of possessiveness when Gojo flirts with you.

Virgin Nanami who is a nervous wreck when you guys have your first kiss, wanting it to be the best first kiss you'd ever have. Hopefully he gets to be the only one to experience this.

Virgin Nanami who gets a raging hard on when you send him a nude for the first time, the kind of boner that left me aching and in pain until he dealt with it.

Virgin Nanami who fists his cock, the leaking tip a deep shade of red from trying to chase the orgasm he so desperately needed when looking at that picture.

Virgin Nanami whose tongue worked over your clit and through your shiny folds in such a manner that it left you wondering if he's done this before.

Virgin Nanami who humped the bed in hopes to get some friction to his aching member, it throbs and twitches every time his name falls from your lips, the soft honey tone causing more blood to rush to it, the veins along the shaft to pulse bigger.

Virgin Nanami who almost cums when only his tip slides through your soaked folds causing his whole body to twitch, biting down on his lip in hopes to keep the whimper he feels in throat from coming out.

Virgin Nanami who has to keep the pace slow or else he was going to finish early, not wanting to cum before you. He rocks his hips against yours not too sure what rhythm to use, you take note of this and flip so you have control, you slide yourself up and down, his cock twitching at the dynamic change. You place your palms on his chest pushing up so only his tip was left snuggled between your folds before, sliding back down, you roll your hips causing Nanami to see stars.

Virgin Nanami who was left whimpering with tears clumping along his lash line when you stopped for the third time now, your fingers squeezing at the base of his cock tight enough for the need to cum to go down so you can go longer.

Virgin Nanami who lets out the most pathetic sound when he was finally able to release, pumping you so full that some spurts out landing along your thighs and his stomach.

Virgin Nanami who ended up cumming before you, became bound and determined to give you the most euphoric finish he can pull from you.

Virgin Nanami whose tongue works on your clit, his lips sucking around the bud every time he curls his fingers up the pads of them sliding across that sweet gummy spot deep inside, the spot that caused your toes to curl so tight your foot cramped.

Virgin Nanami who felt himself ready to go again the moment that stream of squirt rushed out of you, his pupils dilated wide and cock throbbing having enjoyed every drop, suckling it up like it was the last known water source.

Virgin Nanami who seemed to have flipped a switch the second he was back inside of you, rutting into you as his fingers worked over your wet clit, he rolls his hips, squelching sounds bouncing off the walls when that sweet stream splashes against him once more causing his eyes to roll back, picking up pace as he chases his own end, you start to feel the effects of overstimulation kick in, your veins start to feel like lava, your moans and whimpers are a sweet melody to his ears, the noise alone has him teetering over edge, with one last thrust he pushes himself deep, spilling inside of you again, his arms finding there way around you, holding you flush against him.

Kento Nanami who lays next to you, gazing at your sleeping form, his fingers dancing across your bare skin, in his mind he wonders how he got a girl like you, thanking whatever higher being there was, that they gifted him you.

[theabysss]

Salvation

pairing: sagau!Dottore x Reader

summary: When you die, the whole world collapses for Dottore, but maybe there is still hope?

warnings/tags: gn!Reader, religious + cult themes, description of the execution, description of injuries.

word count: 2.7 k~

note: I'm here again after all this time. (ーー;)ノ Brought you some Dottore, enjoy. Maybe there will be a second part, but I don't promise anything.

Scarlet blood spurts out and a severed head rolls down. Empty eye sockets are directed to the heavens, a happy smile frozen on your face, anticipating the end of torment, now sealed on your face with an eternal mask. Dottore feels his fingertips go numb, he stares blankly at your head and hair, matted with blood. The mechanical heart, which has never failed before, either skips beats or beats quickly.

His ears feel like they are filled with cotton and he hears no sound, the emptiness fills his heart drop by drop, leaving no space for anything else. What is this feeling called? Dottore tries to distract himself from the picture before his eyes and frantically tries to remember the right word, but his thoughts move slowly like flies stuck in honey. A flash of insight and a bitter taste appears in his mouth. Despair. A drop of blood runs down his chin; he didn’t notice when he bit his lip with his teeth. It seems that only ten seconds have passed since the execution, but to Dottore they seem like an eternity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices tears running down the Tsaritsa’s face. There is no trace left of her usually cold personality. The harbingers look no better, for each of them there has long been no one left more important than you, and to lose you like that was terrible. More painful than the worst wound they received in life.

The one whom the archons call the Creator begins their speech with an unpleasant grin, full of self-satisfaction. They talks about the impostor and how proud they are of their dear followers for capturing you for him. He is sick of looking at the other archons; the proud appearance of Morax and the other archons makes him rage. It spreads like hot lava from the heart to the hands, convulsively clenching in impatience, the desire to strangle this ancient reptile overwhelms Dottore.

Your most loyal follower huh? The fool who fell for the fake sent by Celestia. He was the first to accept this abomination without doubting it even for a second. You were so different, your auras were completely different. A liar or a pathetic fool, whichever was true, Morax was disgusting.

When the fake finishes their incredibly pathetic speech, it will be their turn: Tsaritsa, the harbingers, the ordinary Fatui, they will all have to lose their lives.

Mentally, Dottore estimates the distance to the platform where Celestia’s puppet stands. Even though his delusion had been taken away just like the rest of the harbingers, that didn't mean he was going to give up. Dottore runs his tongue over teeth, checking their sharpness and squints with satisfaction, feeling the salty taste of blood appearing in his mouth. There is nothing worse than an animal driven into a corner, knowing that there is no chance of salvation, but still intending to resist.

When he is led past the platform to the guillotine, he will take the chance and take revenge. Although it would be more correct to call this the restoration of justice. You were innocent, You were their god.

When the fake solemnly spreads his hands and orders the executions to continue, the sky of Teyvat darkens, anyone could feel the fury of the elements. Dottore exhales in amazement, drops of your blood slowly rising into the air and changing their color from red to gold. The crackling of electricity, the smell of burning, strong gusts of wind, the temperature drops lower every second, plants are spreading across the entire area, bright and screaming about their toxicity, the earth trembles underfoot, on the horizon he can see the sea rising in waves, each of which is higher than the previous ones, threatening to flood the whole harbor.

The fake looks at what is happening in shock, but does not have time to say a single word. Lightning falls from the sky and strikes Celestia's puppet, one after the other in an endless stream, they follow each other. Dottore's heart is filled with gloomy triumph and at the same time unbearable bitterness. If Teyvat could have intervened directly, why didn’t he save you, their Creator? Why didn't the world prevent your death? Or was it your desire to reveal the truth only when nothing will it be impossible to fix it, leaving them all with eternal regret?

When the lightning stops falling from the sky, the fake turns into a smoking piece of charred flesh. The Archons look in surprise at the one they praised as the Creator, understanding slowly appears on their faces. One by one they helplessly turn their heads towards your body. Morax is the first to fall to his knees in front of your head, Dottore sees how his fingers tremble as he hesitates to touch your blood-stained cheek.

Tsaritsa looks contemptuously at each of these traitors. Dottore knows that now she would with great pleasure impale each of the archons on ice spikes if only the shackles did not block her powers.

In a half-strangled voice, Morax orders the Millelith to release all of them.

After being released, Dottore and the rest of the harbingers follow Tsaritsa as she goes to the archons and… your body. Standing next to it is unbearably painful, his eyes cling to every scratch on your face, his heart falls into a cold empty hole, now that he can clearly see your empty eye sockets.

As far as he knew, the Electro Archon was to blame for this; he would have broken every bone in her hands, and then lowered her into a vat of acid and watched as her flesh peeled off from the bones.

Tsaritsa's voice is cold and gloomy when she speaks to the rest of the archons.

"There is no punishment that can atone for your sin and death will not be your salvation. You will live the rest of your eternity in pain, I promise you all that."

A drop of your golden blood slowly moves in the air, Dottore follows their movement with his eyes. Was there a chance to save you, why did everything turn out that way? Why he, Tsaritsa and the other harbingers turned out to be so weak and useless? They too were sinners, those who did not save and they will bear this sin until the end of their lives.

Dottore could still feel the remnants of your aura, faintly, but he could, and he closed his eyes, absorbing this feeling, which was soon to dissipate. Or not? Dottore's eyes widened, an arrow of hope piercing his heart. Your spirit was still here, weak, fading, still existing, attached to drops of golden blood.

"The Creator has not left us yet, his spirit is still here."

The face of Tsaritsa and the other archons lit up with faint hope, their gazes were directed at him, all-consuming, unwavering attention emanated from them, however, such a gaze was directed at Dottore from everyone who was present in the square.

"Collect all the blood, not a single drop should be lost; the soul of the Creator is attached to it. I can try to save Their Grace, but we must act quickly before their spirit dissipates."

Dottore is determined. He will succeed, he cannot fail, he will not make mistakes, just not in such an important matter as this. Despite the mental pep talk he gave himself, Dottore's palms become treacherously cold and he begins to nervously tap a rhythm with his fingers on his thigh.

He needed a workplace, his laboratories would be ideal, but he was not sure that your spirit would survive the trip to Snezhnaya. He had to act quickly, Dottore could feel the grains of time slipping through his fingers.

When he and the clones find themselves in the silence of the temporary laboratory provided by Qixing, Dottore allows himself only one nervous sigh before taking control of his emotions. The time for all the emotions will come later, when he successfully returns life to you.

He begins to give instructions to the clones, who are preparing everything necessary for Dottore's most important work. It’s good that he managed to drive out all the traitors of the archons and other personalities who tried to be present, even Tsaritsa, nothing should distract him, the price of a mistake is too great.

The punishment of the archons was temporarily postponed, Tsaritsa said that when you become alive again, you yourself will determine the punishment for these traitors. It's when, not if. Now the whole seven had to destroy Celestia, which had committed the unforgivable.

Your headless body lying on the operating table looked foreign, wrong of all places, you should never have ended up here. You should have enjoyed the balls held in your honor, the gifts offered to you by your followers.

To begin with, it was worth understanding whether it made sense to try to restore your human shell or was it already in a completely unusable state? A severed head is a big obstacle to the restoration of your body, but Dottore had no guarantee that your soul could take root in a synthetic body, and the ability to create it in a short time, so there was only one possibility left. It was necessary to attach your head back to the body, check the body for damage to internal organs and, if there were any, heal them. Before you begin the process of returning your soul to the mortal coil.

The test results showed, although not the most comforting results, but everything was not so bad, of course, with the exception of the severed head. General severe exhaustion of the body, which will be corrected by the correct diet after your resurrection, which will definitely be successful. It couldn't fail. After all, if he failed, would there be any point in his existence, in the existence of nations, in Teyvat? Without you, nothing made sense.

Dottore shakes his head, driving away bad thoughts and returns to work. In order for the head to subsequently work as it should, each nerve and blood vessel had to be connected correctly. Painstaking work that requires a lot of patience, well, Dottore never complained about its lack.

Hour after hour, the clock ticked peacefully in the background, measuring time, while Dottore and his clones painstakingly put everything back together as it was originally. The last batch of stitches signals the end of such a complex operation. The muscles of his back ached in protest against the same position for hours. Dottore looked at his work satisfactorily, touching the stitches and then immediately pursed his lips in regret. This is not how it was supposed to be. He walked over to the table and gave himself an injection that instantly banished any fatigue and made his mind crystal clear again. In a day he will definitely feel very bad when the kickback comes, but you were definitely worth it. In fact, if he were now offered to give his life in exchange for yours, he would agree without hesitation.

It was time to start the second stage, it was necessary to do something with your eyes. Unfortunately, all he could offer you now were temporary prosthetics, not as advanced as those he and the clones used. He will definitely replace them later with better ones.

One of the many things he regretted was that he didn't get to see your eyes, they should have been gorgeous. In legends they were described as unearthly, as if entire constellations and the endless night sky were reflected in them.

As gently as possible, Dottore cleaned your eye holes from dirt and blood, carefully stretched the wires to the back lobe of the brain, to which the optic nerves are attached, and finally inserted the prostheses. Dentures you should never have. The color looked inappropriate, too artificial, alien, wrong, Dottore swallowed dryly. He sits down on a chair nearby and wearily hides his face in his hands. Fatigue, not physical, but moral, covers him in a wave and the heaviness in his chest does not allow him to breathe. He knows that it will only disappear when you take your breath and your heart beats again.

Dottore was never particularly religious in his youth, he was interested in the story of the creation of the world and definitely admired you, but there was never any real reverence in his feelings then. Everything gradually began to change when he joined Fatui. Every year he learned more and more about you and his devotion to you only grew, gradually completely capturing his heart until there was nothing left in him except you.

All the humanity that was in him, no matter how little it was, was intended only for you. All his achievements were dedicated to you. He all belonged to you, only you. And at the moment there was nothing he could want more than to see you alive. The same desire burned with a passionate flame in the eyes of his clones standing nearby.

The last stage is the most important. Dottore carefully inserts a needle into your vein and begins to pour your blood back into your body. He feels your spirit waver, as if you doesn’t want to return.

He looks over your body; bright blue veins stand out on your pale skin, there are various bruises and scratches on your body, which he, of course, treated, but to his regret the healing was not instantaneous. This picture breaks him into fragments, leaving a cold emptiness instead of his mechanical heart, his inability to correct what happened. Was there any point in all his knowledge that he had been collecting for centuries if now it was almost completely useless at the most important moment of his life. All that Dottore can do now is pray, pray to you, to the elements, to Teyvat. Please come back, please, please, please…

He knew it was a selfish desire, this world wasn't worthy of you, they weren't worthy of you, not after what happened. But hope, a feeling that had not come to him for a very long time since the time of the academy, flared up in his soul. The last drops of blood poured back into your body and deathly silence fell in the laboratory. Those few seconds when nothing happened seemed like an eternity, frightening, cold, hopeless to Dottore. The claws of the unknown tore his heart apart, did he succeed? Would you like to return?

Your trembling breath and wide-open eyes bring Dottore into a state close to euphoric. You were alive again, relief fills him and makes him dizzy with happiness. He feels something wet rolling down his cheek and wipes it away in confusion. A tear. A lot of time had passed since the last time he cried, and he had definitely never had tears of happiness until that moment. Well, you always made him feel an unusual amount of different emotions.

When you go into a coughing fit, one of the clones instantly brings you a mug of water and looks at your face with concern. You take a few greedy sips, and then turn your confused gaze on him, gradually filling with fear. Dottore's heart clenches unpleasantly, this is not how you were supposed to look at him. Not what he wants and not how it should be.

You try to say something, but again break into a cough. Dottore instantly approaches, he wants… to console you, to assure you that you are safe, but the words lie like dead weight on his tongue. He carefully reaches out to your hand, but freezes millimeters from your skin. He felt confused, useless. You will probably be uncomfortable with the touches of a sinner like him.

You carefully peer into his face, by the way your gaze moves along the features of his face, it seems to him that you are looking for an answer to some very important question for you. And after a few moments, the answer seems to satisfy you, a relieved sigh escapes your lips and you reach out with your hand to his, carefully placing your hand in his.

Dottore swallows dryly, warmth rising up his arm from where you touch.

"Everything will be fine, Your Grace. Now everything will be fine, I promise."

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

[lo1k-diamonds]

Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 2

“I may consider an alternative with less social catastrophe... If I’m adequately compensated. I was left wanting last time…”

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: The time has come for you to collect your favor, but Yoongi is not going to make it easy.

WORD COUNT: 7.3k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: corruption, power dynamics, slight degradation, sexual favors, hate sex, switching, semi-public sex, unprotected sex

A.N. If this part had a title, it would be hate sex. Very hot, explicit hate sex 🔥Let me know if you agree 😏 Again, infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for working through my crazy and being incredible! Enjoy 🔥🔥

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >

Yoongi pulled on the collar of his shirt as the car took a particularly sharp turn. The sirens were on and the officer driving the car was a bit on edge, so he couldn’t help his scowl. He never liked parades, much less a row of police cars racing to interfere with a petty theft at a charity gala. But the Mayor had insisted the newly appointed Senior Superintendent should look into the matter immediately, so there he was.

He looked outside, the streetlights passing in a blur under his inattentive eyes. He actually didn’t think he’d be able to save Officer Jimin a couple of months back, let alone get a promotion as a result, but here he was. And the night that changed everything still burned in the back of his mind.

He was furious when he left the Aether that night. He remembered storming out with a mix of emotions bubbling like lava inside his chest and slamming the door of his car closed. Despite himself, he drove home in a flash, recklessly letting the heat get to his head. 

It was all your fault that he couldn't get on top of whatever it was that he was feeling. Why was his head filled with images of you? Why he couldn't look at the road? Why he could barely hear another car honking in annoyance when he almost crashed as he turned onto his street?

All he could see was you, with your shiny hair falling over your shoulders, framing a cunning smile trying to hide behind a drink. Your pink cheeks heated him up, and no amount of deep breaths calmed him. He stormed inside his house with your long legs filling his mind as they wrapped around him, and all the way to his bedroom, you haunted him. He pulled his clothes off in a hurry, needing to get the lewd wet sounds of his mouth on your core off his mind, but it was difficult. No matter how fast he rushed, he could still hear himself sucking on your delicious cunt which muffled his own grunts beneath your obscene moans. He was so hard it hurt.

He just needed you out of his system, but as he raised his hand to turn on the shower, he froze. He took a deep breath, and another, then groaned. His eyelids closed before he could stop himself from licking his lips and fingers, letting your faint scent pull a low, deep groan from his throat. He could still feel your hand in his hair, and he needed to live it out. You had kicked him out of the Aether, saying you were done, but this was his house.

He got on the bed and grabbed his hard dick in his hand, closing his fingers around the head before letting himself melt into the soft sheets. Just your scent and taste were enough, and he fisted himself greedily. Fast; he needed you out of his system, so he raced for the peak. It was pathetic how quickly he was spurting white ropes of cum across his chest with nothing but the memory of his face buried in your cunt.

He thought that was what he needed, but ten minutes later he was not calmer or softer. In fact, he wondered if he made it worse by indulging in his dark fantasies, but soon he decided that no one needed to know.

I heard the missus left cause you couldn’t get it up, but won’t you look at that— I guess she just didn’t know how to play. Or maybe you like this. Like not having a choice, to be in danger, to be forced to do something reprehensible.

I have a choice.

Then choose.

His nostrils flared, but he didn't stop jerking off to the thought of you. What you said annoyed him, and he still had no clue why he was rock hard despite it, but there was no point in stopping. He was fucking ready to explode, lick and fuck every inch and hole of yours, and yet here he fucking was, alone on his bed.

He edged himself to the thought of you, reveling in the control he had over his pleasure and yours. It didn't matter to him that his ex complained; he had figured he just didn't want to have sex. Why would he when all she did was complain? He worked too much, he was never home, blah blah blah. Why would he want to be home when all she did was nag and whine? When she left and they divorced, he didn't feel any compulsion to search for sex, so he assumed that it was just what it was.

Months after meeting you, he still didn't know what it was about you. Why was he so inexplicably hard and turned on and ready to fuck your brains out, and so fucking pissed when you dismissed him and left him high and dry? To the point he had to jerk off to the thought of you, only to be disgusted with himself for feeling that way about someone so morally bankrupt. For not getting himself under control.

It occurred to him later that he was mad about not knowing if he'd be able to save Officer Jimin, but those doubts didn't last long. He woke up in the morning after meeting you to the sound of the doorbell, naked on his sheets with dried cum everywhere. Because whoever it was kept persistently pressing the bell, he grabbed a robe and made his way down, only to find no one. Yet, on his front door mat was a big envelope, and in it, something that immediately jolted him to hurry and get dressed.

It was a dashcam from a car that was parked near the incident and caught everything perfectly: another man had shot Officer Junghee, then shoved the gun into Jimin's hands, who ignored him to try and help his partner. The camera's serial number was valid; the car was also filmed parking there earlier that day, so in a matter of hours, Officer Jimin was exonerated of all charges, just like promised.

Yoongi was ecstatic, as was his team, yet as they celebrated, his mind kept reminding him who he should thank. He knew there would be a price, but in his memory, you were a sweet tease, ready to drive him crazy and fuck him in every way his mind came up with. The disgust that haunted him with every fantasy angered him, but did little to cool him. 

To curb the insanity of his thoughts, he looked up your record and found nothing. Distance and discipline worked wonders to remind himself, eventually, that it didn't matter how attracted he was to you or how many times he fucked you in his mind. You were the worst kind of criminal — the one that led others to commit the crimes for you. You were a despicable person, and you'd ask for something equally so in exchange for saving an innocent. He needed to stay sharp.

He was pulled out of his reverie when the car stopped before the charmingly decorated venue where most of the city’s echelon had gathered to attend a charity ball. A police agent at the scene waved him over to enter the building, and he didn’t waste any time. It frustrated him that he was there just to show face when he had better things to do, but even that evaporated quickly in the face of who was expecting him.

He scoffed and chuckled bitterly when he entered a backroom to meet the complainant, only to be met with you. You were the embodiment of an angel, with bloodshot eyes releasing tears that didn't make a dent on your perfect makeup. Your long blue dress was elegant, covering your generous figure chastely while you cried about being a victim.

“I can't believe this happened at a charity event!”

Yoongi didn't react, the show wasn't for him; it was for the event organizer, who was trying to avoid a scandal, “I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding!” She suddenly noticed him and the officer beside him, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree, “The Senior Superintendent is here, as promised!”

Your eyes finally turned to him, and the corners of your mouth twitched. You had noticed him entering the backroom, but now you could officially address him.

Between the organizer trying to flaunt the idea of the force protecting the good people of Seoul and you offering resistance to the idea that your purse wasn't long gone, he didn't know what drained his patience more. Finally, he decided it was you because surely this was all a ruse and you either wanted to make him look like a fool or to finally name your price.

“I'm sure the Senior Superintendent brought enough Officers to sweep the place from top to bottom—”

“Maybe we should retrace my steps,” you interrupted crudely, getting up from the long velvet chaise to fix your eyes on him.

He instantly understood what you wanted, and despite not agreeing with all the bullshit, he wanted to get it over with.

“I shall accompany you,” he agreed before following after you when you briskly walked away.

He managed to wave to the nearby officers to stay there and work the ground while your heels tapped across the marble floor. The hallway in front of you was decorated with astonishing sculptures, the likes that Yoongi had never seen, but he didn’t have time to wonder about the magnanimous hotel the gala was taking place in.

You were walking like you owned the place, and it made him grind his teeth as he followed you. How could anyone believe your made-up story? To them, you were a tycoon, owning many restaurants, clubs, and other businesses, so how come your security had let your purse be taken?

He knew better, of course; you were a criminal who led one of the most powerful organizations in the city. No one would be stupid enough to come close, and so he scoffed. This situation was ridiculous.

“Just a bit further,” you voiced.

“Shouldn't we be going to the entrance?”

His monotone voice made no impression as you reached the end of another corridor, where two men were standing. You extended your arm, receiving your purse promptly from one of them before the other opened the door for you. Yoongi simply followed you into the foyer, decorated like an elegant waiting room. Yet you still didn't stop and made your way to another door.

He followed you into what was the most luxurious bathroom he had ever seen. Everything was marble, the chandeliers were antiques, and there was even a corner where people could sit down and use the many toiletries and cosmetics available.

“My, following a lady into the bathroom?”

Your mocking tone made his eyebrow twitch, “I'll wait outside.”

“Nonsense,” you simply said before turning to the mirror to make sure your makeup was perfect. 

You twisted your nose at some invisible detail while he waited. He absolutely detested the perfect curve of your back and ass as you leaned forward, and even more the way your hair fell gracefully around you. You were beautiful and wasting everyone's time.

“Now,” you voiced, turning to him. “I'm glad you could take a moment from your busy schedule to help me with my little problem.”

“You clearly have no problem,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “So lets get to business.”

“My, Chief,” you brought your hand to your chest as though you were hurt. “Did the promotion get to your head?” He raised an eyebrow, and you chuckled and stepped toward him, “Didn't think you'd be that affected by power.”

“I'm not,” he bit between his teeth, eying you attentively while you circled him and reached for the items on the counter behind him.

“Good, good,” you said dismissively, then circled back towards the mirror. “Then you're still the man who isn't afraid to beg and keeps his word.”

Your tone was a bit colder as you leaned toward the mirror to apply a dark red shade of lipstick, and he frowned. It was hard to follow your thoughts, but it didn't matter. He needed to know what you wanted so he could try to finally lock you up for being a criminal mastermind.

“I am, so what is it that you want?”

“I heard your office was looking into the Klysa conglomerate for suspected fraud,” you started, batting your eyelashes as if you had just remembered it. “I need them out of the game.”

“So?” He asked dryly, sharp eyes unfazed by the request.

“So, I have a little something to help you nail them for good,” you reached inside your purse, then pulled his hand to you and placed the flash drive in his palm. “Just put the contents of this drive in any of their computers during your search and—”

“That’s illegal,” he interrupted, leaving his open palm with the USB stick on it.

“So?” Your tone was mocking as you raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to do that.”

You hummed and tapped your chin pensively. “Hmmm, but you are. You owe me, and you don’t want to be on my naughty list, right?” You grinned, raising a finger to touch his chin, but he dodged it with gritted teeth. He hated that you had something on him, and the heat climbing up his spine only aggravated him further. “Besides, they are committing crimes. It’s high time they got caught, don’t you think?”

“If there’s an ongoing investigation, then you can wait for—”

“Can’t wait,” you dismissed sharply, your eyes becoming narrow. “They have too many fingers in too many pies, and all it takes is one scandal for it all to come crashing down.”

“All?”

“All,” you repeated with a smirk.

“I can’t do that.” Your features hardened, and he hurried to say, “It’s a big conglomerate; thousands will lose their job. Families depend on these jobs, it would cause a social catastrophe.”

“Are you getting sentimental, Chief?”

“These things need to be done carefully,” he continued, ignoring your quip. “My department is investigating them, so with time—”

You huffed a deep breath and rolled your eyes, clearly displeased, and he held his tongue. Part of him was revolting at the hypocrisy of using the justice system to get rid of competition for crimes you probably indulged in as well, but he decided to stay quiet. Maybe that would be the easiest way to catch you — to see what kind of things you had on others and how you acted.

“I may consider an alternative with less social catastrophe,” you grimaced. “If I’m adequately compensated.” He raised an eyebrow as you grabbed the flash drive still in his hand and reached to put it inside his pants pocket. “I was left wanting last time…”

The way his spine tensed and his Adam's apple bobbed was difficult to hide, “You mean…”

You hummed, your hand playing with the edge of his pocket, “I’d hate to be left wanting this time.”

Your low, wanton voice gave him goosebumps, but he cleared his throat, “What’s the alternative?”

“That depends,” you smirked, sneaking your hand into his pocket. “Do we have a deal?”

“What is the alternative?”

His tone was dry, yet you chuckled as your fingers brushed his thigh through the fabric, “Are you going to leave me hanging?”

“I asked you a question.”

“So did I,” you said slowly, looking down. You licked your lips slowly at the view, then grinned and faced him again, “A tent is not an answer, Chief.”

He moved so fast you barely saw it as you blinked; in a split second, your wrist was in his hand, yanked out of his pocket. “I’m waiting.”

“So am I,” you grinned, facing him unabashedly. “I want to hear those pretty lips saying you’ll sit down on that couch and pull your hard cock out for me to use in exchange for the livelihood of all those tiny, insignificant people.” You had a sly smile as you spoke, nearing to nuzzle him, and the way he despised you flashed across his face. His grip tightened to keep you away, and you chuckled, “Thinking of using those handcuffs of yours?”

“You don’t know me,” he grumbled, low in his chest, and you smiled widely.

“I know you’re hard,” you shrugged as though you had already won. You licked your lips, “Is it the thrill again? Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about—”

He pulled you closer to growl something, but something thin and sharp pressed to his belly, and his breath was caught. 

He looked down as you smirked widely, “No knife this time, this is all you, Chief. At attention,” you dragged your acrylic nail up his stomach slowly, and his eyes followed it, holding your other wrist tightly still. “Must be difficult denying how hard and horny you get from dealing with someone like me, but we don’t have time to waste,” you sighed, biting your lip as you raised your hand to his hair, but stopped before you touched him. 

He tilted his head to get the tension off his neck, subtly looking away to catch a breather. You were putting him in a tight spot again, and this time it was even worse; he should know better.

You straightened up to look him in the eyes, “So the deal. Instead of raiding the whole conglomerate, I’ll give you the address of a hidden gambling house run by a higher-up. That, plus the flash drive, should be enough to dismantle those bastards slowly. Gotta give people the time to come and work for me instead, right?” 

You grinned slyly, unable to read what he was thinking because he didn’t know it himself. You had a good alternative that meant not ruining thousands of lives instantly, and that was all he needed to hear. Right?

Your smile suddenly vanished, and you pulled your wrist close to your chest, forcing him to fall into you a little bit as he held onto you, “But only if I get what I want.”

He eyed you, and you stood at a standstill. He should hate this, explode at you for trying to coerce him, for being a horrible person who didn’t think of the consequences of your petty requests, or how they’d affect the livelihoods of so many people. Yet, instead, he was starting to burn. Something hot was licking at the back of his neck as he strained it, trying to soothe the tension again. His muscles were tightening, ready to jump at a moment's notice; meanwhile, his mind struggled. No, he didn’t want this. You were using him for sex and to handle competition; it was nasty business. It was a way to subdue him and corrupt what he represented. You were vile, and—

“I don’t have all day,” you reminded him, and he blinked. 

You were infuriating, petulant, narcissistic, and he hated that he was even considering it. 

You pulled your wrist out of his hand and gave him a cold look, “Never mind—”

He was on his way to the couch before he realized it. He sat on it, facing you, and you stood still, waiting. Looking at you, he had a moment of lucidity, and his shoulders relaxed. He unzipped his pants as he weighed the consequences of going against you — the head of a powerful criminal organization that would work against him, framing his personnel or himself. His career would surely not reach far, and you’d get what you wanted, one way or another. 

His eyes were still fixed on yours as he pulled his hard dick out, not bothering to even stroke it. He was as hard as can be, so he presented it to you just like you wanted, and just like he wanted. His chest burned as you stepped slowly towards him, and he admitted that of all the ways you had to get what you wanted, he much preferred you used him to get there.

You stopped in front of him, threw your purse on the couch, then kneeled on the floor with so much grace he held his breath. The way you had ensnared him without even touching him should scare him, but he was totally in it.

“Say it,” you demanded, only looking down once before facing him again.

“Use me,” his gruff voice revealed his darkest desire before he could stop himself, but he recognized then that he wouldn’t.

As you got up to your feet and pushed him back so you could straddle him, he acknowledged that he wanted everything. He shouldn’t, but he had no morals at that moment. He didn't care about anyone’s record, crimes, lives, or careers; he cared about nothing. You were on his lap, grasping the hair at the back of his head, forcing him to reveal his neck to you so you could bite, and the groan that came out said it all. He dared to frame your waist above him, and you sighed on his neck, pressing yourself to him. Already, there wasn’t much that could get him to stop, but now he guessed there was nothing. Even if someone dared to interrupt, officer or otherwise, he’d never stop, not before he was inside you, and surely not when he was.

No, he hummed, palming your curves freely as you nibbled on his neck and found your way under his shirt. He’d get his dick inside you and show you all the ways he’d been dreaming of fucking you ever since you last met. Only then, when you had been fucked so thoroughly you’d walk funny, would he bite the head off of whoever dared to interrupt you two.

Hypothetically.

For now, he didn’t have to worry because no one was about to interfere with what you both wanted. Your nails had scratched him to the point he had to grip your flesh in retaliation, or maybe as an incentive. You moved on to bite his ear and the skin right under it, and the way your hips swayed over him drove him insane. No amount of grinding should make him feel this good, and he refused to blow without turning you into a mess first.

His hands on your hips helped you grind your covered cunt harder against his bare dick, and he could tell you liked it because you started moaning quietly. It was a low, dragged sound, almost as if you wanted to hide it, and it riled him up. He wanted you to fall apart, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it.

You surely noticed how keen he was, but your hips kept moving faster. The friction of your underwear on his shaft was burning, but he didn’t care. You were grabbing onto him so tight, your nails were sinking into his scalp and shoulders. You wanted to use him, and he’d show you just how easily you crumbled instead.

But he didn’t expect you to suddenly straighten up and reach between your bodies. He looked at your expression, knitted eyebrows and peeping tongue while you focused, and then he felt it. You rolled your hips a bit, and your eyelashes fluttered at the same time he swallowed a groan and sank his nails into the skin of your hips.

Fuck.

You were holding his dick to your slit, coating him in your slick with every hump of your hips, and he could feel everything. How wet you were, sliding eagerly, especially around your entrance. He tried pushing up to get in, but you didn’t let him, licking your lips spread with a mischievous smile. You were playing with him, and your teasing made him snap his hips, trying to bypass you, but you moved with him, chuckling sensually. His mind was fried then; there was nothing that could ever come close to how delicious you were. How deviant, teasing, wrong, and yet the obsession he didn’t know he could have. 

Was that what it was?

You interrupted his thoughts when you aligned him with you and sank down on him. Your desperate whimper as you did washed his brain clean; all he could do was stare at you with a slack jaw as you indulged in a push and pull, letting his girth stretch you again and again. It was torture, but he enjoyed seeing all your little reactions. The way you bit your lip, panting a little harder with the effort of getting him deeper inside you, fighting your eyes from closing so you could see it happening. He glanced too, but the image of his cock disappearing between your folds, hugged so tightly between your walls, was too risky. He preferred to look at you, pick up on the tells of your pleasure. He particularly liked it when you settled down fully, biting your lip as he poked you inside, tucked to the hilt.

You were hesitant to move, still throbbing around him, so he took your hips and moved them gently. Your reaction was instantaneous, throwing your head back and letting him direct your pleasure as he pleased. It burned inside his chest to see you so vulnerable on his cock, knowing he could do to you whatever he wanted, but he didn’t want to rush things. He absorbed the way you breathed, and your lips twitched with every roll as he guided you. His hands trailed your ass and hips, eager to feel and brand every inch of your flesh, when he noticed the garter in the same place as last time with a knife tucked in it.

He touched the handle, and you chuckled, opening your eyes to look at him, “Scared?”

“No,” he rasped, focused entirely on you, even as his fingers trailed the garter. “You?”

You smiled and leaned into him, “Fuck no.”

He closed his eyes because he thought you’d kiss him, but you only held him tighter and glued your cheeks together. You started rolling your hips faster and panting and moaning into his ear, and he kept his eyes closed. You were using him to get off, and you sounded and felt so fucking divine doing it. He had to fight not to burst too early. Fuck, were you having fun, grinding your clit on him every time the tip of his cock hit that special spot inside you that had you keening. 

He was so focused that he noticed every detail, from the subtle change in the angle of your hips, to the way you pressed your cheek to the side of his face the more you lost control. Eventually, one of your hands moved from his shoulder to the straps of your dress, and then you straightened back up. You were flushed and breathing in quiet moans, showing such a sensual and vulnerable side of you, he was devastated. Still, when you pulled down the dress and revealed your chest, his legs became weak under your swaying hips.

Fuck, how was it that you were so beautiful? Perfectly round breasts trembling gently with every move of yours on his length, searching for pleasure, and he knew he couldn’t remember his own name even if you asked.

Your hand grabbed onto his hair and brought him close, and his mouth instantly latched onto a nipple. You jolted, groaning through clenched teeth, and he fought the urge to press down on your hips harder. He wanted to fuck you so hard, to let go, but at least he had a consolation prize. He licked and teased your perky nipples, brushing the one free from his mouth in tandem, and your reaction was priceless. Hearing you and feeling your nails, he knew he could have pumped you full of cum then, but it was a delight to wait. To notice how urgent your ride became, not just grinding on him but letting your weight fall on him to help his cock reach deep, all while desperately urging him to torture your nipples and tits between his teeth.

He wasn’t surprised when you started shaking despite pressing your legs and arms even harder around him, but he had to think of something else not to come. You moaned and cried while your pleasure came crashing down on you, and on him as well, rhythmically squeezing him inside your tight walls, and it was a lot. It was perfect, fulfilling even though he didn’t even finish, but he stayed resolute while he helped you fuck yourself on him and draw your orgasm out. You said you wanted to use him, and he hoped that included more than just that ride.

You stilled, and he stayed with his face buried in your chest. He kept massaging your ass and hips over him, careful not to force you to move while he licked and nibbled on your sensitive flesh. Just your chest heaving to his face while he inhaled your scent could have thrown his control off, but he waited. Patiently, without ever stopping his touches and kisses.

Eventually, you recovered and pulled on his hair so he’d let go of your abused nipple. You nuzzled his warm forehead before getting back on your feet and walking away from him. He kept his eyes trained on you, and you seemed to wobble a little on your legs, raking your fingers through your long hair until you stopped in front of a mirror. He looked down, noticing how you had left his cock not only glistening, but creamed with your cum, and he shook his head. In that short silence, he thought first that he fucking loved it and wanted you on his dick again, and then he couldn’t take it. This time, he’d grab himself and finish it, regardless of—

“Come here,” you rasped quietly, eyeing him through the mirror. His ears perked up as he looked at you, but he wasn’t sure of what you said. You placed your hands on the edges of the sink, “Come fuck me, Yoongi.”

For a second, he thought he ignited. Like a match to gasoline, your voice sparked and combusted his very blood to the point his synapses stopped working. Then, he got up and approached you slowly. Now that you had asked, there was no rush. It felt inevitable the way he was about to touch you and feel you, like the crash of a wave to the shore, and taming the urge was part of the torture.

He could see the same feeling in your eyes, trained on him through the mirror as he made his way to you, glistening. You were unnaturally still, as if you knew not to move to keep that tension going, and it felt powerful. You weren’t running your mouth, grabbing him, or rushing him. No, you were quite literally still in the position you wanted him to fuck you in and patiently waiting for the treat you knew was coming.

He stopped behind you, looking down at the curve of your body as you arched your back slightly before raising his eyes to the mirror. Not only did your expression give away your desire, with flushed cheeks and your lip tucked gently between your teeth, but your position was vulnerable. You swayed on your legs as though to lure him to come closer, and he did, gluing his crotch to your ass.

Your eyelids dropped as you groaned, rubbing your ass on his erection, and only the sense of control flooding his veins kept him in check. It felt like a reward to see you eager to have his cock inside you again, and he needed it. It was too sweet, he had to observe and take in every little detail of your surrender now that you couldn’t hide. How you squirmed for more of his touch when he palmed your hips, leaning down to help him grab and pull your long dress to the side so he could reach your bare hips. You stopped breathing when he did, leaning even more as though to offer yourself, then gasped a moan when his hand struck your ass.

Your eyes were closed as he held you to him, sliding his glistening dick between your legs as he pulled you to his chest. You fell back into him, melting as he groped your tits harshly, all while snapping his hips. He observed your reactions, hungrily taking everything you gave him with every brush, pinch, or bite. Especially when you tried to tilt your hips so you could feel him better near your core, and he fought you, pressing you firmly, preventing you from getting his cock. He tortured you in other ways, biting and licking up your neck to your ear while he squeezed and rolled your nipples between his deft fingers, and your desperate moans as you squirmed were priceless.

You reached your breaking point and snapped your eyes open, facing him through the mirror with a frustrated harshness that made him smile while he nuzzled your ear. You were about to revert to demanding what you wanted out of sheer sexual frustration, and he loved it. Still, he thought he had given you enough time to recover, so he reached for the elastic of your underwear and slid it down slowly.

It was enough for you to wiggle it down your legs, which forced his arms to press you back into him, pining you in place, and you gushed. He found out he was handling your frenzy marvelously when he reached to feel you and your slick dripped from your heat. He instantly brought his wet fingers to his mouth, and you watched his reflection suck and lick your arousal and cum as if it was a delicacy, and it made you snap.

You squirmed, “Please.”

He finally matched your urgency; he let go of his fingers with a grunt, then grabbed his dick to align himself with you. He had to push you to arch your back so your cunt was easily in front of him, but then he pressed your hips flush to his and you both groaned. Your toes curled, and your face scrunched as you tried moving on his cock, but his hands were claws on your hips, keeping you still. You felt so fucking amazing around him that he twitched inside you, and you whimpered. It was that little sound that broke the dam and let it all overflow.

He snaked an arm up your chest to grab your neck while the other kept you in place to take every snap of his hips into your ass. He nibbled and licked your neck whenever you’d move close enough, and every moan out of your lips only made him want to coax another one. Harder, faster, you drove him fucking insane. He wanted you to fall apart on his cock, cry with how good he was giving it to you, and it was as if you could read his mind. The more you wiggled, the harder his arms pressed you closer. The louder you whimpered, the more he bit you and obsessed over more cries and curses. The more you moved to meet his thrusts, the harder he fucked you, bruising your skin with his fingers and teeth purely out of sheer desire.

“Fuck,” you cried out. “Who knew… you could… fuck like this?”

Something like a growl came from deep in his throat, and he wrapped your hair around his hand, pressing your stomach to the sink in front of you. His hips slowed while you faced him in the mirror, pinned so still you couldn’t see what his other hand was doing until you felt his fingers on your clit.

You jolted against him, and you could almost see the spark in his eyes. “You’re going to come for me.”

You grinned, “Am I—?”

Your voice derailed with him rubbing you softly, contrasting so much with how hard you needed to feel him, it gave you whiplash.

But you couldn’t be quiet; you bit your lip and gazed at him again through the mirror, “Want me to milk your cock, huh?”

You were almost hiccuping, trying to tease him while he played your clit masterfully; meanwhile, his dark eyes on you didn’t give much away. Were you riling him up? Did he want to fuck you senseless now? You wanted him to lose that upright posture and just fuck you like the animal you knew was lurking under all the fucking decorum, but his stupid long fingers keeping the perfect speed on your clit weren’t giving you any chances. You squirmed, but his grip was steel, and it just made you gush around his perfect cock even more. Fuck, you loved the way he grabbed you, handled you, and imposed a high on you despite your best efforts to go against him.

He was so focused, looking at you while he lulled you in the perfect sway of his hips, stretch of his cock, and rub of his fingers. So you smiled at him, “If I come… Will you let go?” His eyebrow twitched. “Will you go fucking wild and use me instead?”

He moved to nuzzle your neck and didn’t answer you. A part of him thought that was not what he was doing, but another knew exactly what that was. You wanted to use him and subdue him, and he’d show you just how easily the tables turned. Would he let go? Would he fuck you senseless? The answer was yes, and he didn’t consider any of it as using you. If you begged to be fucked and creamed his cock while at it, he’d consider it quite simply a lesson you’d never forget. That you’d hopefully want to repeat.

But he never answered you, only increased the reach of his cock inside you while his fingers rubbed you in a stable rhythm. He swayed his hips to drag his shaft across your walls, and saw how you whimpered and tried writhing, unable to deal with the pleasure being enforced on you. But he had been paying attention, so he never had to answer you. Because you wouldn’t have a choice.

You mewled and moaned, feeling a familiar burn in your core and lower stomach that had you tensing unbelievably. As he kept moving, your legs started trembling, and your fingers gripped the cold porcelain sink. He had you in place, and you were so tucked in tight with nowhere to go. You were safe, though, trying to wiggle the intensity both away and closer, until you opened your eyes. There was something about the way he breathed down your neck, looking at you moaning and panting while your tits shook with each breath that got you on a train, and suddenly, you couldn't move back. The tracks were in front of you, yet so was the cliff, and there was no stopping. You tried regaining control, but it slipped away from you, and before you could voice anything at all, you crashed.

You let your head fall back as your loud moans echoed through the walls, giving him goosebumps while he felt your pleasure deeply. Your nails scratched the sink as you swayed your hips to feel him in a particular way, and he closed his eyes, smelling the intimacy in your hair while you disintegrated. But he only gave himself a moment before chasing his own climax because soon you’d be too sensitive and there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to fuck you like you both craved.

He tried to keep his fingers on your clit to help you, but fucking you faster meant losing sight of that. You didn't mind it because you gripped his forearm and whimpered the overstimulation right before you closed your eyes. Your jaw hung open as he picked up the pace and dug his fingers into your hips to keep you in position, and you saw stars. Every time he shoved his cock in, you held your breath, only for a moan to be pushed out of you right before he pulled out. The same push and pull, again and again, all while his fingers tried to tease your clit. 

You couldn’t come so fast again and you wanted to see his crash, so you pulled his hand to the sink for support and arched your back even more, giving him everything you could to help.

The first hint was the quiet groans, then shaking of his head as if he wanted to shake it off and make it last. But you were squeezing his thick cock, meeting his thrusts, and through your brainless moans, eager and hungrily waiting for the moment he’d pop.

And it was divine. Why did a cop look so fucking good busting his nut inside you? Like you were the only cunt in fucking existence worth sticking his cock into? You knew you were, but still, it gave you such a fucking high, you could barely believe it.

His face scrunched as he grunted and pumped himself empty inside you, and you bit your lip, adoring every second. It was twisted but felt and looked so good you could only think it was a shame there was a party you needed to attend a few rooms away.

He opened his eyes to find you looking at him like he was a snack, and it jolted him awake a little. He looked down at your ass pressed to his crotch and sighed to himself. 

Fuck it. 

He didn’t let any thoughts interrupt the high he was in right now, and only when you moved did he move also so he could help you. He let your hips go gently so you could stand comfortably without pressing into the sink, then reached for paper towels to clean you, but staggered. What was he doing? You were still winded, slowly recovering as his cum trickled down your thighs. His cum. From fucking you—

He put the paper towels in front of you and walked back, grabbing more so he could clean himself up, too. He needed distance; he must have been out of his damned mind to do that.  

The hairs at the back of his neck were standing as the disgust made its way up his neck. He shuddered and threw the scrunched paper vaguely in the direction of a trash can, and only then faced you. You were on the couch with a cigarette in your mouth, smoking placidly. He couldn’t help but bite his lower lip at the sight, and then chastised himself. He should have brought some nicotine gum with him.

“Get me something to write,” you said quietly, before taking a long drag. 

“What?”

You had caught him by surprise, yet you sighed the smoke out with exasperation, “To write the address.”

He frowned at first, what the hell were you on about? But your dry, unbothered look was enough to tell him that you'd soon get up, fix your dress, and go back to your distasteful self. He preferred to have the address. 

Fortunately, he remembered the items behind you on the counter and quickly grabbed something that resembled a pencil. 

You tucked the cigarette between your lips before pulling the eyeliner from his hand. Then, you grabbed his wrist and forcibly pulled his sleeve back. He grunted in annoyance, but you ignored him and scribbled something on his wrist.

Then you let him go and threw the pencil on another couch before leaning back and heaving a seemingly endless drag of smoke in his direction. He raised his eyebrow, unimpressed, and your eyebrows twitched, “Don't go rubbing your wrist too hard, now. Can't risk all those poor souls.”

Your sneer made him roll his eyes, and he didn't answer or acknowledge you. He simply pulled his sleeve to cover your marks carefully and walked out the door.

[bloodstainedsaint]

thank you thank you thank yooou!! And I don’t mind waiting for good stuff 🤷‍♀️

Okay so my idea kinda was in episode 7 when George and Lipton is in the same foxhole. So they get “hit” by the dud but the reader is so scared something actually happened to George, so she is running towards their foxhole and George is screaming for her to stay put cuz he’s okay and then she gets hit….or almost…I mean something tragic. I wanna bawl my eyes out.

And of course…feel free to not do it, if you think it sucks🧡 Love your stuff and have a good day !

louder than bombs (george luz x reader)

word count: 1800+

warnings: blood, gore, death, angst (w happy ending), bff! roe, mutual pining, i hint at both renée x roe AND baberoe

notes: used some hcs from this (shameless self-plug), and happy new year to all! i hope that 2024 is your year :)

“So, you and Luz, huh?”

Despite Lieutenant Dike’s request not to (like you'd listen to a coward like him anyway, even if he did have a good point), you and Eugene were sharing a foxhole — one a few meters behind where Skip, Penk, Don, and Luz were standing around in a circle, joking and laughing.

Taking your eyes off the man in question — you'd been staring at him from afar for too long, anyway — you turned to Eugene with a befuddled expression. “What do you mean, ‘You and Luz?’”

He took one look at your face and chuckled around the cigarette in his mouth. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

“You say that as if we’re together or something, Gene,” you scoffed and held yourself tighter for warmth.

“Practically. Seen yourself lately? You blush and smile whenever he talks to you.”

Spluttering in response, you could feel your ears going red. “Well, Bayou, what if I’m blushing because it's zero degrees out here? And what if he’s just a funny guy in general?”

Eugene glanced over to the group of men, and, as if on cue, they were cracking up at George’s impression of the chickenshit lieutenant. “He’s a good match for you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, I'm so glad you approve,” you said, rolling your eyes at your friend. “Gonna read our wedding rites now?”

He put out his cigarette. “He makes you laugh. We could all use some of that.”

You inspected the faraway look in Eugene’s eyes, and you knew he was right. The fatal accident with the goddamned Luger that killed Hoobler recently, the barrage earlier today that sent both Joe Toye and Bill home with missing right legs, the overall misery of this frozen hell. You’d all seen your fair share of blood and open flesh; the company needed the beam of light that was George Luz.

Watching Luz as he was pulled aside by Lipton, you exhaled, nodded, and huddled a little closer to Eugene. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right.” After a few quiet, thoughtful moments, a small smile creeped back up on your face when you thought of something to bring up the mood again.

“You never heard me teasing you about Renée,” you muttered beneath your breath, loud enough for him to hear and correct you on because you had teased him about the Belgian nurse. Before he could, you pushed on, your grin growing, “Hey, what about you and Babe, huh?”

Now it was his turn to turn to you shocked. Your snickering was interrupted by the roaring, deafening sound of a bombardment shredding trees around you.

“Shit!” you cursed, the night sky lighting up with fireworks of yellow and white. Snow and dirt erupted from the ground like spurts of lava from a volcano. Through the ringing in your ears, you heard bellows of “Incoming!” and other indistinct cries.

Turning to the man next to you, you shouted above the din, “Eugene, you alright?”

“Fine,” he shouted back as he clutched his helmet tight to his head. “You?”

“Fine,” you echoed with a nod, though maybe your head had moved on its own with the shaking ground beneath you. You strained your ears to single out cries for a medic; you didn't catch any, and you weren't sure if that was because no one had gotten hurt yet or because they were dead within an instant.

You peeped over the edge of your foxhole. In the flashes of light, you could make out amongst the silhouette of wrecked trees George hurriedly crawling on the ground towards a foxhole with two soldiers in it, yelling for him to come on. If your hearing wasn't failing you, you recognized their voices as Skip and Penk.

“What d’ya see?” Eugene poked his head out of the foxhole.

Your voice was strangled in your throat as you helplessly watched George inch his way toward cover. “I—” you started, before a shell directly hit the two men in the middle of their calls. Frantically, you backed into your foxhole. “Skip and Penk, they’re…”

“What?” Eugene shouted, and you realized you had only murmured it.

“Muck and Penkala got hit!” you cried. The look you gave Eugene told him that there would be no saving them.

You got back up to peek over your foxhole and saw that Luz had vanished. Your heart sank in your chest, right down to the pits of your stomach.

Before your mind could register what was going on, your feet lifted you up and out of the foxhole. You could faintly hear Eugene yelling at you to come back, (Y/N), what the hell are you doing? You hit the ground at the same time a shell did just meters away from you, showering you in debris. Yet, you felt distant from the thought of danger or bodily harm, your raw instinct on overdrive; the only thing that was running through your mind as you dashed through the devastated forest was if George was okay.

Eyes flitting around, you caught a glimpse of him getting into a foxhole with Lip. As waves of relief washed over you, you jumped into a foxhole a distance behind them. A shell impacted nearby and swept the fallen trees acting as their cover towards you. You pulled your knees close to your chest and covered your head, staying like that as the barrage kept up.

Then, for just a second, it was silent. Closing your eyes, you caught your breath. A whistling sound ceased the brief respite, and you peered over just in time to see smoke coming from George and Lipton’s foxhole. Your mind disconnected itself from your body once again; it felt like you were moving in slow motion as your feet took you to them. That smoke clouded your senses, your thoughts — all you could see and hear were the vivid memories of Hoobler’s wound gushing blood and his dull eyes closing shut for the last time; you treating Bill’s still twitching leg while Toye’s shredded one was being bandaged by Eugene only feet away; and Muck and Penkala’s foxhole going up in a spray of dirt and a show of light, abruptly cutting off their shouting.

What were you going to see when you arrived at their foxhole? Bloodstained snow? Mangled limbs? Ruined corpses? Even the thought made you want to sob.

Your heart thundered in your ear, louder than any bombs or artillery the Germans could send at you, but you could vaguely discern George’s voice in your trance.

“Damn it, am I yelling medic? Stay right fucking there, (Y/N)!”

Right as you were shaken out of your own head, your eyes focusing on the two unharmed men as they yelled for you to stay put, a shell hit a tree hardly an arm’s length away from you. The burst launched you backwards, lodging shrapnel into your face and all over your body.

You let your eyes flutter closed as the screaming started.

-

“(Y/N)!” George bawled, witnessing the last shell of the bombardment blast the tree right next to you.

“George, get down!” Lip pushed George down into the foxhole from where he'd been peeking over to helplessly watch your unsteady advance.

George couldn't get the image of you shielding yourself at the last second out of his head. He broke free from Lipton and crawled out of his foxhole to your unmoving figure, relieved to find that you were still breathing out clouds of vapor, albeit unevenly. Your right cheek was cut and bleeding, as well as your arms, legs, torso — hell, was there anywhere you weren’t bleeding from?

He cradled your head to his, whispering that it's gonna be alright and you’re gonna be just dandy, (Y/N), even though he didn't believe those words himself. He lifted his head from yours and yelled for a medic with a hoarse voice, already scratched up from having to shout over the booming to tell Lipton that Muck and Penkala got hit.

George then realized that he had gotten extremely lucky that day; Muck and Penkala had been shelled just before he reached their foxhole, and the shell that had landed next to him and Lipton was a dud. Staring down at your bloodied form, he darkly concluded that maybe he wasn't lucky — maybe he just brought bad luck to everyone else.

Eugene seemed to materialize out of thin air at the panicked calls for a doctor and kneeled over you, ordering, “Set ‘em down, set ‘em down!” George laid you down on the icy ground, and he saw that your eyes were open now, darting around at your surroundings. You looked frightened and pained, yet when your eyes finally settled on him, you seemed somewhat at ease.

“Jesus, what did I tell you, (Y/N)?” Eugene reprimanded, but the concern in his voice was evident. He began picking out the shrapnel from your flesh, and you wailed out in agony. Ripping open a sulfa packet with his teeth, he then shook the powder onto your countless wounds.

In the back of his mind, George knew that your pained whimpers would haunt him forever if you didn't pull through, acting as the price of his "good luck".

“Told me to come back, Genie,” you smiled mirthlessly, which quickly became a wince with the gash in your cheek. The white medic band around your arm was stained the same color as the red cross on it.

Lipton was out of the foxhole at this point and assisting Eugene with bandaging your injuries. “You’ll be fine, alright? Just hang in there.”

George registered that he had only been staring, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed your clammy hand, to which you weakly squeezed back.

Grimacing while he injected you with morphine, Eugene said to Lipton, “They’re bleeding bad, Sarge; we gotta get ‘em back to an aid station.”

George’s voice sounded far off from himself. “I’ll radio for a jeep.” As he did so, his hand still clutching yours, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the excruciation on your face. For some reason, he felt guilty.

Though it felt like years to him, the jeep arrived shortly, and the three of them carried you to the stretcher on the hood of the vehicle and gingerly placed you upon it.

Gazing down upon you on that stretcher, your face streaked with crimson, your hair matted with dried blood, George wanted to say, “I still find you beautiful, Bloody Mary," but for what felt like first time in his life, the words weren't there and the wiseass comment just refused to come out right.

What came tumbling out of his lips instead was, “I love you.”

Pausing, Lipton and Eugene exchanged a knowing look and watched with bated breath. Meanwhile, George wanted to smack himself for letting the adrenaline coursing through his veins get to him; this was definitely not what you wanted to hear — rejecting him should be the least of your worries right now.

To his utter disbelief, you smiled, in spite of yourself and the grim circumstances. “I love you too, George.”

Once his brain wrapped around the fact that you needed him as much as he needed you, he implored, "Come back to me, alright?” He gently caressed your cheek, his voice sounding different to himself with the undertone of desperation. “I—I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

You placed a feeble hand over his and turned to press a kiss to it. “I'm counting on it.”

The driver finally grew tired of the delay and urged them to get moving. George stepped away as Eugene hopped in the jeep’s shotgun seat to escort you back to the aid station.

Lighting a cigarette with trembling hands, George watched the jeep dissipate into the blanket of night.

-

Eugene let things sink in for a while; you were grateful for the time to rest as the morphine kicked in. When you arrived, though, you were awake enough to hear him ask again, a rare smirk hidden in his voice:

“So, you and Luz, huh?”

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @samwinchesterslostshoe, @fxxiva

[samcarter34]

Ashton got a new outfit for what’s probably the first time in years, and within a week (literally a week according to the miraheze wiki) it gets melted by lava, scorched and blown up by the shard (presumably reconstituted by the ring) and now it doesn’t even fit because of Ashton’s growth spurt.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Karma

Kryptonian religion places everyone in their respective roles to foster a cohesive and communal society, and although Kara Zor El knows that adjustments to roles, where people shift to a different guild for a better fit has and can happen, she also doesn't recall every witnessing it.

Everyone is genetically tailored for their role. They can't escape it, and it looms upon them like a primal urge.

Kara Zor El was tailored for science. Her entire childhood oriented around science, where she followed her father around his lab, where she worked hard at the science projects in her classes.

But she also had a deep interest in her mother's work, and her Aunt's work. Her mother was a judge in the Religious Guild, and her judgements were never questioned. She listened to the cases, examined them from many angles, and rendered her judgement.

For young Kara, that was what justice was.

Then her Aunt Astra altered her view. She was of the Military guild, but a softness curled around the edges of her personality, a softness she hid, but Kara and Astra's husband, Non, saw it at times.

Astra spoke of her adventures on other planets, many of which Kara had yet to visit. But the stories held a moral to each one, where Astra would ask, "So what did you learn from this tale?"

Kara would think it over, and give an answer. Astra never said if she was correct or not. Only accepted this is Kara's answer, then would ask more questions. It helped Kara dig deeper, to examine the roots of the issues, to look at the story from a different perspective.

This is how Kara learned Krypton was dying. Her people had dug too deep, tapped the core too much, and had stressed the planet to the point of fracture. Astra had the wild hope of stopping this before the end, but her attempts became increasingly violent.

Yet, wasn't Astra's actions a form of justice of sorts?

Kara asked her father once. "Father, if we are overstressing the planet, why don't we fix it?"

Her father had frowned. "Why do you think its overstressed? Is Astra filling your head with nonsense?"

Had she?

Her father and mother denied the truth of Krypton's fate, continued forward with their plans, and Kara ended up a pawn of her mother. Used to lure Astra back to Argo City, where she was captured and put on trial.

Then sentenced to the Phantom Zone. All because she wanted to save Krypton.

Kara didn't know if what her mother did was justice anymore.

But she did learn of the karmic balance to their fates. What one put into the world will come back to bite.

And when her mother and father rushed her to the pod, told her she would follow Kal-el and raise him in their ways. "You will have great powers on this Earth," Her mother had said. "Use them wisely."

Behind them, lava spurted out of the widening cracks. Buildings toppled.

The end her parents had denied came anyway. The karmic burden unleashed its retribution on their inaction.

And Kara was shot into the starry sky, helpless in the pod, unable to move, her only view of her planet.

Her gleaming yellow and red world exploded before her eyes, knocked her off course, and she tumbled into the horrors of the Phantom Zone.

***

Kara wondered often if being trapped in the Phantom Zone had been the karmic retribution for her own inaction, for her not realizing her mother's ploy to capture Astra sooner, for something she failed to do right.

This haunted her, and sometimes she wondered if her torturous years was her fate. That perhaps in a prior life she'd been a terrible person, and so she was forced to endure the retribution of a past life.

Who can say?

Kara's first few years on Earth rumbled with grief and rage. Her task to raise Kal-el thwarted by her Phantom Zone years, and now she had no role. She was not the first young person admitted to the Science Guild in centuries -- not anymore.

Instead, she was told to hide herself.

The urge to experiment, to theorize, to become a scientist did not leave her. She'd been genetically enhanced for it, and yet, Earth sciences were far below Kryptonian. It felt like she'd been dropped in a past millennium, long before Kryptonians learned to master the stars.

Eliza had to take her aside many times to explain that correcting the teachers on theory would put her in danger.

So Kara stayed silent and raged quietly along the beach. Where she threw rocks into the ocean -- larger than any she'd seen prior -- and wondered if this would forever be her life. Losing all she loves and being unable to fulfill her role in life.

Living in shadows and paying the karmic price for her existence.

***

Her life changes dramatically the moment Kara meets Lena Luthor. It felt like Rao himself deigned to give Kara a precious gift, one she desperately sought to hold close, even if Lena was a bit prickly at first.

But to balance her Supergirl persona with Kara Danvers? To find a way to walk that narrow line, stay hidden, and not expose Lena to danger?

It proved impossible.

Lena kept almost dying, whether it was due to the actions of assassins or her own family kidnapping and using her -- Kara struggled to keep up the boundary she'd set. Far too many times she had to save Lena as Supergirl.

How could she keep the boundary of just being Kara Danvers around Lena and being a professional as Supergirl, one that wasn't a friend but an ally?

Her role in society had already been destroyed. Her mission in life wrenched from her hands. Kara Zor El Danvers existed in the liminal space of two worlds -- one long dead and shrouded in grief and rage and the other vibrantly alive with hope and love.

How could she reconcile it?

Was she doomed by fate to never be her full self with anyone? Is this the karmic justice for whatever her past self had done? For her failure as a kid to not push back against her parents' lies, for fighting her Aunt Astra on Earth and letting her die?

"Lena, I have a question." Kara said on one of their movie nights, where she'd paused the movie right before the opening credits. It had been a long week for both of them, what with Medusa, then Jack's death, and Lena's new big but somewhat secretive project. Finding time for each other had been difficult, so Kara wanted to make the most of it.

"Fire away." Lena put her cup on the table and shifted, so that one arm rested on the of the sofa.

"Do you believe in karmic justice?"

Lena tilted her head. "Karmic justice? Are you asking about the Buddhist and Hindu philosophy of Karma?"

Kara didn't know what those religions were. Not yet, though she made a note to go research them in the library later this week. "I guess. It's just..." she struggled to articulate what it meant without giving away what must remain hidden.

But she couldn't find the right words. Lena knew she was adopted now, so maybe she could vaguely talk about her lost home without mentioning exploding planets and such?

"The culture I grew up in," Kara said, each word carefully measured, "had a strong religious and science view of the universe. We had a sun god, and minor gods that fit specific roles. Where each person knew where they existed in society. Karmic justice is the balance to reorient us back on the altruistic path, to make sure we fulfill our true role within our community."

Lena listened, her eyebrows scrunched, and her lips upturned in that thoughtful expression Kara found so endearing. "You know," Lena said, quietly. "You've never talked of your past before." She reached over and grasped Kara's hand. "Thank you for sharing that." Her gratitude brought a faint smile to Kara's face; she'd never been thanked like this for sharing of her past.

For a long moment, she studied Kara, her head tilted to one side.

"I suppose I can relate to that," Lena said. "The Luthors had very rigid roles for who we would become in society, and how to spend their wealth. There was never any question about my trajectory -- I would become a scientist and eventually be part of Luthorcorp. Lex was destined to be the CEO, not me, but I was assumed and expected to join the company as a researcher. And I did for awhile, but I hated working on military weapons."

She sighed and scooted closer to Kara. "I wanted to work on projects to reverse the ecological destruction of an oil-based economy. I wanted to explore renewable energies that improved people's lives. I wanted to find the cure to cancer, to create medicines that saved lives rather than destroyed."

Kara listened with a growing awe. "You really do understand," she said. "Alex didn't. Eliza tried. They kept telling me that here in America I could be anything I wanted, but the one thing I've always wanted I had to hide for safety."

"Hide?" Lena gently tucked a lock of Kara's hair behind her ear, her touch electrifying almost. "I can relate. I hid many of my interests from Lillian, and then from Lex when he fell into darkness." She nibbled on her lip. "I admit, I was fascinated by the storybook my birth mother left me. I dreamed of finding some of the artifacts in her stories. I even had the idea of using some to cure Lex, to stop his madness. Perhaps that is my karmic justice. Doomed to always fail at stopping my brother's megalomania."

Kara wrapped an arm around Lena's shoulders. The TV's glow lit them with a surreal pattern of reds, blues, and greens, and the soft hum of the appliances a steady backdrop to the symphony of Lena's heartbeat.

"It really helps to hear you understand. Really." Relief saturated her, and made her bold. "I don't want to hide anymore," Kara confessed. "But is this the karmic justice for my failures? For the loss of my people?" Pain curdled in her voice. "As far as I know, only my cousin and I survived. Am I doomed to hold the ashes of my people, unable to let go, unable to move forward, caught in stasis forever?" The memory of the Phantom Zone exploded into her mind, and she bit back the urge to weep.

"No." Lena turned to face Kara, and grasped both her hands. "I refuse to believe that's true. Perhaps there is some sort of Karma balancing act, but I don't believe it erases our free will. We can choose to move forward, Kara. Choose to do what we love. And I think, with you, I'm learning I don't have to make that choice alone. I don't have to forge my way alone. So maybe you need to decide that yourself? Do you want to move forward?"

Kara nodded and a few tears escaped. "So very badly, but I'm afraid of losing the people I love. I've lost so much, Lena. How much more loss can a heart handle?"

Lena leaned closer, gently cupped Kara's cheek, and wiped away the tears with her thumb. "Loss feels inevitable in my life too, but maybe our focus on it is hurting more than helping. Sam loves to tell me to find the good, to nurture that good, to not let the loss eat me up. Maybe that's what we can do. Find the good and help one another hold onto that." Her emerald eyes bored into Kara's own. "You don't have to do this alone, Kara. That's what you taught me. So I offer that lesson back to you."

"Gosh, I love you." The words spilled out in a rush, and her face turned red. "Oh, I said that out loud."

"You did." Pink bloomed in Lena's cheeks and neck. "And..." she takes a deep breath. "And I think I love you too." Her hand drops from Kara's cheek, and the loss is cold. "I don't have the best track record for things like this, but I'm willing to try."

Kara wanted that too, so very badly. Each conversation she had with Lena only spelled how intertwined their lives and hearts were, how alike in experiences, how their interests and dreams overlapped. Kara had never felt this connected with anyone before, but could she dare let Lena all the way in?

Would Lena be angry at how Kara tried to keep the boundary between Kara Danvers and Supergirl? How she'd lied to avoid anyone learning her secret, even Lena?

"I'm not good enough," Kara whispered. "There's so much I haven't told you. And I don't want you to hate me for it."

"Kara." Lena tenderly touched her chin and lifted it. "There's a lot I haven't told you either. Will you hate me for it?"

"Never!" Kara said fiercely. "I'll always have your back."

"Then will you trust me to always have yours?" An almost pleading look filled Lena's eyes, her lower lip trembling.

Trust.

Trust did exist between them, but for this? To unveil her full self as one instead of a fractured mess?

"Lena, I'm not from Earth." The words scalded her tongue, and she jumped to her feet, anxiously pacing between the sofa and the windows. "I'm the last Daughter of Krypton. I -- I watched my planet explode. Watched my pod get knocked off course. My role -- my mission destroyed in that instance. I'm trapped between that cold, dark horror and the light of Earth. How do I move forward when the weight of an entire culture rests on my back?"

Lena was silent for a long moment, which made Kara pace faster. Was she upset? Kara couldn't read her expression, and it amplified her anxiety.

Lena seemed to sense this, as she stood slowly. "Kara." She held up her hand, and Kara froze to avoid hitting it in her pacing. "Thank you for sharing that. You didn't have to. I"d still have your back regardless." She stepped closer and rested her hand on Kara's shoulder.

"Maybe we can find a way for you to share your culture, live it in small ways, incorporate it safely into your life again? You shouldn't have to hide who you are. Let me help you."

"I'm scared." Kara rested her head against Lena's shoulder. "I've been hiding since thirteen. I miss Krypton. Miss my parents, even though it's partly their fault so many died, so little was done to stop it. I miss science. I was the youngest in centuries to be admitted to the Science Guild, but here I must hide."

"Why? Why not be a science consultant on the side? We don't have to share it with anyone if you don't want that." Lena wrapped an arm around her and rubbed her back. "I do have quite a few heavily secured labs, and can make sure no one knows you are there if that helps."

Kara lifted her head to smile at Lena. "It does. Thank you."

Maybe Lena was right. Maybe there was a way to reconcile it all, and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to do it all alone. "I want to be this for you too," Kara gingerly touched Lena's cheek and ran her fingers down to her jaw. "Maybe we can try together. As partners?"

"Yes, please." Lena leaned forward and pressed her lips against Kara's.

It surprised her, but also delighted her, and she kissed back, her arms wrapping around Lena with fervor.

Maybe this was karma too. Goodness offsetting all the loss she'd endured.

[fuckyeahfluiddynamics]

Icelandic Glow

Solar wind particles slam into the atmosphere near Earth's poles, creating billowing curtains of glowing plasma known as auroras. Beneath the earth, molten rock seethes and flows, squeezed up fissures to release explosive gases and spurts of lava to the surface world.  (Image credit: W. Gorecka; via APOD) Read the full article

[err0r-t4ken]

PRISON LOGS: RECORDING ONE

CWS: GORE, BLOOD, SELF HARM, INHUMANE CONDITIONS

— THE FOLLOWING IS A TRANSCRIPT OF CAMERA #001, LOG 08993, DAY 67. THIS IS ONLY INTENDED TO BE FOR THE USE OF KEEPING THE PRISONER IN LINE. THIS TAPE IS NOT LEGALLY BINDING AND MAY NOT BE USED IN ANY LEGAL PROCEEDINGS, AS EVIDENCE FOR OR AGAINST ANY OF THE PEOPLE WHO APPEAR ON SCREEN. ALL ACTS SEEN ON THESE TAPES HAVE BEEN VERIFIED BY THE WARDEN AND THEREFORE ARE LAWFUL. COMMENCE TRANSCRIPTION:

The prisoner wasn’t moving. The collar around its neck was pressed firmly against it’s windpipe. It looked uncomfortable. Like it was choking, yet it made very little noise or movement. It seemed to begin to pass out, forcing the tension on the metal to lessen. It stared ahead, listening to voices that weren’t there and feeling the hands of ghosts. It coughed up black, and the blood poured out into disgusting globs on the floor at its feet. Even then it didn’t seem to be panicked. It only lowered itself to the ground slowly. It was perfectly methodical. Each movement was timed as if by some grand puppet master was conducting them.

It sat down silently on the ground and picked up a pen, staring at the implement for a moment as if considering before beginning to carve into the soft meat of its arm. It shoved the pen deep, ink and blood mixing in a poetic display. He stabbed deep into the flesh, deep enough that the blood still poured down their arm. It was thick and viscous, a disgusting display of thick running blood. He pulled the pen out and set it on the ground, pressing his thumbs into the open wound as it spasmed, the magic trying to close itself around the intrusion.

It did not move as the pain flushed over it. It did not flinch as the pain washed in wave after wave as it manually rolled its vein, the fragile tissue popping under his thumb like a water balloon. The blood spurted out, hitting the man in the face and getting into its mouth. Its eyes only twitched as it was bathed. After a moment of the shocks of pain rolling over it in overwhelming waves, it removed its hand from the arm, allowing the wound to close fully. It took barely a moment to collect itself before it stood and calmly approached the clock hanging on the far wall, it picked it up and chucked it into the lava, turning to the camera then to address the Warden.

“Sam!! SAM!!!”

— END TRANSCRIPTION

[heartnoose]

NSFW Alphabet - Mephisto Pheles

Came across this in my old drafts. So, I cleaned them up a bit and thought I’d post them here!

🔞 MINORS, PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG OR LIKE! Please respect these boundaries. 🔞

Content Warnings: Emotional and mental “games”, and also rough kinks that y/n consents to. Master and servant dynamics. I suppose it got kind of dark (it is Mephisto, after all), but none of the games or rough treatment is described in great detail.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

How he treats you after sex largely depends on his mood and your relation to him. I can see him being quite the dear after sex, especially if he likes you. Teasing and cuddling you, rubbing any sore spots from the more than likely rough/brutal sex. I think it would ring hollow most of the time, as he could just be doing it for the theatrics and/or to mock you. He’s moody like that, even with ones he actually likes. If he's in a really mean mood then expect him to straight up taunt you, belittle you, and press your buttons. Though if you’re a servant that he decided to take, with no psychological warfare or foreplay beforehand, he won’t stay. He’ll just take you as he pleases and leave you alone in your bed.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands. Mainly because of how they look on you. And he also loves his goatee 💀. On other people though, this man loves curvy and/or elegant bodies. Neither of those are strict requirements since an interesting personality or perceptive mind also interest him. But, he loves groping and teasing flesh, plus he loves the bouncy quality of skin that comes along with that groping and teasing.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Thin and tastes bad. He doesn't come a lot. Slowly spurts, like lava flowing downhill from a volcano. Smells bad, as well. Like bleach. He can’t mark you so well due to this, so where he comes on you depends on his mood. He tends to mark chests and faces the most, though. Sometimes your upper thighs too.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Maybe his secret plans in general LOL. But in regards to sex, he doesn't really have any. He’s tried everything, and he’s open to most things. Mephisto is very confident in chasing after what he desires and shamelessly indulges in what he wants.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's thousands of years old and has been with countless people. He's very perceptive to what makes others hot and bothered, and loves to use that against his partners in the room. Small touches, little grabs, artfully toying with your feelings and mind. He's very physically, emotionally, and mentally motivated like that.

He can tell how to get you off, but that’s not always what he chooses to do. And if he does, there’s going to be mental and emotional games involved. Even if they’re sometimes smaller games and not always so extreme.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I personally think he loves being topped. He sees it as you serving him and him just sitting back and enjoying the show. He’ll tell you what to do, try to control your rhythm and pace. It’s a win-win situation for him, since you’re either serving him, or he gets to playfully punish you for disobeying his commands. A power bottom of sorts. Ultimately, he has the mindset of “Look at my cute toy trying to toy with me! They should know by now that I’m the one in control here~”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think that in most cases, Mephisto won't be offended if you get a little silly. I could see him matching the mood with his own dirty jokes. He'll probably even find your giggles and attempts to make him laugh amusing, cute, maybe even a bit endearing.

If he’s in a bad mood then don’t try that, he’ll more than likely lash out and ruthlessly degrade you with psychological abuse.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Even though he has no good taste, this man is all about his brand of beauty and aesthetics. Even if he dresses like a clown. He’s very well kept. He has a bush and keeps it trimmed. It’s somewhat sparse, not too thick. It’s the same color as his other hair. He keeps it clean and presentable since he cares about hygiene, Mephisto knows that being gross is going to ruin his chances of picking up people. And he’s not a “low class slob” like that, anyway.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can fake intimate connection for sure, he's been on Assiah for ages and is acclimated to it's social customs. Even if you’re a mate, I would see him being temperamental about how genuine the sweet sentiments are. Sometimes they would be a bit genuine, though I think many times he would use them for the theatrics, or to tease and mock you.

If you’re a servant, or he’s in a bad mood, then he’s not gonna care about any of that. In the former case, he will especially use that mocking brand of intimacy to make backhanded comments and psychologically torture you.

He’s also picky about those who call him by Samael so casually, and when or how imo. If he’s fond of you then he might tolerate it sometimes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I can't see him jacking off so much. He’d rather get a partner to relieve himself. He probably sees masturbation as crass and thinks he's above it. He's not. Mephisto will definitely jack off if he's really turned on after harassing you, a heated argument, or messing around with your thoughts and feelings.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Oh boy. He loves mind games, toying with emotions, being found out and called out on his bullshit. He's very mental like that. Otherwise, he's open to almost everything. I wouldn’t call it a kink, but a consistent taste he has is being ridden. Or being beyond rough in the room. To the point of being brutal or even violent. Biting and scratching that breaks skin, really man handling you and throwing you around, leaving dark bruises on you, etc. Mephisto looooovveees to mark people like that. Especially if you cover them up in public so only he can see them, or if they peek out from your clothing and others get the picture. The thought of such a dirty and feral encounter having such a small but obvious hint, that really turns him on.

Fantasy and role play are already big things for him, and he’s a nerd. So he loves it when you cosplay as his waifus in bed.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Depends on how he sees you. If he likes you a lot, then the bedroom. Call him traditional but he's really into the whole ambiance of the bedroom, the cozy bed, warm sheets, the fine decor (and anime merch), and the dim lights. He loves the mood it sets and highly prefers it to other environments, especially if you’re his mate. I do think he’s spontaneous enough to take you anywhere he wants. He’ll tease you about the risks. Otherwise, he couldn’t care less about the location if you’re a servant.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He definitely has his tastes when it comes to bodies, personalities, and people’s history, but he’s very mentally motivated. He'll engage in full on psychological warfare with you before smashing the hell out of you. To him it's the best form of foreplay, as well as a way to test the psychological limits and perception of his partners. So many aspects of mental manipulation and warfare interest him, and that carries over to his sex life.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s only gonna share you or watch you fuck others if he’s commanding that. Also he doesn’t like anything incredibly unsanitary like emeto or scat. Otherwise he's pretty open to anything.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

God tier oral skills. He edges a lot when giving oral, and gets into it, teasing you as your cute yelps and moans drive him to further toy with you. It’s just *chef’s kiss*. He won’t always make you come, though. That’s part of the fun for him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on his mood and relation to you. If you're a servant that is his for the taking, I see him being inclined to having rough and fast encounters more. If he really likes you, or there’s been a psychological battle or argument beforehand, he’s going to be more inclined to drawing out his playful torture by being more slow and sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He would rather have "proper sex", meaning in a room and being able to relish his time with you. I could only see him having a quickie as a way to taunt you about the risk of others walking in.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yeah, he’s down for nearly anything. Not much is new to him but he is open to most ideas you have, and risks don’t bother him so he’s good in that area.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a Demon King! He can last all day and all night. Maybe for days or even weeks, if he really likes the dynamic.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I think the question should be more like "What toys doesn’t he use on his partner and himself?” Gags? Check! Dildos? Check! Vibrators, check! Restraints, check. The dude has a whole arsenal of sex toys to use during sexy times.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He teases you so much that you swear you're going to combust sometimes. Either mentally, physically, or both. He's really into edging and teasing you.

He enjoys being edged and toyed with too, but he’s still going to want to "punish" you for toying with him too much. I think he would like gaining the upper hand in even small games like that.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Depends on his mood and the events that led up to the encounter. If there was a lot of winning in fights on his end, he’s going to relish it and be loud. If he’s mad, a sort of cold and angry quiet will reflect his mood. I do think he’s more vocal than not. Grunts, low voices, whispers, shameless moans and groans. If he doesn’t see the need to be composed, then he’s going to let loose.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Not exactly a cuckold, but he will enjoy ordering you to play with others. It’s another way for him to show control.

Also, his body hair is kind of sparse. He doesn’t have much on his chest, legs, arms. His bush is a bit thin.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His bush isn’t too thick, and he keeps it trimmed. He’s 8-9 inches. Long but slim, just like him. Uncut. Pale with a purple head. He's got big, saggy balls too. He shaves them so he can feel what’s going on there better. There’s a reason why he holds on to his vessel and it’s not just because it can hold him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He's one of the horniest characters in the entire series, I don't think I need to elaborate on this.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't get sleepy after sex. If you’re a pet or servant or whatever then he’ll probably just leave you in bed alone. Though he’s open to staying a bit longer if you actually interest him.

[majestativa]

Imageries coiling around my scepter, Ophiuchus, orpheus-like in his own Hades. Healing in the mire. Settling scores with the tyrannous self. Unwavering. Redeemed at last, but not without a fight. The advent of my beloved ataraxia. The entrails of youth chewed by old regrets, as wisdom spurts from the cut veins of sanity. Come out, monsters, wherever you are. Come feast on my shivers and allegories. Come fill your blood with my poetry & poison. My rivers are pure lava. My tragedy is the rain. Choke on my pain. The talons of Prometheus’ eagle are sinking into my desolate flesh each night my passions take the rein. I’m skinned alive whenever dusk touches my eyes, and my tears retrace each leaf on my tree of life. Rejoice, beasts, rejoice, for I am coming home.

The mind of Man is terrible. Its mountains are reversed, reaching the heart of Jahannam, and the latter hisses Man’s secrets, the secrets that microscopically altered the universe.

The sun lacerates my skin, and the mark is extended, each shadow borrows the lips of a different lover and plants a cauterizing kiss, and the delicate throat shivers. I hear the echoes of Eden, and my delirium rouses my mind to wake. The Earth knows I’ll always come back to it. Its glare stern but motherly, I remember how long my journey had been, before I got swallowed by this dimensional vortex. I open my heart and crush it. I yearn for nothing ever since peace departed. I step on the memories, forgotten, and the moonless night descends. Too dark a song. Too desolate, an eternity of loneliness. Pre-metamorphosis. My mysticomorphosis. Temptation is no more. I am strangely calm. My peacocks are all dead. My serpents await the advent of a greater tragedy. The door of Heaven is closed. Press play.

Mystical Overtones | 25.08.24

[alice-steel]

Man dies, goes to Hell. Not surprised to be in Hell, bit surprised by pleasant hotel front on arrival, polished oak furniture and reception desk, velvet curtains, lots of real gold detailing, bar with every drink he's ever heard of, restaurant with food from all over the world. Receptionist's a beautiful succubus with raven hair and green eyes, who welcomes him like a favourite customer. Behind hotel, patio, cream teas, ice creams, people having great time, 25 x 15 m swimming pool, 500 m tall waterslides, 18-hole golf course, forests, archery range, beautiful green hills. Demon in a golf cart offers to show him around. Tour of country lanes, crown green bowling places, dance halls, pubs, breweries, orchards, farmers' markets, cafés, sailing clubs, bird-watching places, hiking trails, all rather nice. Man asks Demon: "This Hell? Seems rather nice."

Demon replies: "Nice enough, nice enough. Heaven's better, 'course. They have mahogany and platinum in Heaven, and Ambrosia. Can't get Ambrosia here. Their golf course has 27 holes, their water slides are 1000 m tall, their receptionist's a redhead, so better, but we do alright here."

Tour goes on, jazz band, white-water kayak course, aquarium, skateboard park, and man's getting relaxed until golf cart crests ridge and landscape beyond is blasted rock, pock-marked from impacts, clouds of corrosive gas drifting over it, flames spurting from cracks, surrounding a great peak cloven as if by a huge axe, the chasm lit by the lava lake boiling within it. Damned souls climb the sides on fingers scraped and burned raw, only to be plucked from the rocks and hurled back into the fire by a great, scaly Demon with huge horns, tattered, bat-like wings, four arms and a whip covered in red-hot spikes.

Man sits bolt upright and screams.

Demon says: "Don't worry! Don't worry. Nothing to do with you, that. Not your problem. You're not going there."

Man turns to stare at Demon.

Demon explains: "That's the American Evangelicals."

Demon tells him: "We put it in specially for them. They insisted!"

[udoai]

Pompei : Oil painting, Pompeii eruption 79 AD, a woman runs away with a child in her arms, lava spurts, destroyed buildings, Caravaggio painting style, hdr, uhd, 4k, detailed dress --chaos 10 --ar 4:3 --style raw --weird 300 --v 6.1

[lavendernlilac]

still thinking about sahara scar eating grian out from under his desk, but now i’m thinking about vex form scar having a much thicker tongue, and grian having to figure out how to not make any noises while scar fucks him open with said tongue dkksdk bonus points scar caressing and leaving little marks on his thighs with his claws, the slight pain with his pleasure making grian a mess

you’re so real for this one anon. esp the thicker tongue??? scar’s getting a good grade in taking his husband apart, mhm mhm

I meant to answer this days ago but school got in the way. anyway. have this LOL

Grian’s pen moves across the page in little spurts, the man squinting down at the paper before him. To anyone walking by he looks deep in thought as he burns holes into the budgeting for Sahara. Which isn’t too far off, but it isn’t the entire truth.

The rest of the truth is under his desk, and currently holding his legs apart.

Scar’s decided to up his antics today, unleashing his vex form on Grian. Something that Grian doesn’t mind when they’re alone. But his two coworkers are currently in the next room, and Grian doesn’t want them to walk in on his husband tongue fucking him.

He feels Scar’s thick tongue lick at his entrance, making him shudder. “Scar,” he mutters, squeezing the pen in his hand. His husband purrs in response, the sound vibrating against him, causing him to jolt in pleasure.

Enjoying his reaction, Scar presses onward, slowly slipping his tongue inside Grian. The feeling makes Grian freeze in place, a choked noise being yanked from him. It’s akin to that of Scar’s fingers in him, but not quite. He feels Scar slowly move his tongue in and out, lapping at him. “O-Oh, oh fuck,” he hisses out, trying to keep himself quiet. Yet Scar doesn’t share this goal, as he pokes deeper into Grian, sucking at his clit in the process. “Fuck!” he cries, louder than intended.

His breath hitches, ears straining for any sounds from outside. Scar doesn’t seem to care much, as he licks at Grian’s walls, moving his tongue in and out. Grian takes measured breaths, biting his lip to keep any loud noises muffled. He pants at the feeling of Scar’s mouth on him, making him whine. “S-Scaaar.” He trembles, the syllables of his name being dragged out through his quiet gasp. He feels so hot, like there’s a fire igniting inside him, furious and intense.

Scar thrusts his tongue, the thickness of it leaving Grian feeling fuller than he would with his husband’s fingers. He licks into Grian with determination, clearly wanting to create a stream of noise from him. He pushes his face closer to Grian’s heat, licking into him.

Grian drops the pen, instead bringing his hands to cover his mouth. A few weak moans spill from him, hips awkwardly jerking against Scar’s mouth. He has no idea how he’s meant to focus like this, with Scar eating him like a man starved. His tongue is merciless, lapping at him and occasionally sucking at his clit. A jolt of pleasure runs down Grian’s spine at the feeling. “S-So thick, o-oh Void Scar—” He tilts his head back just slightly, the motion pushing him away from his desk.

With this angle, he can see the way Scar looks up at him, green eyes heated and intense, loud with love and adoration.

Scar’s mouth is warm on him, tongue like molten lava as it moves in him. Grian feels like he’s being swallowed whole with each stroke. It’s as if Scar has set him on fire with the way he laps at him. Each movement of his vexed tongue leaves Grian breathless. He’s trying so hard to be quiet so Mumbo and Iskall don’t hear them, but Scar doesn’t seem to care about that.

“G-Good boy, shit Scar, please—” he whines, weak to the relentless attention his husband gives him. He feels his wings twitching in pleasure, tense and flared out.

Slipping one hand into his lap, Grian tangles his fingers in Scar’s hair. He presses him closer as he feels Scar grab his thighs, claws digging into his skin. “Yes, yes, c’mon,” he pants, trembling. Scar’s literally fucking him open with tongue, and Grian can hardly think straight. “You feel so good, ah, ah, yes.”

He can feel Scar’s clawed nails press and dig lightly into his skin, sending little shocks of pleasure running through Grian’s body. He quiets a weak warble as Scar lovingly caresses his skin, sucking at his clit once more. Grian jolts in response, fingers tightening lightly in Scar’s hair. “Please, please, please,” he begs, breathless. “Love — ah — love you so much, S-Scar.”

Tenderly, ever so softly, Grian feels three taps of Scar’s claws against his thigh. He laughs a little in return, the sound breaking off into a strangled noise as Scar licks at him, thick tongue taking the time to rub against his sweet spot.

A high pitched keen leaves Grian as he tries to pull himself back, but Scar doesn’t let him get very far. He drags him close by his grip on Grian’s thighs, claws digging into his skin. Scar’s hold on him is tight, strong. He can’t pull back even if he wanted to (not that he does). His chair creaks as Scar leans forward, pulling Grian closer.

Scar chases right toward Grian’s release, and Grian has to forcefully cover his mouth to prevent himself from getting too loud. It doesn’t prevent every noise from spilling out, as his weak moans still leak through.

His body feels so warm, all wrapped up tight with tension.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” Grian moans, trying to move his hips back against Scar’s mouth. His moans are breathy, as silent as he can make them. “Gonna cum on your tongue, oh, please Scar.” His lovely husband slips in a finger to push him over the edge, earning a warbled gasp from Grian.

Scar moves his finger in time with his tongue, adding to the thickness plunging within Grian. He stiffens, body going tight as he grabs at Scar with both hands. The angle is a little awkward with him on his chair like this, but he desperately works himself back against Scar’s tongue, panting and whining.

“Please, p-please make me cum, ‘m so close Scar, ngh,” he moans, and Scar gives him exactly what he wants.

A few more thrusts of his tongue and finger leave Grian spilling over, Scar’s name a warbled cry on his lips. “S-Scar, fuck, t-thank you, thank y-you—“ Grian squeezes his eyes shut with another quiet noise, hands still tangled in Scar’s hair. He hangs his head, shuddering as Scar works him through his orgasm.

Slowly does Scar stop his movements, gently extracting himself from the trembly avian before him. He smiles up at the man lovingly, moving farther out from under his desk to properly lean up on his knees. He reaches for Grian’s face as he slots their lips together, kissing him.

Grian’s nose scrunches as he tastes himself on Scar’s tongue, but otherwise melts into the action. His hands slip down to Scar’s shoulders as they exchange a few soft kisses.

Neither of them speak as Grian catches his breath, content to feel Scar’s lips against his own. He sighs quietly in content, holding onto as much of Scar as he can.

Eventually pulling apart, Scar moves to lean his arms on Grian’s lap, resting his head there. “I love you,” Scar murmurs to him. “Did you like the surprise?” He sticks his now human tongue out playfully.

“You are a threat to my safety, you know that?” Grian teases in return. “I didn’t get any work done because someone wanted to try and get information.”

Scar grins up at him, “Did it work?”

Grian hums, pretending to think about it. “Hmmm, no.” Scar playfully pouts at him. “But I might be open to some more… persuasion at home.” He grins, idly dragging a hand through Scar’s soft hair. “And yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the surprise, however distracting it might have been.”