#like bottom line if your 'criticism' is actually just a thinly veiled way to be mean then you should not ! say ! anything !

[angelsdean]

I kind of get your point but also all art and creativity should be open to criticism. As an artists you have to have a thick skin. You can't go around expecting people to only have positive opinions. Negative and Positive deserve to be shared and as an artist you decide what you ignore. If I read a bad fic and choose to share why I dislike it the author can choose to ignore me, realize what the target audience is or isn't, or take the criticism to improve something.

People sharing negative criticism also helps audiences choose what they consume and that has value. It's like restaurant reviews you need to see the good and the bad where people say "lacked salt for my taste" to help make a decision.

full stop if you need other ppl's opinions to make your own decision on whether you should be reading something then you need to develop better skills. someone else's opinion shouldn't hold that much weight. just look at the thing yourself and decide.

i'm not going to get into a debate over this. but there is a time and place for criticism and there's a difference between offering someone constructive criticism to improve and leaving unnecessary mean comments or publicly dragging someone's work for the "bit" or to seem funny-ironic-whatever on tumblr dot com. reblogging someone's art or writing just to dunk on it is not okay. people in fandom are not making these things as a job, it's a fun hobby! i've been in professional and academic writing and art critique workshops. there is always a basic level of respect given when critiquing people's work. that etiquette is not often found online where people will tear apart someone's work under the guise of "constructive criticism." fandom artists and writers did not sign up for a workshop, they're not sharing their work for unsolicited criticism. they're doing it for fun as an act of sharing something they made with others who have similar interests !!!

if you can't appreciate they act of creation as a form of connection, joy, and love between people and can only think of how to tear others down because your need to "critique" something is so great then idk what to tell you. (also. what to "consume"? what has "value'? art and writing and really any creative work is not for consumption. things made of joy and creative expression and that are not actively harming anyone inherently have value)

anyways, treat people with basic respect and kindness. it's really not that hard. and, age old wisdom, if you have nothing nice to say don't say anything at all. if something is not "your taste" that's fine! no one is saying you're not allowed to have preferences. but you can just, quietly close out of a tab or scroll past an art post you don't like instead of feeling the need to comment your opinion on everything.

[captain-hawks]

THE LINE BETWEEN LUST & CONTEMPT

♡ — kento nanami x f!reader

As you glance down at the skimpy, khaki skirt and blue shirt that’s missing far too many buttons on the top end, topped off with a silky, patterned yellow tie and heels that may actually kill you, you find yourself wondering again who in their right mind let Gojo pitch Secret Santa-style costumes for the Halloween party.

18+ ONLY

wc — 5.5k

content — enemies to lovers speed run, protective Nanami, soft dom!Nanami vibes, "fucking it out", gagged with a tie, oral fixation, spit kink, spitting in mouth, fingering, squirting, handjob, choking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, washing machine sex, wall sex, praise kink, Nanami’s big dick

— AKA what if nobody went to Shibuya and everyone went to a Halloween party instead?

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“You’re joking, right?”

There’s a familiar chuckle that rings out over the phone, one that often signifies nothing good is to come when you’re on the receiving end of it. 

“Does everything fit?” Gojo asks coyly, as if he’s incapable of hearing the thinly-veiled threat in your prior question. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You glare at your phone where it’s perched atop your dresser before returning your gaze to the mirror in front of you, readjusting the blue button down shirt once again in an attempt to keep your chest at least modestly covered—it’s a lost cause. 

“Well, this shirt’s somehow missing half the buttons from the top,” you respond dryly, moving on to fix the silky, yellow tie with black spots that’s secured loosely around your neck. 

This is a disaster waiting to happen. 

“And?”

“And my ass is basically hanging out of this skirt,” you continue, roughly tugging the khaki-coloured material down in vain, as if that will persuade it to extend past its otherwise permanent resting place against your very upper thighs.

“I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Kicking at the precariously tall pair of heels sitting on the floor waiting to wreck your feet, you grumble, “I can’t even walk in heels.”

“Shoko’s house is small. You’ll be fine.”

You walk over to your bed, eyeing the gift bag that Gojo had left sitting on your desk at the school earlier this morning. Something still remains neatly placed at the bottom—a lacy, red lingerie set.

“Should I ask why you bought me lingerie, too? I don’t see how that’s part of the costume. Unless Nanami likes wearing thongs on his days off.”

There’s that fucking chuckle again.

“Nanami-kun loves the color red, don’t you know?”

An unwelcome flash of heat flares white-hot in your gut at the implication behind his words, and you’re mortified. “You’re aware we hate each other, right? Have you been living under a rock? He’ll probably turn around and leave as soon as he walks in and sees me wearing this.”

Gojo’s chuckle turns into an outright laugh, and you can practically hear him shoving his stupid blindfold up to wipe away the tears of amusement prickling at the corners of his ridiculously blue eyes.

“Hate? Yeah, sure. Alright.”

Asshole.

You hang up on him. 

–

You had the (dis)pleasure of becoming acquainted with Kento Nanami just over a year ago, shortly after Gojo roped him back into the world of jujutsu sorcery, despite his best efforts to avoid it during his stint as a salaryman. Given that Jujutsu High isn’t exactly brimming with a large roster of full-fledged sorcerers, the two of you have—naturally—been paired up on your fair share of cases.

To say that you don’t work well together is an understatement. 

Nanami’s straightforward and calculated way of operating in the field is a direct contrast to your fast and loose approach, one that relies heavily on acting on your feelings in the heat of the moment, rather than calculating precise, measured ratios that guarantee a critical hit.

You’re too reckless.

Too emotional.

Too spontaneous.

Too sentimental. 

You grate on him much in the way Gojo does, but whereas there are years of friendship that give Nanami the patience to put up with the strongest sorcerer’s antics, he has no reason to extend that same courtesy to you. 

Needless to say, he’d outright balked when Gojo happily announced that you were a grade 1 sorcerer as well, something that never fails to ruffle his feathers as he watches you flirt with dangerous situations time and time again just for the thrill of it, saving your finishing blow of cursed energy for the last possible moment.

“I can’t work with someone who’s actively trying to get themselves killed,” you’d overheard him snapping at Gojo after your second mission together. “She’s worse than you.”

“She always gets the job done, doesn’t she?”

“At the cost of my sanity, I can’t say it’s worth it.”

Admittedly, you may or may not exacerbate the issue on occasion, exaggerating the aforementioned behavior that you know gets on his nerves just to further get a rise out of him in your attempts to try and dislodge the perpetual stick that’s lodged up his ass. 

–

When Shoko opens the door to her apartment later that evening, the sounds of music and laughter spilling out onto her front step, she takes one look at your costume, eyes wide, and laughs, “Oh, Nanami is going to love this.”

You exhale dramatically through your nose, though the exasperated gesture is thrown off by the way you then proceed to shiver, your meager outfit doing little to protect you from the crisp October air. “Tell me again why we didn’t veto Gojo’s Secret Santa Halloween?”

She shrugs, stepping aside to let you in as she offers you a knowing glance. “I seem to remember you saying how fun it would be to surprise each other with costumes.”

“That was before he picked my name,” you lament, glancing down at the outfit that you’ve now begun to refer to as The Slutty Salaryman. 

“Guess I’m lucky you picked me, then,” she winks, waving a hand to show off the far more modest and fun rendition of Principal Yaga that you’d put together for her, complete with a faux cursed corpse seated on her shoulder with large googly eyes glued to its little bear face. “If it makes you feel any better, someone with a sense of humor clearly got Gojo.”

Careful not to trip and fall to your death in the heels as you head through the entryway to the party beyond, which is bustling with a mixture of familiar faces and strangers alike, you scan the room for a tall head of white hair. True to Shoko’s words, you’re not at all disappointed when you catch sight of Gojo dressed as Gakuganji, looking completely ridiculous with fake facial hair, crudely drawn makeup to add decades to his appearance, and loose-fitting pants that are amusingly unflattering on his lean frame. 

It’s not quite revenge, but it’ll do.

–

Two hours pass without a sign of the man you’re dressed as, and for a moment, you’re relieved at the thought that perhaps you’re off the hook. Every little smug, knowing grin Gojo’s been tossing your way will have been for naught. 

But perhaps just to spite you, the front door swings open the moment you take a celebratory swig from the glass of wine in your hands, leaving Shoko to pound on your back while you start choking on the liquid at the goddamn sight standing before you.

Nanami’s dressed as Gojo.

Sort of.

His blonde hair can’t quite disobey the laws of gravity like the other sorcerer’s stark white locks, so it hangs soft and loose over the white blindfold on his face, which is lifted just enough over one eye so he can actually see. Rather than don Gojo’s typical uniform, Nanami’s in an all-black suit (save for the tie he never goes anywhere without), the well-fitting material leaving little to the imagination as it snugly hugs his muscled arms and thick thighs. 

You’re too distracted to respond to the way Shoko’s snickering in your ear, and when Nanami turns around to talk to someone—thus offering you a view of the outfit from behind—you choke again. 

Naturally, you spend the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Nanami for reasons you’re not quite ready to examine, utilizing an excessive amount of mental gymnastics to justify the way you keep dipping out of conversations every time you catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. The confusing mixture of feelings you’re experiencing has sent your fight-or-flight response into overdrive. 

Your concerted efforts take a nosedive when a far-too-observant Gojo manages to wrangle the two of you into a conversation before you can find an excuse to be somewhere else. It’s disastrous at best, Nanami offering a blunt, disinterested list of every poor decision he felt that you made when Gojo asks how your joint assignment the other day went. 

And just when you’re about to lay into Nanami about how difficult he made that mission, Shoko grabs you by the hip, resting her head on your shoulder with a smile as she turns to him and asks in a calculating tone, “Nanami-kun, doesn’t her costume look great?” 

He glances at you with a gaze full of disinterest before turning to Gojo with an unimpressed look. “I’d never wear such a cheap tie.”

Nanami walks away to get another drink before you can think of a good comeback, though admittedly, the tie is a terrible knock off.

—

“Shit, sorry!”

Cold beer splashes across your chest and soaks the front of your shirt as a man trips and stumbles in your direction, and you groan in annoyance at the feeling of the sticky liquid dripping down your skin. Despite the fact that you wave him off, heading toward the kitchen in search of paper towels, he follows you, spilling out a string of apologies as he himself scrambles for a pile of napkins. 

It’s an awkward shuffle of you trying to clean your chest off without flashing him and the man getting entirely too close as he awkwardly makes an attempt to dab your shirt dry. To your relief, he doesn’t make it that far, the fingers now wrapped around his wrist halting his arm midair. 

“She’s fine.”

Nanami.

The blindfold is long gone, leaving behind the rare sight of him with no glasses and soft, tousled hair. Internally, you scramble to rustle up the familiar feeling of annoyance that always weighs heavily in your gut at the sight of him. Instead, it’s all you can do to try and keep the hitch in your breath inaudible as you feel your stupid heart trip over itself. 

“I’m just—”

“Do you need his help?” Nanami interrupts the man’s slightly slurred words, directing his steely gaze to you. 

For all of the endless comebacks you can normally conjure up to hurl back at him between one breath and the next, you’re temporarily rendered speechless in confusion as to why he’s helping you. So instead, you just shake your head. 

“She doesn’t need your help,” he repeats, nothing friendly in the way he says it. 

The man apologizes again as he drops your arm and scurries from the kitchen, and you turn away from Nanami, leaning against the counter as you attempt to catch your breath and school your expression into something that doesn’t scream, “Why the fuck was that so hot?”

“Are you alright?” he asks carefully, the tinge of concern in his voice sinking into your bones. 

Hand coming up short from the now-empty paper towel roll, you let out a sound of frustration, though it’s moreso due to the infuriating way your body’s been reacting all night to a man you normally can’t even be in the same room with without arguing about something. 

“Like you said, I’m fine,” you tell him sarcastically, spinning around and pushing past him to grab napkins from the table instead. When all else fails, deflect. 

Unfortunately, spinning in heels is arguably one of your worst decisions of the evening, because you instantly lose your balance on the smooth tile floor. When you try to right yourself mid-step, the room tilts as the heel on one shoe cracks under the pressure. Your hands fly up to break your inevitable fall, but it never comes, a pair of arms wrapping firmly around your body and catching you.

Body momentarily on an angle as Nanami holds you against his warm, solid frame, you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression. If he did this in the field, you’d have jumped out of his hold with a snarky remark about not needing his help. 

But right now?

Right now, you don’t know what you want. 

He stares down at you, nonplussed. “You can’t walk in heels,” he observes.

You blink.

“I can’t walk in heels,” you concede, for once not brimming with the fire to argue. 

“And you’re still dripping wet.”

Nanami lifts you back into a standing position, napkins clutched in one hand as he stands on your side with the broken heel and wraps an arm around your waist, helping you to walk. You desperately try to ignore the way it feels to be tucked against him. 

You hate him. 

Right?

He has you facing the short hallway that you know leads to Shoko’s laundry room instead of the living room. “Should I ask where you’re taking me?”

He looks at you, sighing and shaking his head as he walks you toward another door, flicking on the light before he suddenly hoists you up without warning. You yelp at the feeling of something cold touching the backs of your thighs, short skirt and thin tights doing nothing to protect you from the metal surface you’re now sitting on. Glancing down, you realize he’s put you on top of the washer. 

“Here,” he unceremoniously drops the pile of napkins into your lap. “I thought you might want to clean yourself up somewhere more private, given that you seem to be missing most of the buttons on your shirt.”

Is that fucking sarcasm in his voice?

He waves his hand in the direction of the damp blue button down, as if it’s not meant to be an imitation of his trademark outfit. 

“And what are you going to d—”

You’re cut off by your own gasp at the feeling of Nanami’s hand wrapping around your ankle, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the way he’d nearly manhandled the stranger in the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow, holding up the broken-off heel in his other hand. 

“Can’t have you limping around Shoko’s house the rest of the night, can we? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

You can’t bring yourself to argue, too mesmerized by the way he drags a hand through his blonde hair to push it out of his face, the stubborn locks fighting their way back across his forehead as his brows furrow together in concentration.

You want to card your own hands through it, to see what kind of expression his face will morph into. 

No. 

“I think they’re a lost cause,” you sigh, leaning forward to take them off and admit defeat. You’re sure Shoko has a pair of slippers somewhere. 

You get a face full of Nanami’s hair instead as he beats you to the punch, his long, deft fingers making surprisingly quick work of the tiny buckles as you try not to make it too obvious that you’re now purposely inhaling the scent of his shampoo for whatever fucking reason has compelled your traitorous body to do so. 

This entire night is a write off at this point.

Head elsewhere, you belatedly realize that your legs are spread far too wide for the microscopic length of your skirt, which may be why Nanami’s gaze has remained dutifully trained on your feet, rather than the bright red thong you know is staring him in the face. You try not to make it too obvious as you inch your thighs back together. 

Putting your shoes on top of the dryer, Nanami goes to leave, turning his head to the side once he’s facing the door, “Do you want me to get Shoko?”

You should say yes. 

You should say yes and watch him go back out to the party, letting the door swing shut on this strange, baffling detour in your contemptuous, stormy relationship. 

You’ll go home and sleep off the tightening of your throat and the pressure in your chest, these hazy, confusing feelings sure to fade in the night, long gone after sunrise like the evaporation of morning dew.

But you’ve never been one to make things easy for yourself.   

“So that’s it?”

Nanami turns around fully, eyes meeting yours. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“You’re just going to go back out to the party?” You’re not sure why you’re pushing him.

He takes two slow steps back toward you, hip brushing against your knee when he comes to a stop. “Are you incapable of getting off of the washer without hurting yourself, too?”

There’s an unfamiliar, teasing lilt to the way he says it, and you shift in place, blood prickling hot beneath your skin. What’s wrong with you tonight?

“You really have nothing to say about my costume?” The words are out of your mouth faster than you can take back the idle thought that’s been nagging you since he walked in the door. 

Since you caught him looking at you from across the room several times after his initial biting remark about the tie, his expression unreadable. 

Nanami scoffs quietly, the scent of his cologne licking its way up your nostrils as he leans one hand atop the washer, just beside your thigh. Veins bulge against his forearm, and you find yourself wondering when he rolled his sleeves up. 

Electricity shoots down your spine as a caress of hot breath tickles the shell of your ear. “What do you want me to say?”

You stare straight ahead, not turning to face him. “How much you hate it.” 

The air in the small room is thick with the tension that hangs heavily in the scant space between your bodies. Nanami’s quiet for a moment. 

“I do hate it.”

Why do you feel so disappointed by the response you knew you’d get?

Then, his dress shoes scuff against the floor, his right hand coming to rest on your other side as he slides over and cages you in entirely. 

“I hate how badly it makes me want to fuck you,” he breathes out. 

Suddenly, you feel far too hot and dizzy to be perched atop Shoko’s washer. “What?”

He chuckles darkly. “Don’t act stupid, princess.”

The air feels like it’s rattling in your chest as you inhale, your increased intake of oxygen doing nothing to clear your clouded brain. “You hate me,” you say dumbly.

His thumb twitches, brushing against the outside of your thigh where there’s a small run in your sheer stockings. The contact is so minimal, you barely feel it, but it leaves a burning hot brand echoing through your nervous system all the same.

Despite the fact that he has you caged atop the washing machine, he’s barely touching you, his body arched just enough to avoid the idle sway of your legs. His tie dangles in the space between your bodies, and you have to fight the urge to wrap your fingers around it and tug.

Nanami stares at you, an odd expression on his face. “I hate the way you make me feel,” he corrects you. 

Oh.

“But you—”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m—”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well—”

“You’re too fucking smart to be risking your life in jujutsu sorcery.”

“You’re one to tal—”

“Too talented—”

“Well that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever—”

“—you have no regard for your own life in the field.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You infuriate me to no end—”

“Are you hitting on me or trying to hurt my feelings I really can’t te—”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he rasps, chest heaving.

You stare at him, blinking slowly. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I can’t stand it.”

You can hardly hear the sounds of the party anymore.

“Then do something about it.”

Nanami’s lips come crashing into yours, and every flickering ember in your body flares to life. 

There’s a dizzying precision to the way Nanami kisses, mouth claiming yours so thoroughly that a moan crawls its way up your throat before he’s even begun to skirt the seam of your lips with his tongue. Your lips part for him, and he deepens the kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head as his tongue slides over yours. 

He explores your mouth like he wants to devour you, and you let him, already dangerously addicted to the taste of his saliva mixing with your own, keening when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. 

His hand drifts from your thigh to your shirt, and he grunts as he feels the still-damp material. Without hesitation, you begin to undo the few buttons Gojo hadn’t torn off before giving it to you, overcome with the need to feel the pressure of Nanami’s large, callused hands against your bare skin. He slips the loose tie over your head as you toss the soiled shirt aside, a groan escaping his mouth when he finally takes in the unhindered sight of your bright red bra.

While the straps are lace, the cups are thin and sheer, leaving your peaked nipples on display. You almost hadn’t worn it after realizing how little it left to the imagination.

But now, seeing the way Nanami’s jaw ticks as he stares down at you, fingers twitching where they’re resting against the tops of your thighs, you don’t regret it one bit. 

Your breasts feel heavy and tender under his rapt attention, and the coil nestled in your gut tightens. 

Nanami looks like he’s holding himself back, and you feel a surge of arousal drip between your legs as you watch him teeter at the knife’s edge of his restraint. 

“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” you tell him, overcome with the need to feel exactly what it is that he wants to do to you.  

He cradles the side of your face, fingers curling behind your ear as he slots his mouth against yours. The kiss is thorough but brief, and soon he’s dragging his lips along the curve of your jaw, mouth blazing a trail down the side of your neck, tongue exploring the dip of your collarbone.

While you know where he’s headed, your entire body still arches hard into him when he finally cups your breasts with both hands, leaning in to wetly mouth at one of them through the material of your bra. He licks and sucks, the sensation making you tremble, and you throw your head back and moan, one leg hooking around his waist to pull him in as you scoot closer to the edge of the washer. 

You’re about to take off your bra, but Nanami beats you to the punch, fingers easily flicking open the hooks and allowing your supple breasts to spill out before him. He dives back in, groaning as his lips close around your bare nipple, tongue dancing along the sensitive skin that surrounds the hard bud. His mouth is hot, and slick saliva coats your breasts as he goes back and forth between the two, kneading and sucking. 

With both of your legs now wrapped around his waist in the haze of your arousal, you inadvertently begin to rock into him, your short skirt hiked up around your hips and rendered useless. You moan at the feeling of the sizeable shaft that presses hard into the heat between your legs, his erection straining against the zipper of his slacks. Nanami groans as you start shamelessly dry humping him, and your panties dampen further at the feeling of the sound vibrating against your tits. He gazes one of your nipples with his teeth, teasing it a final time before he straightens, hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

Nanami stares at you intently, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, eyes tracking the way your pupils dilate in turn. He does it again, and your tongue darts out, grazing the tip. Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, he presses the tip of his thumb just past the entrance of your lips, eyes darkening as he watches how easily you welcome the intrusion. He drags his thumb down the side of your chin, pulling down your lower lip with his pointer finger, and your lips part.

A small, eager thrum flares in your gut as you take his finger into your mouth, tongue wrapping around it as you coat it with saliva. Your panties are slick with arousal as you continue to chase the friction of his cock, moaning when he puts another finger in your mouth. You begin to bob your head on the digits, sucking on them so eagerly that you can’t bring yourself to care about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, wiping off the stray saliva with his other thumb and licking his finger clean. 

He’s said the same thing time and time again before, but it’s far more preferable in this context. 

You whimper in relief when he finally slides that hand down your body, bringing it to rest at the apex of your thighs. The sound is muffled by the fingers still shoved in your mouth, and a sound of amusement rumbles in his chest as he watches you desperately keen and writhe for him. 

He drags a finger down the length of your wet pussy, though the contact is muted by your stockings. You begin to shift your hips, a plea for him to tear them off of you, but his impatience wins out as he outright tears them open to gain access to the plush, dripping warmth of your cunt. 

“More red,” he murmurs in approval, running his fingers over the matching sheer material that covers your mound, one digit sliding up to firmly tug at the thick, lace waistband that sits high against your hip bones.

“You like red?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

But he surprises you, still. “I like you in red.”

Nanami uses his thumb to push your thong aside, steadily dragging his finger down your soaking wet slit now exposed to him. The digit slides right through your sensitive folds, and he smirks before sliding one long digit knuckle-deep into your tight hole. 

You gasp, toes curling as you buck into his touch, already greedy for more. Greedy to be filled. 

“More,” you pant out as he slowly pumps the finger in and out of your cunt.

“Open for me,” he tells you, voice low and rough.

You don’t hesitate, lips falling open, and your body radiates with tremors of pleasure as Nanami spits directly into your mouth. Swallowing it down, you moan, drunk on the feeling of submission as he slides in another digit and continues fucking you on his fingers.

“Good girl,” he breathes out heavily. “So pretty like this.”

You shudder under the weight of his praise, something unlocking inside of you as you begin to realize maybe you’ve wanted this from him all along. Needed this from him all along. 

“Fuck me, Nanami. Please.”

“Kento,” he corrects you, hair tickling your neck as he leans in, licking and sucking at the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“Fuck me,” you moan, loosening his tie as your fingers trail their way down opening each button of his shirt. “Kento.”

He bites down hard at the sound of his first name on your lips, his gravelly voice like fire against your skin, “Come for me first.”

He picks up his pace, fingers squelching lewdly in your cunt. Your mouth falls open as you try to temper down the loud moans of pleasure you want to give him, aware that all that separates you from the partygoers is the closed door a few feet away. 

Kento roughly spits into your mouth again at the same moment that he brings his free hand between your legs to tease your clit, the fingers buried inside of you curling as he strokes your sensitive, spongey wall. A choked out sob leaves you when you come, and he swallows it down with a messy kiss, meeting your muffled cries of pleasure with his own rough moan as he feels you squirt all over him, clear liquid spraying his shirt and pants.

“Fuck,” he groans, the wavering loss of his composure now evident in his voice as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm on his hand. 

Overcome with the desire to feel the large erection tented painfully at the front of his pants, your fingers fumble with the button and zipper, a sigh of pleasure leaving you when you finally wrap your hands around his long, thick cock. Kento kisses you filthily, moaning into your mouth as you begin pumping his cock, thumb sliding over the precum dripping from the head. 

His large hands grasp your thighs, pulling you as close to the edge of the washer as possible. Kento wraps his own hand around his dick, firmly dragging the head down your creamy slit. You rock forward, chest heaving, muscles clenched tight with desire and need, only to be met with a sharp burst of pleasure as he slaps his cock heavily against your pussy. You whimper for him.

Placing a finger over your lips, which have been far from quiet throughout this ordeal, Kento goes to grab the tie left discarded beside you. However, after his fingers close around the material, he raises a brow and shakes his head, letting it drop to the floor as he begins to loosen his own tie instead.

You make no effort to hide the shameless need on your face as he smirks at you, shaking his head before wrapping the tie around your mouth and gagging you with it. 

“I like seeing you desperate,” he murmurs against your ear, before finally sheathing his thick cock inside of you.

His dick is so big, your tight pussy throbs from the stretch while he splits you open, flooding your body with an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Suit jacket already discarded somewhere along the way, your fingers tug off his unbuttoned dress shirt, leaving your hands free to explore the firm expanse of his abdomen.

The washing machine begins to shake loudly with each thrust, and Kento grunts, arms wrapping tightly around you as he lifts you, choosing to fuck you up against the wall instead. The continuous push and drag of his fat cock through your slick channel leaves your mind begging for more.

Your lewd moans are quiet and muffled against the gag, but he can still hear it when you beg, “Harder.”

He obliges, the shelf leaning against the wall beside you trembling ever so slightly when he begins to roughly thrust in and out of your cunt. His cock relentless plunges in to the hilt, your pussy greedily taking every long, thick inch as he fucks you deep. One of his hands runs down the side of your neck, and you find yourself leaning into the pressure, whimpering against the wet material blocking your mouth.

“Should have known you’d like this,” he rasps, hand sliding to the front of your throat as he tightens his grip and starts to choke you. “Now come on my cock.”

The pleasure that erupts inside of you swipes every remaining bit of air from your lungs, a choked out sob crawling its way up your throat as you tremble and shake in Kento’s steady grip, cunt squelching wetly around his dick. 

He looks down between your bodies, the sight of the creamy ring you’ve left around the base of his shaft drawing a rough, aroused noise of appreciation from him. 

Kento goes to pull out, but you shake your head, a small whine slipping past the tie, and he groans heavily, forehead falling against yours as he slams his cock back in to the hilt. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, too, shaft pulsing and throbbing within the tight grip of your slick cunt as he dumps rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

When you’re finished, Kento sets you down carefully, his fingers tender as he undoes the gag and leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, tongue swiping along your lower lip.

“Are you alright?” He asks, thumb stroking your neck.

You don’t answer him for a beat, and his mouth curls downward in concern, meeting your gaze only to find the deceivingly innocent pout of your lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already?” you say. 

You should be exhausted from how thoroughly he just fucked you, but instead, you’re already thinking about feeling the thick stretch of his cock inside of you again, and your cunt flutters and aches with a need that’s yet to be sated.

Kento laughs, the sound deep and rich, and you think you could get used to hearing it.

He pulls up your underwear, along with your now-ruined tights, lowering himself down on one knee before you as he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt while his thick, sticky cum begins to soak into your panties. You exhale shakily, already far too close to undone just from the sight before you alone, and he smirks, standing back up.

Kento takes your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, teasing your bottom lip. “We’re not done, we’re just going to go somewhere where I don’t need to cover your pretty lips next time.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[danielslilangel]

Behind the CEO's Door

I haven't seen too many smut stories/scenes in the fandom yet and got distracted by the idea of doing a scene for each batboy ship with Mari. So far, all I've had time to type out is Timari. It's my first attempt at writing a more mature scene that wasn't just thinly veiled smut and I'm always up for constructive criticism so let me know if you like it and think I should attempt the other shops or if it sucks and I should stay away from smut writing 🤷😅 Also doing this on mobile as I'm not able to get to my laptop right now so forgive any formating issues ❤️

Tim picked up his stainless steel tumbler to take a sip of his coffee only to put it back down with a deep sigh. Empty, great. His finger hovered over his call button, ready to summon his secretary to fetch him more caffeine to drink, but a loud buzz emitted from the machine before he could even push it.

"Yes?" He answered.

"Mr. Drake." Tracey's voice sounded through the intercom. "Mrs. Drake is here to see you."

Surprised, it took him a second to register her words and another second before he hastily replied, "send her in." Tim turned his chair towards the door as he waited for his wife to enter. His eyes shifted over to his phone's lock screen briefly, noting that he hadn't received any new messages from her. It wouldn't be the first time Marinette had visited him at Wayne Enterprise, but she had never shown up unannounced before.

He watched her walk past his office's open windows before entering through the opened doorway with her head turned to the right to thank Tracey. The click of her silver pumps was almost deafening in the sudden silence that came from her shutting the door behind her. He had made sure his office was sound proof so that he could eliminate the office chatter and street noise from outside whenever he needed to focus.

Click. His eyes grew wide as she locked the door. He opened his mouth to speak as she pulled the blinds down across the glass but the words never came out as a soft taptaptap came from her running a manicured finger down the length of the window blinds across his wall, completely shutting out the world beyond the room. She finally turned and looked him in the eyes and he knew that the dumbstruck expression on his face was just getting stupider looking as she slowly strutted towards him.

Undoing the black buttons on her faux fur trench coat from the bottom up with a practiced ease, she glared at him- two very different actions that both had him gulping. No one was more threatening than his wife- or mother-in-law.

“Timothy Jackson Drake." Marinette's use of his full name drew him from his stupor as he raised his gaze back to her face instead of watching the work her fingers were doing. "We have been home from our honeymoon for two weeks and in the past fourteen days, do you know how many hours I've actually had the chance to see you?" He didn't get to answer before she was slipping another button free from it's confinement and continued talking as if his mouth wasn't hanging wide open. "A total of thirty three hours- that's less than three days in case you were wondering. And I'm pretty sure at least 5 of those weren't even at home. I had to practically make an appointment to come here to visit my husband during those few hours. I understand your need to finish a project, but that is no reason to neglect your wife." She now stood directly in front of where he sat in his office chair behind his desk, fingers pulling the last button free. "I don't appreciate the lack of attention, so here's what's going to happen." Marinette shimmied and the coat fell from her shoulders to the floor, revealing her nearly naked pale skin.

Doing its job of leaving nothing to the imagination, Marinette's dark blue lingerie had Tim's gaze trailing up and down her body repeatedly. He took in the sight of her perfect breasts sitting out for him to see, pushed up by the underwire in her open cup bra, nipples standing proud, before lowering his gaze to the dark straps of her panties that crossed beneath well defined abs to a small patch of lace- embroidered with an intricate pattern of silver thread that fascinated him the more he looked- following the lacey lines that trailed their way down her toned thighs to reach a matching pair of navy stockings.

Suddenly, Marinette was sinking to her knees on the floor in front of him, one hand deftly working to undo his belt buckle while the other was raised to his face, a single finger pressed to his lips to keep him silent after a small "Marinette?" had fallen from his still open mouth. The bluenette gazed up at him through thick lashes, her blue eyes sparkling in his dimmed office lights, as she made quick work of his zipper.

"I'm going to stay down here, kissing, sucking, and licking until you forget about everything else in this world but me." She removed her hand from near his face and used it to help her yank his pants and boxers down to his ankles in one swift movement though he hadn't lifted himself up to help- no doubt her superheroine abilities helping her with a strength boost even out of the suit. "And once you are fully incapable of saying my name coherently, I am going to fuck some sense into you so you come home with me tonight like a good little boy."

She didn't give him a moment to process her words before her hands were pressed to his inner thighs, pushing them apart so she could kiss and nibble her way up his legs to get to her prize. She felt a swell of hot pride rush through her veins as she got a front row seat to his cock growing harder as she got closer to it, only to skip over it teasingly as she restarted her path, up his left leg this time.

Tim had never been more thankful than he was now that he had a meeting with a client earlier so he'd been forced to shower today. He honestly couldn't even remember when his last shower had been, which was absolutely not a good thing. He knew he needed to be better about his hygiene and about being home and attentive to Mari, but he still wasn't quite used to having to focus on something other than his work at WE and his vigilante stint as Red Robin and oh fuck!

Marinette flicked the head of his cock with her tongue, lapping up the small beads of precum gathered on the tip, as she dug her nails into his thighs, bringing him out of his thoughts as her actions ground him to the present. Grabbing the base lightly, Marinette looked up him again as she swirled her tongue around his tip once more and he swore he was about to combust just from her heated gaze alone.

Spurred on by his throaty moans, Marinette opened her mouth more and slowly slid down his shaft, mindful of her teeth, until she was nearly gagging from his full length- a lewd noise coming from her throat that had Tim's whole body shaking with need. She held his hips, effectively pinning him to his chair as she bobbed her head up and down his cock. Fire raced through his veins as she replaced her mouth with her hands so she could swirl her tongue around his balls, gently sucking them into her mouth one at a time as her hands twist in opposite directions on his cock, creating a wonderful friction that had him shaking with need.

"Fuck! God, Mari!" Unable to reign in his desire any longer, Tim reached down and grabbed a pigtail in each hand, using them to hold her head in place as he lifted his hips and fucked her mouth. He moved at a haphazard pace, rutting into her like his life depended on it. God, she is so warm and wet and...

Marinette's moan from having her hair pulled harder than normal had vibrations tingling up his shaft and he couldn't help but pick up the pace at which he thrusted into her open mouth, trying desperately, and failing, to set a consistent rhythm. Every time he pulled out, his wife's tongue was there to lave his head and slit, relishing in the soft noises that were readily falling from his throat. He was throbbing again, his hardened member pulsing from the desire she had built up in him so when her teeth gently scraped across his flaming skin as she once again took him fully inside to the back of her throat, Tim couldn't even warn her before he was silently shooting his hot load into her ready mouth, his body far too preoccupied with orgasming to allow him to even gasp. His hands dropped to his sides as his eyes rolled back into his head, Marinette sucking him hard to draw every last possible drop of cum that she could.

Once he was fully spent, she licked the runaway drops from her full lips and ran her hands up inside his shirt, marveling at the hardened planes of his stomach, as she pressed soft kisses up his inner thigh before following the path her fingers were tracing up the rest of his body as Tim came floating back down from his orgasmic high.

How he had managed to last so long was a mystery. They had spent a week on the warm beaches of Samana in the Dominican Republic for their honeymoon, playing in the sun all day and fucking all night thanks to their dual insomnia. Since coming back to Gotham, they hadn't been intimate once and it was entirely his fault. A fault that I am going to remedy immediately, he thought as he drew a ragged breath in.

Marinette rose and he wasted no time running his hands up and down the hard planes and soft mounds of her body. She leaned forward and groaned as he trailed kisses up her neck, biting marks into supple spots that she could easily cover up if she chose to. He groped her breasts, kneading the soft skin before his fingertips found her nipples. Lowering his face to her chest as she threaded her fingers through his hair, Tim blew a hot breath across her raised bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking and gently biting as his hands moved down to cup her ass. He gave her cheeks a slight smack and buried his face into her neck once more to stifle a loud moan.

Their lips met and he couldn't help the whine that escaped as their tongues wrestled against one another, trying to take control. He felt his cock twitch as she bit his lower lip, pulling it slightly before moving to trail kisses along his shaven jawline. He's hungry for her, the need to have her screaming his name in ecstasy because of their time apart doubled from her entering his office all wrapped up like a present just for him.

"Tim." His name falls from her lips like a prayer and he slides his hands away from her breasts, one going up to wrap around the back of her neck, bringing her head back up to kiss him while the other goes down to grab ahold of her ass, his fingertips digging into the sensitive skin. They're a sloppy mess of tongues, saliva, and teeth as they kiss, but neither care much as lost as they now we’re in each other.

The noises that fell from her lips during each breath of air she took had his cock bobbing rock hard against his abdomen again. He scooted closer to her as she stood in front of him, moving his hand from her ass to her hip, then to her public bone, dipping lower, intending to tease her through the thin fabric.

Fuuucckkk! His eyes shot open and he shifted his gaze to her lower half as his fingers met warmth and wetness, noticing for the first time that a very important part of her panties were missing. They're crotchless? He heard her small giggle in his ear as she leaned forward, pressing her chest against his. He smiled wickedly as their gazes locked once more.

"I do believe that I was told that I would be getting fucked senseless."

[kendrixtermina]

One thing that felt uncomfortable to go along with in the CF route for me was when Edelgard lies about what happened at Arianrhod to her closest allies (Black Eagle Strike Force) and blames it on the church. Can you give some insight as to why she does this? Especially when Edelgard criticizes the church for lying to the people of Fodlan, but isn’t she doing it here?

That’s certainly a moment that is genuinely ambiguous / a valid point of criticism and something I’d laud a whistleblower for exposing if it were a RL politician, but also the sort of realpolitik / appearance management that has taken place in most RL wars. 

Once you’re the leader of anything, allowing panic, division, etc. at bad moments comes with its costs. Of course this is hardly a carte blanche (see: Beating down legit protesters for superficial “order”), but neither is it a factor that can be ignored completely.

At the point of the Arianrhod attack Edelgard was one month away from seizing control of the landmass and ending the large-scale fighting, having one enemy taken out (the Church) and being able to turn all her resources on the other (the Agarthans)

The agarthans at this point know they’re losing control of Edelgard and they’re not stupid enough to have any illusions about her loyalty. So they fire a warning shot to demonstrate their superior weaponry. Arundel makes a thinly veiled threat to fire it on Enbarr. 

Of course at this point he basically gave away his location and allowed Edelgard & Hubert to come up with countermeasures, but they don’t want him to know that yet, their strategy involves that they keep being underestimated, let the Agarthans keep thinking that the “beasts” have no counter for the nukes pointed at their heads. 

But they still destroyed half a fortress killing the ppl inside. If she reveals that she’s got a rogue faction infiltrating her ranks that’s firing frightening superweapons nilly willy, there will be chaos outrage and disunity right before the final battle. If she doesn’t make a statement at all and declares it a mystery, no one will believe it and her own faction will get the blame throughout the country. So what does she do? Pin it on the enemy she is currently fighting anyways. The purpose here is not to reveal the Agarthan situation too early so they can focus on the church for now. 

It’s unclear if this was ever revealed to the public (probably not, I don’t think she’d cause a stir on principle alone) but the ending cards make it quite clear that the Strike Force was let in on the Agarthan situation later and helped her mop them up. 

Yeah, it’s defamation, an indisputable  textbook government cover up and maybe even technically a kind of propaganda, but her casus belli existed before it’s not like she’s basing it on the lie, and in most wars throughout history the factions have hidden or made a spin of failures & mishaps and made the enemy look bad. 

There are certainly many historical examples of such actions creating problems, such as fueling lingering resentments or creating general mistrust that can led to real information not being believed etc. so it’s by no means a safe action that is no big deal and I can see how it could be a legit dealbreaker for some, you certainly weren’t supposed to be 100% comfortable with it, or anything on the CF route, everyone involves is well aware that they’re doing ugly, costly things because (or so they see it) the alternatives are all worse. In that sense it’s the most self-aware one. It’s about actually looking at the bottom line of consequences, not what makes you feel like a hero. 

At the same time, doing things like that that squander her moral credibility genuinely IS a flaw in Edelgard’s leadership style - it’s probably why more ppl didn’t believe her manifesto, “she already lied to us cooperating with these shady guys”, making it look like a ‘he said she said’ situation to the wider public that can’t go & confirm the evidence for themselves. This is why Claude thinks he has a better shot at winning& implementing reforms in VW (”too shady for the ppl to get behind”) - just like Dimitri has no plans and Claude’s secrecy creating mistrust even when his secret plan is utterly benevolent.  Doesn’t matter how altruistic you are if you look suspicious it will have consequences I mean that’s how she loses on the other rouses, everyone ganks up on her cause she antagonized them all with suspicious actions. I’m not saying she’s any more perfect than the other 2. 

but putting that on the same scale as what Rhea did is comparing a candle to the sun. 

And maybe the Kantians in the audience will disagree with me but it can be a bit unhelpful to classify different actions of vastly different consequence and magnitude as “Lies”. There is a common principle (telling things that aren’t exactly true) but different magnitude. Clearly “The Confederacy was all great and glorious” and “I totally didn’t eat my little sister’s share of toffees” aren’t on the same level of immorality. 

Neither is below the “everythings fine and dandy” line but one is a lie about one incident for one clear purpose, and the other is creating a whole fake world view for the express purpose of control, maintaining harmful systems, suppressing any advancement of science & technology... for 1000 years. 

Scale, purpose and consequences are totally different. The arianrhod coverup coming to light would spark controversy & discussion on wether she should have done it under those circumstances; Some might change their opinion about her but overall everyone already knew that she’s not above dirty methods. If you told the average citizen of Fodland about all of Rhea’s lies, everything they know would be wrong. They would go from Adoring & worshipping her to being very confused about what’s true. 

It’s the difference between your average modern-day politician doing backroom deals with diverse industry lobbies to accomplish their other goals, and a place like Saudi Arabia. 

To get perspective here, let’s look at another example: Claude’s deceptions. 

He, too, ultimately wants what’s best for everyone and a lot of the time he decides to fool people to avoid fighting them, I don’t mean to bash him at all, but let’s look at his actions in and of themselves: 

Look at the sequence where he, Hilda & Byleth rope the church into helping them - that’s even more outright with the slimy politician tactics: He tries to downplay alliance involvement though he is totally in control, he says that “getting the church on our side will make fighting the empire look like a moral cause” implying that he doesn’t think it is one but wants to portray it as one to get ppl’s support, we’re told he made lots of promises to the merchants to get them on his side (so like that’s literal lobbyists), he installs Byleth as a figurehead, he tells the church ppl he wants to help them get back their old power when he really wants it to diminish and to drastically reorder the society.

He tells everyone he’ll help them save Rhea but while he still has basic human empathy for her & what happened to her he makes it clear he doesn’t want her to go back to being archbishop... at all. He even does this with Byleth: “Yeah, sure, teach we’re totally gonna save her”  though in their case he tries to hint that she’s not to be trusted for their own good. Despite his dishonesty, he’s actually a very good friend to them imho. (#broTP)

In the end the power struggle between Claude and Edelgard isn’t personal nor a righteous struggle - he’s just taking advantage of the chaos she caused and he needs the seat of power to reach his own goal. He thinks he can do it better and she’s in the way (and to be fair, she thinks the same about him) 

It’s your classic slimy politician: “he’s pretending to be for family values etc thing but really he wants power & is in cahoots with economic interests and he won’t do what he promised” etc. ... except with the plot twist that he’s deeply good and not actually all that ruthless.   In a sense he’s as much a total subverted trope as Edelgard.

So doesn’t he have the right to criticise Rhea either? Or do you see how, while not per perfect, he’s miles better and not remotely the same?

Edelgard isn’t 100% truthful, but by and large, she made her intentions very clear with the pamphlets and stuff (even if it meant antagonizing ppl who were against that) and all her soldiers generally know what they’re fighting for and are going to get out of it if they support her, or what the consequences will be if they fail, even if she kept some of the “how” to herself. 

Which isn’t to say that Claude ever makes ppl act against their interests even if it’s sometimes what he sees as their interests.

Under Rhea’s rule no one knew what the government’s doing, why it’s doing it, or to some degree, even that she IS the government... for 1000 years. There’s some cult of personality going on. She probably genuinely believes that it does benefit the sheeple to be “guided” by her, but she hasn’t even told Seteth about all she’s doing, she’s pretty much accountable to no one.

In terms of honesty, we could probably rank the lords like this: 

Dimitri (a few omissions at worst)

Seteth (lies mostly out of self-preservation)

Edelgard (some convenient secrecy here & there)

Yuri (about the same as El but I’d put him slightly higher for the fake betrayal) 

Claude (no one rly knows what he’s up to, but he gets ppl what he promised them and doesn’t outright betray them)

(very)

(big)

(gap)

Rhea (fake history, isolationist bubble, abuse of power left & right, manipulation, will smile in your face while planning to make you a meat puppet for her mom)