#like let me enjoy writing and the dynamics

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Food for thought: imagine lion!mydei with a prey reader!!! Yk, toss in some dub con and predator/ prey dynamics 🤭. Oh, the way us floofy ears would twitch and his tail would wrap around your leg!!

I'm absolutely convinced mydei is 10000% mean man when it's between the sheets.

Have a good day/night <3. I rlly luv your works and what's your secret to writing rlly good smut? Teach me your ways professor!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 warnings : nsfw/smut, bunny fem!reader, creampie, multiple of rounds, spanking, size kink, breeding kink, biting, huge dubcon alert, multiple of orgasms and tit slapping and other stuff. ^.^

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 note : tysm! i’m glad you enjoyed my writing sweetie. And I don’t really have a secret lmao! i’ve been writing long stories ever since I was 11. also reader is implied to be chubby and curvy! also not proof read (as always).

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

You should have noticed it earlier—the way the birds had stopped singing, the way the wind had died down as if holding its breath. But you were a bunny, and a very stupid one at that. Soft and slow and terribly, terribly unaware.

That was why you didn’t realize you were being hunted until it was far too late.

A branch cracked. Your ears twitched, your breath hitched, and then—

A massive force slammed into you from behind, knocking you down into the dirt. Your heart pounded as you scrambled to flee, but it was useless. Large, clawed hands pinned you down, pressing your softer, squishier body into the earth. A deep, rumbling growl ghosted over the shell of your ear, and your instincts screamed.

Predator.

Your body locked up in fear, trembling beneath the sheer weight of the beast above you. You had heard the stories of the lion-king before—the ruthless ruler of the wilds, the monster who tore through his prey with teeth and claw. And yet, when he dipped his head, sniffing along the side of your neck, he didn’t bite.

He inhaled. Deeply.

And then, to your absolute horror, he groaned.

“Fuck,” the lion rumbled, his voice thick, heated, laced with something primal. His heavy tail coiled around your thigh, holding you in place. His hips rolled against yours, and you felt it—the thick, hard shape of him pressing against your ass. “You smell too sweet to eat, little rabbit.”

His tongue flicked out, running a slow, wet trail up your throat. You shuddered, trying to shrink away, but his hands only gripped you tighter, claws grazing against your skin.

“You’re lucky,” Mydei murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Your breath hitched when he grinded against you again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel just how big he was. Your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly despite the fear still prickling at your spine. His hand moved, fingers dragging down your stomach, teasing at the plush softness there before dipping lower.

“Gonna ruin this dumb little bunny cunt,” he growled. “Make you scream for me.”

You whimpered, but there was no escape.

The lion had caught his prey. And he wasn’t letting go.

A rough hand forced your back into an arch, making you whimper as your ass lifted higher. Mydei chuckled, low and dark, his heavy tail coiling tighter around your plush thigh. The fur was deceptively soft against your skin, a contrast to the ruthless grip he had on you.

“Look at this,” he murmured, his large palm sliding over your hips, groping the softest parts of you like he was testing his prize. “Built to be fucked. You were never meant to run, little thing—just to be caught.”

A sharp smack landed across your ass. You yelped, lurching forward, but he dragged you back with ease. Another slap—harder this time—sent a hot sting rippling through your body, making your legs twitch. Your fluffy tail twitched too, betraying you, and he laughed.

“Sensitive,” he mused, palming your sore flesh before delivering another punishing slap. “You get wet from this, don’t you?”

You shook your head, ears flopping as you whimpered, but you both knew the truth. His fingers slid lower, past the heat pooling between your thighs, and—fuck—he found you already slick.

“Stupid little thing,” he purred, rubbing slow, teasing circles against your clit. “What kind of prey gets wet for their predator?”

You gasped as he slid a thick finger into you, then another, stretching you open in cruel, lazy strokes. Your walls fluttered, trying to take him deeper, trying to milk something that wasn’t even inside you yet. Mydei groaned, nosing against the base of your fluffy ears, dragging his teeth lightly along them.

“Bet you’ll take my cock just as easy,” he murmured. “Gonna make you mine. Stuff you so full, you’ll never be able to run again.”

Your thighs trembled as he pulled his fingers away, leaving you empty and aching. Then—something hotter, heavier, pressed against your entrance. You gasped at the sheer size of it, instinct screaming again, but his tail tightened around your thigh, holding you still.

“You’re made for this,” Mydei rasped, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your slick folds. “Made to take my seed, to be bred nice and full.”

He thrust in, stretching your pussy open, forcing a ragged cry from your throat. Your fingers clawed at the dirt, your ears pressing flat against your head as your walls clenched around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him.

"That’s it," he groaned, his grip on your hips bruising. “Gonna make you all mine, little thing.”

And with another rough thrust, he set a brutal, unrelenting pace.

Each thrust was brutal, knocking you forward only for Mydei to yank you back onto his cock, forcing you to take him deep. Your plush thighs shook, your body burning with overstimulation, but he didn’t let up.

“Ngh—too much—” you gasped, voice breaking between ragged moans. Your ears twitched wildly with each slam of his hips, your tail fluffing up in distress.

“Too much?” Mydei echoed, voice dripping with mockery. His claws dragged down your sides before settling on your tits, gripping them roughly, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. “You’re dripping all over my cock, little thing. You love this.”

You whined as he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before slapping your tits, making them bounce from the impact. Your body betrayed you—each slap sent a fresh pulse of heat straight to your core, making your walls clamp down even tighter around him.

"Fuck," he growled, his tail curling possessively around your thigh. “Look at you. Dumb little prey, taking my cock so well. Taking it like you were made for it.”

Your arms gave out, leaving you to slump forward onto your elbows, tits pressing into the dirt. Mydei loomed over you, his golden mane brushing against your back as he fucked you harder, deeper, his breath hot against your nape.

"You’re mine," he groaned, one clawed hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you in place. "Say it."

You could barely think, barely breathe, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His cock was splitting you open, dragging against your walls in a way that had your stomach twisting in knots. Making your ears flattened as your tail fluffed up.

“Mydei—“ you whimpered.

His hips snapped forward, making you scream.

“Say it.”

“I—I'm yours!” you sobbed, voice breaking into a desperate wail. “Yours—your prey—your—ahhh!”

His teeth sank into the side of your throat, claiming you fully, and your vision went white as you came hard around his cock, your walls milking him greedily.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic. His hands clamped down on your hips, holding you still as he drove into you one last time, pressing himself deep.

Heat flooded your insides as he spilled inside you, thick and so much—your already-sensitive body trembled as you felt it seep even deeper. His cock throbbed, pumping more and more into you, and Mydei let out a pleased growl, licking over the fresh bite mark on your throat.

“Mine,” he murmured again, his hands smoothing over your plush body, possessive and satisfied. “And now… you're bred.”

His tail remained wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated and wrecked, but Mydei wasn’t done with you. His cock still twitched inside your soaked, swollen cunt, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he shifted his weight over you. His tail curled tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread open, forcing you to take every last drop of his seed.

“You look so fucked-out already,” he murmured, one large hand smoothing down your spine before gripping your hips again. “But I’m not done with you yet, little prey.”

You shivered as his hand ghosted lower, spreading your ass to watch his cum leak out of you. He groaned at the sight, his claws digging into your plush flesh. “Already dripping, and I haven’t even knotted you yet.”

Your ears twitched weakly, your breathing still ragged as you turned your head to look back at him. Your wide, dazed eyes shimmered in the dim light, glassy and unfocused—doe-eyed and utterly lost. Mydei sucked in a sharp breath, his cock throbbing at the way you gazed up at him, helpless and ruined.

“Fuck,” he growled. His hand suddenly snaked around your waist, dragging you up off the dirt. You gasped as he pulled you flush against his chest, your legs barely able to hold you up as his cock throbbed deep inside your cunt.

“You’re looking at me like you still don’t get it,” he murmured against your ear. His palm slid up your soft belly before grabbing your tits, squeezing, toying with the sensitive flesh. “You thought I’d stop after one round? Thought I’d just let you go?”

You whined, jolting as he suddenly slapped your tits, making them bounce under his grip. Your whole body jiggled from the impact, heat blooming across your skin, and Mydei “groaned” as his cock twitched inside you.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers before giving another sharp slap to your tits, watching them jiggle in his grasp. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill—“

His other hand suddenly slammed against your lower belly, pressing down right where his cock stretched you open. You gasped, your walls fluttering around him as he chuckled darkly.

“Feel that?” he purred. “Right here. My cock, stuffing you so full.”

You sobbed, your hips twitching as he began grinding against your overstimulated clit, pressing down on your belly with every slow, deep thrust.

“Too much—Mydei, please—”

“Please?” he mocked, nosing along your flushed cheek. “Please what, little prey? Please keep fucking you? Please breed you again?"

Your mind was fogged with pleasure, your body trembling in his grasp, but you still managed to choke out a desperate, ruined—

“Yes!”

Mydei snapped.

His tail tightened around your thigh as he slammed you back onto his cock, spearing you open, making your tits bounce wildly with each punishing thrust. You could do nothing but whimper, drool spilling from your lips as your walls spasmed around him, milking him for more.

“Fuck—you’re perfect,” he groaned, licking over your ear before biting down on your shoulder, claiming you. “Gonna fill you up again. Gonna knot you—make sure my seed takes—“

You let out a choked cry as he pressed his palm against your belly again, feeling himself inside you, knowing he was going to breed you until you couldn’t take anymore.

Until you were nothing but his.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[lostinlovingrevery]

Cat-and-Mouse

Cowboy! Logan X F! Reader

You can run, but he'll always catch you

A/N: A lil hint of the dynamics between reader and Logan in the cowboy!Logan series that I will eventually (hopefully) write. This could be considered standalone tho! also this isn't going to be the only fic where you get lasso'd by Logan (im a lil obsessed w the idea)

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, CNC elements but not really?, unprotected PiV, you get Lasso'd and tied up lol, creampie, it's complicated style relationship, possessive logan, a little bit of mean!logan too, outdoor sex? kind of a plot

Your feet pounded against the dirt as you ran.

Your heartbeat flooded your ears. Adrenaline coursed through your body, pushing you faster than you ever have before. Your hair and dress were with the wind as you ran. You nearly tripped several times from your skirt tangling with your legs. 

Ahead all you saw was a dirt road, lined with trees, towering over you- silent watchers. It seemed endless but it was the only option you got. All roads lead to somewhere. 

The thundering of hoofprints was distant, but there.

Reason told you, you weren’t going to win this chase. Panic pushed you faster, beyond your limits.

You hear a sound of a rope, as you turn your head to see a lasso twirling through the air, before being tossed in your direction. The feeling of a rope wraps around you, tight, constricting your arms to your torso, and pulling you back with a harsh tug. You landed into the dirt, your body rolling backwards as it followed the tug of the rope, making your pretty white dress dirty, and your face smeared with dust. 

You pant, your lungs desperate for you, your head screaming at you to get up. You rolled to your side, but the wind had been knocked out of you so fiercely you couldn’t utter the strength to get up.

You heard the sound of a horse huffing nearby, before the sound of boots landing into the dirt. A steady, slow walk towards you, the jingle of spurs filling you with anticipation. 

“Well now. You enjoy that run, little rabbit?”

You open your eyes, squinting up at the sky where the sun blinded you until he came into view. His body shielded you from the sun's harsh light, but created a foreboding darkness as shadows covered him as he looked down at you with a smirk. 

He leaned down, a small grunt escaping him, as he picked you up with ease with one hand, grabbing your arm and bringing you to your feet. He turned you around roughly, binding you with the lasso, tying it- not uncomfortably, but reminded you that you were bound and helpless to him. He spun you back around, his hand coming up to clench your jaw.

“I thought we were done with that little cat-and-mouse game.” He mumbles. “Trying to break an old cowboy's heart?” 

You scowled at him and he forcefully tightened his grip on you. Pulling you closer, and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Do I need to remind you of a few things?” 

You yelped as he lifted you up, throwing you over his shoulder with ease like a bale of hay. He clicked his tongue, 

“C’mon Cinnamon.” He orders his horse, who then follows him at will, as he begins walking down the road. You attempted to wiggle from his grasp, but his hand came up, smacking you harshly on the ass, making you yelp- and cease your struggle. “Settle down there bunny.” He taunts, making your face hot in embarrassment. 

He didn’t carry you for long, just somewhere off-road. Cinnamon was left to graze while he put you somewhere more secluded. He dropped you onto the grass, gently but still made you gasp. You struggle a bit, pushing yourself to sit up, as he stands over you and watches with disappointment.

“Logan.” You looked up at him angrily. 

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. 

“Let me go.”

He clicked his tongue, baring his teeth as he sucked air through them. Look up and around at the nature that surrounds you both. A small clearing with a nearby pond. It would be a pretty place to relax in- if it weren’t for your current circumstances. He looked back down at you, and you saw a flash of anger on his face that sent chills down your spine. 

He kicked your legs open roughly, kneeling down between them as his hand went around your neck, pushing you back onto the grass, before hiking your dress up to your waist as his other hand cupped your clothed cunt. You let out a whine, turning your head away from him.

He chuckled. “I told you. You’re mine now.” He says lowering himself to your ear. His fingers pushed your panties aside, brushing through your folds, making your hips involuntarily thrust. “You still got me leaking out of ya, and you thought you could run?” He tsks. 

You turned your head to look up at him, a pout on your lips. 

“Should’ve kept you tied up but I thought you were smarter than that.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his nose bumping into yours as his lips sit a mere inch away. 

You began to tip your head up to kiss him, but he pulled away. “Nice try.” He smirked, before his eyes flashed with possessiveness, and his voice turned low. “You’re going to pay for that lil escapade you just did.” 

He sat back up, undoing his belt and holster, dropping it to the side. He shoved his pants down to his thighs, and his thick cock popped out, hard already. He pushed your skirt father up, pulling your panties off you. 

In a swift movement, he grabbed the rope bounding you, pulling you onto his lap. You felt his cock brush over your folds and the chilling warmth of fear and arousal rushed over you. Taking his hat off, he placed it over your head firmly.

He leaned back onto the grass, gazing at you above him, as he goes and pushes you up, before angling his cock at your entrance. 

“Go on. You don’t got a choice.” 

Your lips parted, a gasp escaping you as your head fell back, the stretch as you began to lower yourself over him, pain and pleasure wrapped into a delicious combo that made your thighs tremble. You purse your lips together, before looking at him pleadingly.

“C’mon now. None of that. You took me so well last night darling.” He purred. “and I know you loved every goddamn second of it. Get moving.” 

You continued lowering yourself onto him, down to the hilt. Tears well in your eyes as you attempt to adjust to the size of him. Somehow, it felt harder lowering yourself over him- than it did when he fucked into you. He knew how to take care of you better than you did yourself.

“Goddamn sweetheart.” He let out a groan, tipping his head back for a moment as his grip tightened over the rope.

His hand caressed your thigh. He didn’t loosen his grip on the rope that bound you. A small tug of the rope, and an order. The sound of his voice dared you to disobey.

“Now, ride me cowgirl.” 

With a trembling body, you began to lift yourself up, and back down his cock. Without the use of your arms to support yourself, you find more strain in your legs as you attempt to move up and down his girth. 

Not wanting to disappoint- or anger him more, you pushed through it. Small whimpers escaped you, as pleasure began to erupt through your body. The ache melted into something honey-like. Your arms pressed into the rope as you arched your back, wishing to go faster but not having the strength to. 

His hand continued caressing your thigh, as he watched you with satisfaction at seeing you bound and struggling. Your cunt was squeezing so tight around him, despite how he had fucked you last night. It was cute, how you thought you could get away from him.

Maybe you did. Several times in fact.

He always found you. He always will.

You crawled under his skin. Become an itch he can’t scratch - only you could. 

Your thighs were beginning to give out. He could see the tears threatening to break through as your lips parted. Your previous cardio had already left you exhausted, and now you were at your breaking point, your vision becoming blurry, as the burn in your legs started to numb. 

Suddenly, your world shifts, and you feel the cool grass on your back. 

A hard thrust left you whining Logans name. A warm chuckle graced your ears. 

“Let this be a lesson, little bunny.” He says, his gloved hand softly brushing some hair out of your face, before gripping it and making you open your eyes and look at him. “You can run, much as you want, but I’m always going to find you.” 

You let out a soft gasp. “Logan.” 

“Hm?”

“I just want to keep you safe.” 

The hardness on his face softens. He leans forward and captures your lips in a possessive kiss. Slowly he began moving his hips against yours, thrusting in and out, small hiccups escaping you as you attempted to kiss him back. 

His arm wrapped around your back, adjusting you by lifting your hips higher, the angle sent you careening, as his cock continues to bury himself inside you over and over. He moved down to your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin. You heard small grunts escaping him with every hard thrust inside you. 

You wanted to grab him, hold onto him as he claimed you. The lasso he had caught you with, tied you, kept you restricted from him. His own barrier he’s made between you- yet doesn’t acknowledge. 

His thrusts become erratic, his grasp around your waist becoming tighter as he buries himself into your neck. His hand braced into the grass next to your head digging into the dirt. You let out a cry tilting your head towards, as you felt your own overwhelming finish approach. A tight sensation in your lower belly that finally snaps at his next words,

“You’re mine-” He growls. “No ones fucking taking you from me. Got that?”

You moaned, tipping your head back as relief washed over you. Pleasure rolled through in waves as you squeezed him over and over, now merely rutting into you until he came to his own finish, burying himself inside you as he let out a guttural moan. He takes a moment to catch his breath, before pulling out of you. 

He sat up, pulling his pants up over himself, setting the buckle back in place as he looked down at you. Seemingly hypnotized by your ruined form. Your legs spread wide still, as you shook, and his cum beaded out of you slowly. Dirt covered your dress and skin. Your hair was a mess. 

“Think ya got the message now?” He says in a low grumble. You opened your eyes and looked at him. You didn’t respond. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t consider yourself his. At this point, you were utterly devoted. Your lives though were complicated. 

You couldn’t risk losing him.

He smirked. “No? Guess I’ll just have to keep ya tied up darling.”

[octaneink]

Could you do some dating willne headcannons or some willne smut but like in an established relationship? I’m obsessed with your fics, I swear I’ve read them so much I could recite them from memory 😭😭

Ahhh thank you so much for the kind words! I'm really happy that you like what I've written. I've never done headcannons or write smut lol so bear with me. I don't really know how to write smut ngl so I hope you like the spice (I think thats spicy? I don't know) at the end, I've never really written anything lke that before so I hope its...realistic?

Warning for some steamy stuff at the end!

Dating Will Lenney Headcanons

Playful Banter

In your relationship with Will, playful banter is the base of your dynamic, and he uses it to keep things light, fun, and endlessly entertaining. Whether you’re curled up on the couch, out for a walk, or in the middle of a mundane task, Will’s teasing is a constant—a reminder of how much he adores you.

He’s the kind of person who can’t resist poking fun at your quirks, but it’s always done with so much affection that it never feels mean-spirited. For example, if you’re watching one of your favourite romantic series for the hundredth time, he’ll lean over with a smirk and say, “Oh, this again? Let me guess—they’ll hate each other, then fall in love, and you’ll cry even though you know exactly how it ends.” But then he’ll stay right there beside you, secretly enjoying how much you love it—and secretly enjoying the series himself. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’s grown fond of the predictable charm of your go-to media.

Will’s teasing isn’t just one-sided, though. I think he’d love it if you gave as good as you get. If you catch him singing off-key in the shower, you’ll absolutely call him out on it. “Wow, I didn’t know cats could sing opera,” or something, and he’ll laugh so hard he almost slips. Or if he’s trying to fix something around the house, and it goes wrong, you’ll be there with a camera and a sarcastic comment like, “Handyman of the year, everyone.” He’ll pretend to be offended, but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away.

The best part is how his teasing always comes with an undercurrent of love. He’ll joke about your “weirdly specific and unnecessarily complex” coffee order, but he’ll still remember it perfectly and surprise you with it on a rough day. And if anyone else dares to tease you, he’s quick to jump to your defence, proving that his playful jabs are reserved for him alone.

Your banter becomes a language of its own—a way to say “I love you” without actually saying it. It’s in the way he grins when you roll your eyes at his jokes, the way he nudges you gently when you’re being stubborn. The way he always knows exactly how to make you laugh, even on your worst days. With Will, every day feels like a game, and you’re both winning.

Supportive Partner

In your relationship with Will, his unwavering support is one of the things you cherish most. He’s not just your partner—he’s your biggest cheerleader, your hype man, and your safe haven all rolled into one. No matter what you’re going through, whether it’s chasing a dream, tackling a new challenge, or just having a rough day, Will is always there to lift you up and remind you of your worth.

When you decide to try something new—whether it’s skating, learning an instrument, or even something as simple as baking a complicated recipe—Will will be the first to encourage you. He’ll sit with you while you practice, offering gentle advice when you ask for it and cheering you on even when you feel like giving up. “You’re a natural,” he’ll say, even if your first attempt at playing the guitar sounds more like a cat in distress. “Seriously, I’ve never heard anyone make that chord sound so… unique.” His teasing is always light-hearted, but it’s paired with genuine admiration for your willingness to try. And when you finally nail it? He’s beaming with pride, as if you’ve just won a Grammy. “Told you! I knew you could do it. Now play it again—I need this on video for when you’re famous.”

On tough days, Will’s support is a quiet, steady force. He has an uncanny ability to sense when you’re feeling down, even if you try to hide it. Without a word, he’ll wrap you in a hug, press a kiss to your forehead, and say, “Talk to me.” And when you do, he listens—actually listens. He doesn’t try to fix everything (unless you ask him to), but he’ll remind you of your strength and resilience. “You’ve got this,” he’ll say, his voice firm but gentle. “And even if you don’t feel like you do, I’ve got you. Always.”

Will’s encouragement isn’t just reserved for big moments, either. He celebrates the small victories with just as much enthusiasm. Did you survive a particularly gruelling day at work? He’ll show up with your favourite takeout and a movie, ready to pamper you. “You’re a rock star, and rock stars deserve the VIP treatment.”

But what makes Will’s support so special is how deeply personal it is. He pays attention to the little things—your favourite comfort foods, the way you light up when you talk about your passions. He knows when you need a pep talk, when you need a distraction, and when you just need someone to sit with you in silence. And he’s always there, without fail.

His belief in you is unshakeable. Even when you doubt yourself, he’s there to remind you of all the reasons you shouldn’t. “You’re brilliant, you’re kind, and you’re capable of anything you set your mind to,” he’ll say, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if anyone says otherwise, they’ll have to deal with me.”

With Will by your side, you feel invincible. His support isn’t just words—it’s in the way he shows up for you, day after day, in big ways and small. He’s your partner, your teammate, and your biggest fan. And no matter what life throws your way, you know you’ll always have him in your corner, cheering you on every step of the way.

Car Rides

Car rides with Will are an experience in themselves. He’s always the one behind the wheel, and you’re perfectly content being his passenger princess. With you who's in control of the music, and you take full advantage of it. Whether you’re in the mood for girly pop, rock and roll, Afrobeats, jungle, reggae, or even a random playlist of your favourite guilty pleasures, Will never complains. He embraces it, turning every drive into a mini concert filled with laughter and the occasional side-eye from strangers at traffic lights.

You love how he lets you take charge of the aux, trusting your musical instincts even when your choices are… questionable. One day, you might blast upbeat pop anthems, singing at the top of your lungs as he chuckles beside you. “Okay, but why do I lowkey know all the words to this?” he’ll say, pretending to be embarrassed before joining in on the chorus. Another day, you might switch it up with some smooth reggae or high-energy Afrobeats, and he’ll bob his head along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm. “You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that,” he’ll tease, even if he’s secretly adding some of your songs to his own playlist.

The best moments are when you both get so into the music that you forget the world around you. You’ll be belting out a duet to some cheesy love song, completely off-key but having the time of your lives, when you catch people in the next car staring at you. Will, never one to back down from a bit of fun, will roll down the window and shout, “What? Never seen a Grammy-winning performance before?” before bursting into laughter and speeding off when the light turns green.

Long drives are your favourite. Whether it’s a road trip to somewhere new or just a leisurely cruise around town, the car becomes your little bubble of happiness. You’ll pack snacks, throw a blanket in the backseat just in case, and let the music set the mood. Will’s driving is smooth and confident, and you love how he occasionally reaches over to hold your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he focuses on the road. “You good over there, princess?” he’ll ask, glancing at you with a smile. And you’ll nod, feeling completely at ease because, with him, even the simplest moments feel special.

Sometimes, the drives are quiet, the music playing softly in the background as you both enjoy the comfortable silence. Other times, they’re filled with lively conversations, random debates, or Will’s hilarious commentary on whatever’s happening outside. “Did that guy just try to parallel park in one go? Bold move,” he’ll say, shaking his head in mock disbelief. Or, “That billboard says ‘World’s Best Coffee.’ Challenge accepted.” And just like that, you’re pulling into a random café to test their claim, laughing the entire time.

But no matter where you’re going or what you’re listening to, the car rides always feel like yours. It’s your space to be silly, to be serious, to be yourselves. And Will wouldn’t have it any other way.

Protective Side

Beneath Will’s laid-back, easygoing exterior I see lies a fiercely protective streak, especially when it comes to you. While he’s usually the type to brush things off with a joke or a sarcastic remark, the moment someone disrespects you or crosses a line, his playful demeanour is gone.

Will’s protectiveness isn’t the loud, over-the-top kind. It’s subtle but firm. He’s the type to notice things others might miss—a snide comment, a dismissive tone, or even a lingering look that makes you uncomfortable. And while he might not always call it out immediately (he prefers to gauge how you feel about it first), he’s always ready to step in at the moment you need him.

Like if someone makes a backhanded comment about you in a social setting, Will’s response is sharp but calculated. He’ll tilt his head, feigning confusion, and say something like, “Oh, I’m sorry—did you mean to say that out loud? Because it sounded like utter bullshit.” His tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an edge to it that makes it clear he’s not joking. And if the person tries to laugh it off or double down, he’ll hit them with a perfectly timed quip that leaves them speechless.

But it’s not just about witty comebacks. If someone genuinely hurts you—whether it’s a friend, a coworker, or even a stranger—he’s quick to reassure you that their behaviour says more about them than it does about you. “Anyone who can’t see how amazing you are doesn’t deserve a second of your time,” he’ll say, his voice soft but firm.

What makes Will’s protectiveness so endearing is how he balances it with respect for your independence. He never tries to fight your battles for you unless you ask him to. Instead, he understands that you can stand up for yourself and is often there offering quiet support and encouragement. “You don’t need me to defend you,” he’ll say with a grin. “You’re perfectly capable of putting people in their place. But just in case, I’ll be right here, ready to back you up.” (definitely would hold your earrings and purse if you were to scrap with someone)

And when it comes to physical safety, Will’s protective instincts kick into overdrive. If you’re walking home late at night, he’ll insist on accompanying you, even if it’s out of his way. If you’re feeling uneasy in a crowded place, he’ll subtly position himself between you and whatever—or whoever—is making you uncomfortable. And if anyone dares to threaten you, his calm, sarcastic facade drops entirely. He becomes a force to be reckoned with, his voice low and steady as he says, “You have one more chance to apologise and walk away before this gets ugly.”

With him by your side, you feel safe, cherished, and fiercely defended. And while you might not always need his protection, it’s comforting to know that, no matter what, Will will always have your back.

Surprise Dates

Between his busy schedule and the demands of everyday life, you make it a point to plan dates that are thoughtful, fun, and meaningful. You’ve made it a tradition to try something new at least once a month, while the other dates revolve around activities you both love. Whether it’s a spontaneous road trip, a nostalgic arcade night, or a fancy dinner at a place he’s been wanting to try, you always find ways to make him feel special—and he absolutely adores it.

You know how much Will appreciates surprises, so you’ve become a master at planning ahead. You keep a mental (or physical) list of things he mentions in passing—like a new restaurant he wants to check out, a movie he’s excited to see, or a place he’s always wanted to visit. Then, when the time is right, you spring the surprise on him. His face lights up every time, and the way he grins when he realises what you’ve planned is worth every bit of effort.

Another month, you might plan a random road trip to a nearby town neither of you has explored. You’ll pack a picnic, create a playlist of his favourite songs, and let him take the wheel. The excitement in his eyes when he realises where you’re headed is priceless. “You’re seriously the best,” he’ll say, squeezing your hand as he starts the car. Along the way, he’ll take detours to roadside attractions, insisting on stopping for silly photo ops and spontaneous adventures. “Look at this place!” he’ll exclaim, pulling over at a giant dinosaur statue or a retro diner. “We have to take a picture. This is peak road trip material.” And of course, you’ll oblige, laughing as he strikes ridiculous poses and insists on making the memories as over-the-top as possible (though he takes cute couple pictures as well).

And then there are the fancy dates—the ones where you pull out all the stops. You’ll book a table at that upscale restaurant he’s been talking about for weeks, or you’ll surprise him with tickets to a show or event he’s been dying to see. On those nights, you love seeing him dressed up, his usual casual vibe swapped for something more polished. “Look at you, all fancy,” you’ll tease, and he’ll shoot back with a smirk, “What can I say? I clean up nice. But not as nice as you.”

What makes these dates so special is how much thought you put into them. You know how busy Will’s schedule can be, so you always plan ahead to make sure the timing works. You’ll coordinate with his friends or coworkers if needed, and you’re not above bribing them with coffee or baked goods to keep the surprise under wraps. And when the day finally arrives, you love seeing the look on his face. “You planned all this for me?” he’ll ask, his voice soft with disbelief. “Of course I did,” you’ll reply, smiling. “You deserve it.”

But it’s not just about the big surprises. You also make time for the little things—like cosy movie nights at home, complete with his favourite snacks and a blanket fort, or lazy Sunday mornings where you cook breakfast together and spend hours talking and laughing. Those moments are just as important, and they remind you both why you fell in love in the first place.

With every date, whether big or small, you show Will how much he means to you. And in return, he makes sure you know how much he appreciates it. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he’ll say, pulling you close after a particularly memorable outing. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not letting you go.” And as you smile up at him, you know that these moments—these carefully planned, perfectly executed surprises—are what make your relationship so special.

Social Media PDA

I think Will is the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, and that extends to his social media presence. While he respects your desire to keep a low profile due to your job, he’s not shy about showing the world how much he adores you. His Instagram is a mix of his work, his hobbies, and, of course, glimpses of your relationship. He’s the type to post pictures of the two of you without a second thought, whether it’s a candid shot of you laughing at something he said or a cosy selfie from a date night. Or a goofy photo of you both making faces at the camera.

His captions are always playful and affectionate. “Caught this one mid-laugh. Guess I’m funnier than I thought” or “Date night with my favourite person. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in one piece.��. The comments are always flooded with fans gushing over how cute you two are together, and Will loves reading them, often showing you the funniest or sweetest ones with a proud grin. “Look, they’re saying we’re goals. Can’t argue with that.”

But it’s not just the photos. You occasionally pop up in the background of his videos, whether it’s a behind-the-scenes clip from one of his projects or a casual vlog. Sometimes it’s just your hand in the frame as you pass him a coffee, or your voice chiming in with a sarcastic comment that makes him burst out laughing. Fans have come to love these little moments, dubbing them “crumbs” and saying that they’re being “fed” whenever you make an appearance. “We see you back there!” they’ll comment, or “The way he looks at her when she talks… I can’t. 😭”

Will finds the whole thing hilarious and endearing. He loves how much his fans adore you, even though you’re not in the spotlight yourself. “They’re obsessed with you,” he’ll say, scrolling through the comments. “Can’t blame them, though. I’m obsessed with you too.” And while you prefer to stay out of the public eye, you can’t help but smile at the way he proudly includes you in his world, even if it’s just in small, subtle ways.

There are times when he’ll sneak in a little more PDA than usual, just to mess with you. Like the time he posted a video of the two of you cooking together, and he casually dropped a kiss on your forehead mid-sentence. The internet went wild, and you playfully scolded him for it later. “You’re such a show-off,” you said, and he just shrugged, grinning. “What can I say? I like showing the world how lucky I am.”

Despite his public displays of affection, Will is careful to respect your boundaries. He never shares anything too personal or invasive, and he always checks with you before posting something that features you prominently. “You good with this?” he’ll ask, showing you a photo or video before hitting post. And if you ever say no, he doesn’t hesitate to scrap it, no questions asked. “Your comfort comes first,” he’ll say, and it’s one of the many reasons you love him.

For Will, it’s simple: he’s proud of you, proud of your relationship, and he wants the world to know it. And even though you prefer to stay behind the scenes, you can’t help but feel a little flutter of happiness every time you see one of his posts and realise, all over again, just how much he loves you.

Spicy Headcanons

Rough or soft?

Will is the kind of partner who knows exactly what you need, even before you do. Whether it’s a night of tender affection or one where he pushes you to the edge, he always makes sure you feel safe, cherished, and utterly consumed by him.

Soft Moments

When the mood calls for softness, Will is all about making you feel adored. He’ll take his time, his touches gentle and deliberate, as if he’s memorising every inch of you. His kisses are slow and sweet, starting at your lips and trailing down your neck, your collarbone, and everywhere else he knows you love to be touched.

“You’re so beautiful,” he’ll murmur against your skin, his voice a low, soothing rumble that makes your heart swell. “I could spend forever like this, just you and me.” His hands will roam your body with reverence, tracing patterns that leave you shivering. He’ll whisper praise in your ear, telling you how perfect you are, how much he loves the way you respond to him, and how lucky he feels to have you in his arms.

These are the moments where he’s all about you—your pleasure, your comfort, your happiness. He’ll hold you close afterward, his fingers brushing through your hair as he presses soft kisses to your forehead. “You’re my everything,” he’ll say, and you’ll believe him, because in those moments, nothing else exists but the two of you.

Rough Moments

But then there are the nights when Will’s more dominant side takes over. It’s not about anger or frustration—it’s about trust, about pushing boundaries, and exploring the raw connection between you. On these nights, he’s in complete control, and he knows exactly how to make you unravel.

He’ll start slow, his touch firm but teasing, building you up until you’re trembling with need. But just when you’re about to tip over the edge, he’ll pull back, his grip tightening in your hair as he forces you to meet his gaze. “Not yet,” he’ll say, his commanding voice sending a thrill down your spine. “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

He’ll edge you relentlessly, his hands and mouth working you to the brink over and over again until you’re a writhing, desperate mess. Tears might prick at the corners of your eyes, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you beg him for release. But he won’t give in—not until he’s sure you’ve reached your limit. “You can take it,” he’ll say, his tone equal parts challenge and reassurance. “I know you can.” Of course, you can; you haven’t said the safe word yet.

Foreplay

Will is the kind of man who takes his time, savouring every moment of intimacy with you. He’s not just interested in the end goal—he’s obsessed with the journey, with the way he can make you unravel under his touch. For Will, foreplay is an art form, and you are his masterpiece. He loves watching you moan, squirm, and barely hold onto yourself, knowing he’s the one driving you to the edge.

It starts with his hands, always so deliberate and sure. He’ll trace patterns along your skin, his fingertips leaving trails of fire in their wake. He loves the way you shiver under his touch, the way your breath hitches when he finds that one spot that makes you gasp. “You’re so sensitive,” he’ll murmur, the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. “I love how you react to me.”

His mouth. Damn his mouth. He’ll press kisses along your neck, your collarbone, your stomach—everywhere but where you want him most, just to tease you. “Will,” you’ll whine, your hands tangling in his hair, and he’ll chuckle against your skin, the vibration making you squirm. “Patience, love,” he’ll say, his lips curving into a smirk. “I’m not done with you yet.”

When he finally does give you what you want, it’s with a slow, deliberate intensity that leaves you breathless. He’ll watch you as he works, his eyes dark with desire, drinking in every moan, every whimper, every desperate plea for more. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he’ll say, his voice rough with need. “I could watch you fall apart all day.”

But Will isn’t just about physical touch—he’s a master of words, too. He’ll whisper filthily sweet nothings in your ear, his voice a mix of praise and promise. “You take me so well,” he’ll say, his breath hot against your skin. “I love how you sound, how you feel, how you’re all mine.” His words are like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, and they only make you want him more.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re a trembling, incoherent mess, barely able to form a sentence. But Will isn’t satisfied until he’s sure you’re completely undone. “Not yet,” he’ll say, his hands and mouth working in tandem to push you even further. “I want to hear you beg.”

I hope people don't mind that I only wrote two spicy scenes. Sorry, I kinda ran out of ideas lol. Anyways… how did people like the headcannons? These are headcannons right?

[di-42]

So, I was criminally tight on time in January and really couldn’t read much at all, but fear not: as a demon friend of ours once said, I’m back. True, most of the moots on my corner of Tumblr would have already read most of these fics and poems, but if I can earn one of these wonderful works even just one more reader, that’s my job done. As always, I'm begging you, please don’t judge a fic you haven’t read by the number of kudos. And, as always, I’ll tag the tumblr usernames I know; if you are an author and want your fic taken off this list, please let me know and I’ll remove it. The rest of you, I hope you enjoy these stories and poems as much as I did.

These are the things I loved about

Winter’s Wondrous Fictions

WIPs:

That Isn't Supposed To Happen by @addledmongoose, rated T, chapters 19/22.

Aaahhh, give me Addled’s stories every day for the rest of my life, please and thank you. This is a reverse omens AU. You don't really care for reverse omens, I hear you say? Yep, neither did I, and yet here I am, daydreaming about Azira the demon and Crowley (short for Crowliel) the angel as much as I daydream about our canon Aziraphale and Crowley. This is not something new that happens to me with this great author’s stories, by the way. When writing my own fics, I have to stop and think if I'm referring to something that actually happened in canon or something that happened in Addled’s stories, they're that good. But back to this fic, Azira is just so perfect as a demon, it feels like he was born to be one. Their banter, dynamics, subtle humour and characterisation are, as always, spot on and, oh! The pining! The pining is just so, so good. Oh, and did I mention plot and mystery? I'm loving this story way more than I thought I could love a reverse omens AU, and am sad it's going to be over soon. 

Scorn And The Saint-Maker by beardo @e-rated-beardo, rated E, chapters 33/?

This story is a mystery within a mystery. I've only recently started it and am still catching up, but I am hooked. Human university lecturers AU, or is it? (That's not a spoiler if you read the summary). The plot is compelling, the narration and humour delightful, and the prose at times so touching. And, goodness me, it’s hot (all the explicit scenes are skippable). I feel like I’ve stepped into one of those universes that I would never want to leave. There is also some beautiful art by the author that I sadly can appreciate very seldom as it doesn't upload when I'm not on wi-fi, but hopefully you'll be able to enjoy it!

Wavelengths & Frequencies by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon rated E, chapters 18/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Human enemies-to-lovers where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but, while we know they do from the beginning, we don't know what it is. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies.

Complete Stories: 

You're The Bad Guys by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula rated E, 91k.

Fantastic human, cold war AU. Aziraphale is an MI6 agent, Crowley a KGB agent and they're both tasked to steal scientific plans by their respective sides. It's Armageddon all over again, but with hot scenes. I loved it. 

The Last Angel by @bellisima-writes, rated E, 162k.

I don't think there is anything about this epic story that I haven't said before. The author builds an incredible plot and you wonder excitedly where this is all going. You can't stop reading because you want to know what happens and because the prose is so beautiful. Like I've said several times before, this is the most Good Omens-y fic I've read. Let yourself be captured and join Bellisima for this wonderful ride!

The Greater Tadfield Friends Of Music Autumn Concert by CopperBeech @copperplatebeech, rated E, 27k.

I love how this story communicates all sorts of feelings through a fast, concise, no-nonsense  style. Crowley moves to Tadfield and joins the local orchestra. The rest is fiction. 

As always, I'm particularly partial to The Them and Warlock making appearances. And I LOVE Zingarelli!

One Shots:

Aziraphale Gets A Clue by Serenity Stargazer, rated T, 3k.

It's Christmas. Aziraphale is in heaven as Supreme Archangel and Crowley wants to get his attention. He succeeds.

A Nice And Accurate Teen Magazine Quiz by @fellshish, rated T, 2.7k.

Fellshish strikes again with this adorable and extremely funny piece in which Crowley takes credit for teen magazines in hell. Then he browses one of the magazines and takes the soulmate quiz. Then Crowley will be Crowley. I'm sure everyone this side of Tumblr has already read it, but if for some reason you haven't yet you're in for a treat!

Poems: 

PJs, Optional by FuzzyGoblin and koala2all, rated E.

This hilarious poem is made up of a series of limericks all relating to pyjamas that might or might not be worn by our favourite angel and demon. It manages to be funny, sweet and hot, all in the space of 50 lines. I love it!

(Un)Holy Palmers by @on1occasionfork, rated G.

An incredibly beautiful and moving poem about what is like to express love for one another while hiding it from the powers that be. 

Do That Again (And Again) by AlwaysBeMyBaby @alwaysbemybae and OneDapperCat, rated G.

A beautiful through the ages poem about all the ineffable kisses that could have been.

The Demon And The Angel by Hopeless_old_romantic_67, rated G.

Gorgeous poem inspired by The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. Little warning, it is sad. But so beautiful and deep. 

A Most Peculiar Spa by AlwaysBeMyBaby and OneDapperCat, rated G.

Lovely and funny poem in which Aziraphale tells Crowley about his latest bubble bath! Be sure to read the notes!

@goodomensafterdark

December 24's list here.

[eternallyordinary]

“He Belongs to You” - Part 5

hope you’re all enjoying the fic. this is my first one—i’ve been a longtime reader and finally decided to give writing a shot. just finished the boys, so you could say i’m a little obsessed right now.

i’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you enjoy it, reblogs mean the world to help more people find it. feel free to message me with any requests. xo

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Part 1<3

Part 2<3

Part 3<3

Part 4<3

Part 6<3

Part 7<3

Summary: After a whirlwind 24 hours, Homelander’s obsession with you only grows. What started as desire has become something darker, more dangerous. But when he realizes someone hurt you before, his need for control turns to vengeance—and whoever’s responsible won’t live to regret it.

Warnings: Possessiveness, power dynamics, strong language, mature content, smut, violence, sexual content, mentions of sexual assault/rape, foul language, murder, yandere (if i forgot any pls let me know <3)

The morning light filters through the window, casting a soft glow over the room. You stir slightly, still curled up in Homelander’s lap, his fingers lazily running through your hair. He hasn’t moved all night. Hasn’t slept. Not once.

He just watched over you. A silent guardian against a threat that doesn’t exist—at least, not in this moment. His body should be exhausted, but it isn’t. Just being near you keeps him alert, wired, as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

A small yawn escapes your lips as you stretch, blinking up at him. “Good morning.”

His hand stills in your hair for a moment before resuming, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Morning, doll,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Sleep well?”

You nod, sitting up and shifting in his lap until you’re straddling him, your legs curling around his waist. “I did. Did you even sleep?”

Homelander exhales, shaking his head. “No. I didn’t.” His grip on your hips tightens slightly. “I couldn’t. Just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You smirk. “You know I’m a supe, right?”

It’s meant to be teasing, lighthearted. But the playful glint in his eyes fades almost instantly. His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

“I know,” he mutters, voice dark. “But you’re not as strong as me. You’re not untouchable.” His jaw clenches. “I have enemies, and if they knew what you meant to me, they’d come for you. You think I’m gonna let that happen?”

You try to lighten the mood. “I mean… I do pilates.”

A short laugh escapes him, but his hands move up, cradling your face between his palms, forcing you to look at him. His amusement vanishes.

“I’m serious.”

Your expression softens as you study him. “Who wants to hurt you?” you ask. “Who would want to hurt me?”

His blue eyes darken, full of something unreadable. “Anyone who hates me,” he says simply. “And there’s a lot of them. They’d do anything to take me down—including hurting you. And I won’t let that happen.”

His grip is unrelenting, his words heavy with promise.

You don’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you reach up, threading your fingers through his golden hair before leaning in, pressing your lips against his.

He responds instantly. There’s nothing soft about the way he kisses you, no hesitation. His hands slide up your back, pulling you tighter against him, like he can’t get you close enough.

But then you pull away, laughing breathlessly as you cover your mouth. “Ew—sorry. I should’ve brushed my teeth first.”

Homelander chuckles, the tension in his body easing. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” he says, voice low and teasing. “I don’t mind a little morning breath.”

Before you can protest, he reaches up, gently pulling your hand away from your mouth, his grip firm.

“And besides…” His eyes flicker with something dangerous. Something possessive. “I like it when you’re a mess.” He smirks. “Makes me want to ruin you even more.”

“Ruin me, huh?” Your voice is teasing, but there’s a nervous edge to it as you trace the rigid contours of his suit, your fingertip gliding over the perfectly etched lines of his abs.

Homelander’s eyes darken, his grip on your hips tightening. “I will ruin you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with possession. “But only for me. No one else will know how bad you are—just me.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs. Sometimes, being around him feels so natural, like you’ve known him forever. But then there are moments like this—moments where the weight of his intensity makes you hyperaware that your life is entirely in his hands.

His gaze locks onto yours. “There’s something else you need to know,” he says.

You swallow. “What?”

His expression sharpens, deadly serious. “I can’t think about you with other people. And I don’t want to. If I ever hear about you with someone else—before me—I’ll have to hurt them. Probably kill them.” His voice is disturbingly calm, like he’s stating a fact, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t care if it was a fling. I don’t care if it was your first kiss back in grade school. There’s only before and after me now. Anyone who’s ever touched you will wish they hadn’t.”

Your breath catches. His jealousy is suffocating, terrifying—and yet, it sends a thrill down your spine.

“Well…” You hesitate, avoiding his piercing gaze. “You’re the only one who’s touched me.” You pause before correcting yourself, voice barely above a whisper. “Well… the only one I wanted to touch me.”

Homelander stiffens. His grip on you doesn’t falter, but something in his expression shifts. You regret speaking instantly.

Shit.

His blue eyes search yours, and without a word, he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is surprisingly gentle. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “It’s like you knew to wait for me.”

But he doesn’t miss the distinction in your words. The only one you wanted to touch you.

Who the fuck touched you without permission?

Names. He needs names.

A muscle in his jaw twitches, his mind already conjuring a thousand different ways to make them suffer. To make sure they regret ever laying a hand on you. To make sure they never touch anyone again.

He imagines tearing them apart, one by one, making you watch as he erases them from existence. Their names. Their families. Their homes. Everything they’ve ever loved—gone.

The thought makes his whole body tense. He shifts, readjusting himself as the dark, possessive hunger coils inside him, tightening like a vice.

But he can sense it—you’re not ready to talk about it. Not yet.

That’s fine.

You’ll tell him when you’re ready.

And when you do, he’ll make sure you watch as he destroys them all.

A knock at the door shatters the moment.

“Come in,” Homelander says smoothly—like this is his apartment, like he’s the one in control here.

Your head snaps toward him. What the fuck? You barely have time to adjust, sitting in nothing but a tank top and panties, the thin fabric of your shirt doing nothing to hide the way your nipples peek through. The door swings open, and of course, it’s Ashley.

Your boss.

Not his. He’s his own boss, you’ve come to realize.

Ashley stops in her tracks, her brows shooting up as she takes in the scene. You. Straddling him. And he—looking smug, satisfied—makes no move to let you go. If anything, his grip tightens, holding you in place like he wants her to see this. Hell, maybe he hopes she takes a picture, sends it straight to the top brass at Vought. Let them all see who you belong to.

“Hi… you two…” Ashley starts, hesitantly. She clears her throat, eyes darting between you and Homelander before settling on you. “Access Hollywood wants to do a piece on your journey to the Seven. I know people your age don’t really watch it, but it’ll be good for pulling in ratings from the 35 to 50 demographic.”

Homelander bristles. “Why the fuck does she need to pull from that demographic, Ashley?” His mind immediately goes to older men. The ones who’d watch the segment. The ones who’d look at you. They’d be his age, sure—but it’s different with him. Any other man, twice your age, interested in you? Fucking perverts.

Ashley falters. “Just, uh… covering all of our bases, sir.”

The tension in the room is suffocating. You force a smile, desperate to salvage some semblance of professionalism after the chaos of the past twenty-four hours. You don’t let Homelander speak.

“Okay. Great. I’ll get ready now,” you say quickly, trying again to lift yourself off his lap.

His hands keep you locked in place.

Fine.

You shock him with your fingertips.

“Ow! Fuck,” he hisses, just enough of a sting to loosen his hold. You smirk, tossing a blanket around yourself as you slip off him and head toward the bathroom.

He watches you disappear behind the door. The second it clicks shut, he stands, towering over Ashley.

“Why the fuck are we worried about whether forty-year-old perverts are interested in her?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Who gives a shit about ratings? She’s not doing it.”

Before Ashley can respond, a new voice cuts in.

Sage.

Standing at the door, watching the whole damn thing. Apparently, everyone is making themselves at home in your apartment.

“He’s obsessed with her,” Sage says bluntly, arms crossed. “It’s not healthy how possessive he is.”

Homelander turns, mock surprise on his face. “Oh, hi, Sage. It’s me, Homelander. I’m right fucking here.”

Sage doesn’t blink. “Let’s talk about your ratings. They’re already dogshit. You think screwing a twenty-something-year-old with a baby face is gonna help?”

His smirk fades. She knows she’s hit a nerve.

“You think I care about ratings?” His voice is sharp, seething. “She gives me something I need. Something I’ve never had before.”

Sage scoffs. “What? A tight hole? Get a grip, Homelander. You brought me onto the Seven to help you. To guide you. This? This is a stupid fucking mistake.”

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t make mistakes.

“I don’t need you to tell me what is or isn’t a mistake,” he snaps. “You work for me, remember? I make the decisions here. Not you.”

“She’s young. She’s new. You’re putting a target on her back.”

Ashley. Finally speaking up.

He barely acknowledges her, but she pushes forward.

“You have to see how reckless this is. It’s dangerous for both of you.”

Homelander clenches his fists. “I know the risks,” he grits out. “But I can protect her better than anyone. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Ashley sighs, rubbing her temples. “By not sleeping? You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night.”

His eyes darken. “I don’t need sleep.”

“You do.”

Homelander stares at her. The audacity—speaking to him like this. But there’s no malice in her voice, just exhaustion.

“People will notice,” she continues, her voice softer now. “Just… please. Get it together.”

The room is silent.

Finally, he exhales sharply.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll try to sleep.” A pause. “But I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

Sage and Ashley exchange a look—two women always at odds, finally agreeing on something.

Neither of them speak as they turn and leave, shutting the door behind them.

Homelander lowers himself onto the couch, his mind still tangled in the conversation with Ashley and Sage. Their words should mean nothing to him. But they linger.

The sound of the shower running pulls his attention away. His thoughts shift instantly—away from strategy, away from arguments—to you. Naked. Wet. Warm water cascading down your body.

His pulse quickens.

He stands. Walks toward the bathroom. His hand hovers over the handle, hesitating for only a second before pushing the door open.

Steam greets him, curling around his body as he steps inside. The air is thick with heat, fogging the mirror and the glass of the shower. But he can still see you—your silhouette blurred, water glistening on your skin.

His breath catches.

Slowly, he sheds his suit, letting the fabric fall in a careless pile on the floor. He moves toward the glass, watching you, savoring the sight. Then, without a word, he pulls the door open and steps inside.

You gasp, your arms moving instinctively to cover yourself.

He chuckles, amused. His eyes darken, his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Don’t hide from me, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough, thick with something dangerous. “I want to see all of you.”

His hands are on your wrists before you can react, pulling them away, pinning them above your head. The warmth of the water does nothing to cool the fire in his touch. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow at first, then deeper, his tongue pressing into your mouth, claiming every inch like it belongs to him.

A soft moan escapes against his lips, and it undoes him.

Something dark, something primal stirs inside him—something he’s barely been holding back.

His grip tightens in your hair, fingers tangling at the nape of your neck as he tugs, tilting your head back. Forcing you to meet his gaze.

Blue eyes, sharp and predatory, lock onto yours. His chest rises and falls, his breath ragged. He drinks in the sight of you, wet and vulnerable beneath him, completely at his mercy.

And god, he likes it. He was ready to fuck you, to devour you. He puts his cock against your clit, rubbing small circles with his tip. He feels the way your body tenses beneath him, the shift so subtle yet impossible to ignore.

And then your words echo in his mind— You’re the only one who’s touched me.

Something dark in him—something selfish, something monstrous—wants to take, to claim, to make you his without hesitation. To ask for forgiveness later, not permission now.

But the part of him that needs you, that aches for you in ways he doesn’t fully understand, knows better.

You deserve more than that. More than him at his worst.

Your first time should be something close to heaven.

And for you, he chooses restraint. He exhales sharply, jaw tight as he pulls back, shifting himself away from your center. The need inside him rages, demanding more, but he won’t let it win.

Not with you.

You exhale, your breath finally steadying—but the moment you do, his voice cuts through the steam, firm and commanding.

“Lay down.”

He doesn’t reach for the faucet, doesn’t bother turning the water off. The warm stream continues cascading over both of you, soaking his hair until strands cling to his face, his eyes dark beneath them.

He watches you, unblinking, unmoving—his presence overwhelming in the small space.

Slowly, you lower yourself, your back meeting the wet tile, your hair fanning out around you, heavy with water.

His eyes drink you in, his voice thick with possession as he commands, “Open your legs for Daddy.”

He lowers himself onto his knees, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. He studies you like a masterpiece—something rare, something fragile, something that belongs to him. He gently opens up your pussy with his fingers, slowly massaging the hood of your tiny clit.

You moan without restraint, your body reacting instinctively, back arching in ways you never thought possible. He continues to rub your clit, then he sticks a finger in.

Then 2.

Then 3.

Each thrust is slow and deliberate, a silent reminder that every part of you belongs to him. Then, with effortless strength, he lifts your legs, draping them over his shoulders, your head tilting back as pleasure overtakes you.

He aggressively kisses and sucks your clit. He’s like a rabid animal—hungry, insatiable. If he could devour you completely, he would.

He continues to suck your clit, feeling it harden. He begins to stroke his cock with purpose. Effortlessly, he uses one hand to keep you upright, his grip firm yet controlled, as if you weigh nothing at all.

“Please don’t stop, baby, please,” you beg, your voice trembling with desperation.

Homelander’s grip tightens as he looms over you, his eyes dark with possession.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he commands, his voice low and unwavering.

“You—I—I belong to you!” you cry out, your body trembling as you surrender completely to him.

Suddenly, your body tenses, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you reach your peak. A rush of warmth spills into his mouth, and Homelander doesn’t hesitate—his lips part, tongue hanging out, greedily lapping up every drop like a man starved, as if he’s been waiting his whole life just for this. He strokes his cock with more determination—he releases a low growl and lets his cum paint your backside.

Both of you exhale. He gently releases your legs from his neck. Keeping your legs spread, he uses his cum as a lubricant to rub your clit even more.

“One day, this will be inside of you. You’re going to be such a good mommy,” he whispers, his voice dark with promise.

Your breath hitches as you sit up, hands finding their way to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His fingers continue their slow, deliberate movements, drawing another soft whimper from your lips. Foreheads pressed together, your breaths mix, shaky and uneven.

You come undone once more, trembling in his grasp.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “That’s it. Always so good for me, you know that?”

His mouth finds yours again, kissing you deeply before pulling back, allowing you a moment to breathe.

The two of you sit there on the shower floor, water cascading over your tangled bodies, the heat between you rivaling the steam filling the space. Neither of you speak, just taking a moment to absorb the weight of what just happened.

“That was…” you murmur, still breathless.

Homelander presses a kiss to your forehead, his grip on you possessive yet tender. “Come on,” he says, voice softer than usual. “You have to get ready.”

You blink up at him, confusion flickering across your face. Just a moment ago, he was adamant about you not doing the interview. What changed?

As the two of you stand, rinsing off the remnants of heat and indulgence, you finally ask, “What did they want earlier?”

Homelander doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls you against him, his grip firm, his lips crashing into yours like he needs to make a point. His kiss is deep, hungry—like he’s claiming you all over again. His hands find your wrists, pinning them against his chest as he devours you, breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

When he finally pulls away, his expression is unreadable, torn between frustration and something far more dangerous.

“Ashley and Sage,” he mutters, jaw tight. “Being nosy. They think I’m too obsessed with you. That I’m making a mistake.”

You smirk against his lips, tilting your head as you press another slow, teasing kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue flick against his.

“You are obsessed with me,” you whisper, your words a challenge.

Homelander growls low in his throat as you tease his lips, his grip tightening on your hips. You’re right—he is obsessed with you. Entirely. Uncontrollably.

He pulls you flush against him, pressing his body into yours like he needs to mold himself to you, like he wants to brand his presence onto your skin. His hands roam with purpose, tracing every curve, memorizing every inch.

“I am obsessed with you,” he finally admits, voice thick with an emotion he barely understands. “And it scares the hell out of me how much I need you.”

You tilt your head, your gaze steady. Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.

His grip loosens slightly, his expression shifting—not soft, but vulnerable, if only for a moment.

“I know,” he mutters, almost like he’s reassuring himself. “That’s what scares me. I don’t… I don’t need people. I never have. But you?” His fingers flex against your skin. “You’re different.”

You smirk, your playful nature creeping back in. “You know that’s normal, right? Well… maybe not this,” You gesture between your bodies, naked and pressed together after barely a day of knowing each other. “Never mind.” You giggle.

Homelander chuckles, shaking his head, his grip steadying you against him. “No, doll, this isn’t normal,” he agrees, smirking as he brushes wet strands of hair from your face. “But I’ve never liked normal anyway.”

He kisses you again before turning you around, his hands threading through your hair as he massages shampoo into your scalp. His touch is slow, deliberate, almost too gentle for him. He works through your hair with a care that’s foreign to him, his hands sliding down to knead your shoulders, rubbing away whatever tension lingers.

You let out a sigh, tilting your head forward. That feels so good, you murmur.

Homelander hums in satisfaction, fingers kneading deeper. “You have no idea how good it feels to touch you like this,” he mutters, his voice dipping lower. “To have you completely at my mercy.”

You glance back at him, studying his face through the steam.

“You like knowing you can hurt me, that you can end me… don’t you?” You ask. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

His hands still for a fraction of a second. He absorbs your words, his jaw clenching, his blue eyes darkening with something unreadable.

He doesn’t deny it.

“Yeah,” he finally murmurs, his voice rough. “I do.” His fingers brush down your spine, barely touching. “I like knowing I could crush you if I wanted to. That I have all the power.” He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I want to protect you.”

Homelander kisses you again, slow and deep, but his mind is already elsewhere. Somewhere darker.

Your words haven’t left him. They won’t. They cling to his brain like a parasite, infecting every thought, twisting his stomach into knots of rage he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“You’re the only one who’s touched me. Well… the only one I wanted to touch me.”

His fingers twitch against your skin, his muscles tightening as he fights the urge to demand their names right now. He pictures them—whoever they are—small, pathetic, unworthy. He doesn’t need details. He doesn’t need a reason.

He just needs to hear you say the words.

Tell him who they are.

Tell him where they live.

Tell him how they did it.

And he’ll take care of the rest.

He imagines their faces caving under his fists, teeth splintering like cheap glass, their pitiful screams cutting off with the wet, sickening squelch of his fingers ripping their tongues straight from their throats. He’ll tear them open, gut them like livestock, string them up in a place only he can see so he can admire his handiwork when he’s feeling nostalgic. Maybe he’ll fly them so high the oxygen thins before dropping them—make them fall for miles, long enough to know exactly when they’re about to hit the ground, long enough to understand they’re about to die before their bodies splatter like meat against pavement.

It’s what they deserve. It’s the bare fucking minimum.

But not yet.

Not yet.

He needs to be patient. For you.

So instead of demanding answers, instead of forcing them from your lips, he just pulls you closer, pressing another soft kiss to your jaw. You don’t notice the way his fingers dig into your skin a little harder, or how his breath turns just a little more ragged. You don’t see the violent, vicious promise buried deep in his eyes as he whispers against your skin.

“One day, baby… you’re gonna tell me who they are.”

You swallow hard.

They.

You thought he forgot.

Oh, silly girl. A man like him? He doesn’t miss anything.

Homelander watches your reaction, soaking in every twitch, every breath, every slight shift in your expression. His grip on your waist tightens just enough to remind you—he’s still in control. He always will be.

His smile lingers, slow and knowing, a predator savoring the scent of fresh blood.

“I see that look, baby,” he murmurs, his voice smooth but laced with something sharper, something hungry. His fingers slide up your spine, his nails ghosting over your skin like a warning. “You didn’t really think I’d let that slide, did you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Your heartbeat pounds so loudly in your ears it nearly drowns out his voice, but he hears it. Of course, he does.

He likes it.

Loves it.

Because it tells him everything he needs to know.

“Mmm.” He hums, leaning in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your damp skin. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

His tone is soft, almost gentle, but it carries the weight of something final. A promise. A death sentence.

“I’ll take care of it.”

His lips curl, pressing a lingering kiss just below your ear as he breathes in deep—like he’s inhaling your fear, drinking it in, letting it settle deep in his lungs.

He smiles, a slow, dangerous thing.

Homelander lets the words hang in the air, heavy and absolute.

“And believe me… once I’m finished with them? They’ll beg for death.”

He says it so casually, like he’s talking about the weather. But there’s something in his voice—glee. The kind of twisted, unhinged satisfaction that sends a chill down your spine.

Your stomach knots. You should stop him. You should say something. But the way he’s looking at you? That wild, feverish glint in his eye?

It’s too late.

His mind is already painting the scene—rivers of blood, splintered bone, screams so raw they tear through vocal cords. He wants them to suffer. He wants them to hurt. To feel every ounce of pain they inflicted on you a thousand times over.

And when they’re on their knees, their bodies broken beyond repair, gasping through bloodied lips for mercy?

There won’t be any.

“I’ll make sure they remember your name,” he purrs, dragging a thumb over your bottom lip. “Right before I carve it into their fucking skulls.”

You swallow hard, your breath shaky.

He smiles. Oh, he loves this. Loves the way you react, loves the fear, the hesitation—because it confirms what he already knows.

They’re dead.

They just don’t know it yet.

[softlypaintedseafoam]

23:59

synopsis. march 2, 23:59. 1 minute and counting until his birthday has passed.

pairing. vinsmoke sanji x f!reader

word count. 0.4k | masterlist

content warning. timestamp (happy birthday sanji), established relationship,written with this reader in mind (this fic can be enjoyed without it), fluff, plus-sized reader in mind (but read as you like)

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

i wasn't initially planning to write anything for sanji week because i already have wips i'm working on... but i figured why not? the straw hat chef deserves a little something for his birthday and it's his week!... technically another gift for @hash-slinging-slasher-trash leave me alone hehehehe

There's little time that remains of Sanji's birthday.

March 2, 23:59.

1 minute and counting until another birthday has passed and the cook is 1 year and 1 day older. You press into Sanji's side with a satisfied sigh, too tired to do much else but too awake to sleep like the blonde next to you. He might share his birthday with three others but there is only one Black Leg Sanji to celebrate on this day.

Brook and Luffy led their dynamic rendition of the Happy Birthday song, Usopp fashioned a fantastical tale of the great Sanjiland even Zoro's usual quips were a touch kinder.

Only a touch.

Then there was you, the only Sanji even remotely trusts in his kitchen. You were on kitchen duty; who lets the birthday celebrant cook on their special day, after all.

"I can't wait until next year," you murmur, fingers carding through blond hair. "Next year, I'll take you to the All Blue. Hopefully." Never mind that that had been your hope for this birthday.

Everyday is a step closer to the One Piece; sadly it hadn't been this year.

"But next year is going to be the year it happens," you vow loosely, half-expecting this to be what you'll say Sanji's next birthday. "We'll have found the One Piece. That's probably where the All Blue is, you know. Roger just didn't talk about it before because he didn't know how important it was." Or maybe he wanted to leave that a surprise too. You're sure that's what your captain would insist. "No one wants to go on a boring adventure, after all."

Next year you'll find the final island and you'll see Sanji's eyes light up like a thousand cut gems like he's a child all over again. "It's real," he'll breathe, grinning ear to ear. "I told you it was real," he'll swoon like you ever doubted him for a second. It'd be real; Sanji said it would be.

"And if it doesn't exist, I'll make it for you," Somehow with your small hands and your non-existent fishing skills. You'll find a way to weave the ocean into something more connected than it already is. In world full of monsters and unknown seas, anyone can make miracles happen. "Even someone like me, right Sanji?"

When you feel a hairy arm tighten around your waist, you nearly jump out of your skin. "Hey, how long have you-" there's a sleepy grunt followed by a soft snore and you giggle. "Never mind, you," you press a light kiss on Sanji's jaw. "Keep on dreaming," a yawn passes through your lips. Just keep on dreaming.

[slum-eater03]

DESTIEL FANFIC RECS NOBODY ASKED FOR BECAUSE WHY NOT😍😝

let’s just right into this, for number one, with zero regrets, is Exodus 3:2 by Stayawake (i’m placing links at the bottom of this post dw😘)

this is a very well written fanfic, like beautifully done. i love Deans relationship between Cas and i love how the author wrote his and John’s dynamic, same as Deans and Sam’s and plenty of other characters mentioned.

Cas is written pretty close to canon, i enjoy him in this fic just as much as i do in the show.

it’s pretty much abt Cas moving into a small town and being a pastor there (Dean’s POV of written in third POV) Dean is a hardworking 23 year old who’s trying to keep food on his and his schizophrenic dad’s plates.

the two hang out together and generally, i love every interaction i’ve gotten from the two.

there’s smut but it’s not shown all the way through the whole process, but build up is written very well. over all score, 10/10 i wasn’t able to look away until i finished it.

number two on my list is taken by a 8 chapter fanfic, whom i am proud to present on my list, Damn good times (all the people applaud).

this one, out of all my recs, has the best and most realistic writing. the author put much time into this eight chapter series, and i’m feeling a little guilty this master piece only places second. (again, the link is at the bottom of this post😔).

this beautifully written fanfic is abt just graduated Castiel and Dean (whom are best friends) decide to go on a trip before heading to college. this, just like the other, is only in Dean point of view but also 3rd POV.

Dean is shown in a more realistic way, him being homophobic but also growing. this fanfic shows character growth, and this almost pains me to say, but, “i wish you were a girl”.

the ending is happy and i almost sobbed with joy at the very end scene. this fic is also a 10/10 and the only reason it’s placed second is because i like ranking systems😔 (don’t blame a girl for autism) also there is heavy smut, only in the last chapter tho, i love the build up tho😝 i lied, there’s a joinking scene in like chapter 7?? still peak tho.

and for third and with the same author as seconds place, i proudly present, Roshambo.

i love this fic, it’s, again, realistically written and is written so very well. this one is a one shot, unlike the other two, but this one also has almost 20k words. i enjoy this one a lot because, unlike the other two, this one is based in the OG universe.

i like this one sm, it gets me giddy just thinking of it now.

this one is multi-POV, the POV still in 3rd but this time being of Sam, Dean, and Cas. i especially love Sam’s POV, it’s written amazingly for him (i’m just a angst addict and they added angst into his even tho the main focus of the fic is Destiel).

this one is pretty much one bed trope as a whole ass fanfic. still amazing. i love it.

it’s showing different POV’s, Cas’ being how he likes sleeping next to Dean, Dean being frustrated with his feelings, and Sam being happy for Dean for finally getting a lover.

this one is honestly my favorite Destiel one shot, and, just like the other two, a straight (more like gay🤭) 10/10 fanfic. def recommend.

FANFICTION LINKS😍😍

exodus 3:2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62725417

damn good times (all of the people applaud)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38426173

rashambo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41591274

don’t be shy, comment yours😍 (pls i’m desperate😀)

[1dcommunityficrecs]

Rec List: Enemies To Lovers!

We have five awesome enemies to lovers fics to celebrate this month! These are all on the longer side -- I suppose it tends to take a little more words to make such a stark transition -- but I guarantee you the time is well worth it.

As always, please enjoy -- read, kudos, comment, reblog, and show your love to these awesome authors!

I would know you from touch alone by staybeautiful/@harruandlou (72821, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

The Tomlinson and Cox gangs have hated each other since forever. Add a soulmate twist that Harry and Louis can't deny and you got an awesome lovestory.

Reccer says: I love the author, the story is thrilling with great characterisation and really hot smut ;-)

through walls of trees by ineverateakiwi/@ineverateakiwi (41309, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: violence, of the type you would expect from a high fantasy AU

They're fairies, kings of the lands. But they were invaded a few years ago and Louis turned to the dark side. Harry hates him. They work it out during the fic.

Reccer says: It's high fantasy, which is kind of rare in the fandom (at least I don't know a lot of it). Louis isn't evil, but he's not good either. And he isn't apologetic about it. He knows what needs to be done and does it.

I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT YOU by nevermind_991/@nevermind991 (51000, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Harry and Louis were best friends, but after a rather unusual request for help, their relationship—and their friendship—fell apart. They cross paths again five years later, with Louis now in the same band as Harry’s ex, Taylor, and a past to confront and a future to decide.

Reccer says: i like that Harry and Louis were best friends, and also the songs

Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey/@indiaalphawhiskey (113574, Explicit, Marcel/Louis Tomlinson ) – fic post

Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles.

Reccer says: This fic is funny, sweet, and VERY sexy. There’s sass and banter, sexual tension, and teaching each other new things in the bedroom (so hot!). Because Marcel is an online writer, the fic dives into related stereotypes as well, which spoke to me as a fanfic reader.

Could We Be Such Fools by LiveLaughLoveLarry/@loveislarryislove (27206, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post Warnings: Infidelity (not between Harry and Louis)

When Louis finds out that his new boyfriend is engaged to another man... it only seems right to let the poor sap know the truth. It gets messy, but it all works out in the end.

Reccer says: I like the way their dynamic builds slowly, from hostile to awkward to friendly to romantic. I also love Niall's chaotic energy.

[azrahelhasmoved]

in result to my last long ooc post; thank you all who messaged me and sent kind things. it means a lot. i love you guys and you're the real mvps.

[roomba-mangga]

thoughts on thistle and yaad's dynamic that i vomited in the tags of another post but will now try to articulate here: they're not actually family, or at least they shouldn't be. not in a conventional sense anyway. framing them as uncle and nephew (even in a non-literal, silly fantasy world way) rides more on technicality than anything concrete.

what i mean by this is yaad calls thistle by name and says he and delgal were raised "like" brothers. he talks about thistle like he's an outsider imposing himself into the melinis' space, and it's clear that thistle was never legitimized as a member of the family. for thistle's part, though we don't know how he would treat yaad pre-demon brainrot, it's safe to assume based on the way he punishes him—turning him into a doll—and how little is shown in the way of any sort of relationship between them that thistle only cares* about yaad as an extension of delgal (otherwise i'd expect something like kabru and milsiril, because it's not like another complicated interspecies family dynamic would be out of place, yet there's next to nothing on them even in bonus content, just their scant interactions in the main story).

in essence, they're strangers to one another. thistle's desperation to preserve the illusion of a family, a model where he doesn't even fit, was the snare they were caught in for the past thousand years of stasis. yaad-as-nephew is a prop to uphold that illusion, and thistle is playing a role he's unfit to play. in the context of post-canon interactions, attempting to reconstruct that facade would only be a reenactment of trauma for them both (in a deeply compelling way i'd love to watch unfold, tbh), as that "uncle and nephew" framing places thistle in an implicit position of power over someone he's already traumatized through misuse of authority in the past, a role which also perpetuates his adultification and yaad's infantilization in turn. it'd mostly be an obstacle to any real connection.

best to burn the melini family bridge, i think, and if there's still anything salvageable left in the rubble, let something different supplant it.

[shorthaltsjester]

free my complex female character, she did the same thing as complex male characters but the fandom takes Any analysis of her actions/choices/motivations that doesn’t strip her of all of her agency in bad faith and claims that only misogynists would dare to critique the things that they’ve noticed in her character because she’s a woman, completely ignoring the over-presence of discourse about similarly traited male characters in their fandom.

[kalofi]

zl fic idea

hii everyone i wrote something yesterday about an au idea i had for zolu and. i thought i'd share it here since its a bit too messy and disjointed in places to post on like. ao3 or something.

4.7k words, warning for temporary major character death but do not worry all will be fixed in due time. i'll put the rest under the cut

ok i have an idea for an au thats like kind of reincarnation but like reality displacement but like. okay just listen.

so we start at laughtale. its a couple years into the future from where we are in canon the strawhats are achieving their dreams luffy is about to find the one piece theres a big battle happening between them and the blackbeard pirates and whoever the fuck else is there idc. the rest of the strawhats are fighting the bb crew while luffy and zoro head off to find the one piece and also end up fighting black beard himself. luffy and zoro atp r like basically a thing but they never talk about it cuz theyre luffy and zoro and they kind of just exist with each other but like. theyre basically in love and everyone knows it. anyway they go off together luffy has the one piece almost in his grasp blackbeard attacks they fight its a big battle blood is shed bones are broken uumm in my mind luffy and zoro are like teaming up against bb bc his devil fruit is lowk broken and op and like ok theres gear5 too but i didnt rly consider that so lets just assume bb’s devil fruit can negate gear5 somehow or luffy exhausts it before bb is fully defeated. 

finally theyre able to knock bb down and hes out and theyre both tired and worn but they DID IT and the one piece is luffys and theyre facing each other grinning ear to ear and zoros saying “you ready, king of the pirates?” and luffy laughs and goes “not just yet zoro, i still gotta-“ and then theres a spear piercing right through his chest. and in the next moment its gone. 

theres a gaping hole through his captain and theres blood, theres so much blood and luffy’s still smiling like he hasnt realized it yet, like it hasnt even registered. zoros ears are ringing and he doesnt know what to make of whats hes seeing because its just not real, it CANT be. 

he looks over luffy’s shoulder and blackbeard is on the ground with his hand outstretched , black energy coiling back into his form and he’s laughing and laughing with bloodstained teeth. hes fucking laughing. one moment zoro is still standing parallel to luffy and the next hes in front of blackbeard and the mans head is rolling through the dirt and gravel, wado dripping crimson, a terrible gap toothed grin still stretching the man’s cheeks. 

zoro is breathing heavy, hes trembling and hes almost mesmerized by the blood pooling around a lacerated neck— then he’s remembering luffy and turning around and calling his name and he can see right through him theres a HOLE right through him and he chokes and stumbles and rushes to his side right as luffy starts to crumple to the floor . catches him and lowers him gently and doesnt know what to say. 

hes still shaking but cant move his mouth and everything is muffled, the sounds from the battle outside are distant and they dont matter but what does he do. what does he do. 

he snaps out of it when luffy gently calls his name. a strong “zoro,” like hes not fazed at all. like there isnt blood soaking into zoros clothes. 

his brain kickstarts and he’s speaking. saying things like “youre ok you’ll be ok” and “choppers right outside i’ll just call him and he’ll fix you right up” and “you always bounce back, right captain?” and hes thinking “dont die please dont fucking die. not now, not when we’re this close please dont fucking die” and hes silently praying to all the gods he doesnt believe in but luffy calls his name again and his mouth clicks shut. luffys saying it’ll be fine, that he had fun. that hes proud to have made it this far with all of them. and those sound a lot like parting words so zoro’s shaking his head no but luffy is still smiling. hes saying that hes glad he had zoro, that he made him happy. hes saying to tell everyone he’s glad they met, that hes glad they all had each other, that he knows theyll be just fine . 

zoro wants to say that luffy should tell that to them himself, when hes wrapped up and recovering and alive but his mouth is glued shut again and he feels that interrupting luffy now would be cursing him to death, like his words are the only thing keeping him tethered here, he just needs to get him to keep talking to stay awake. 

he tries to smile but it comes out ugly and wrong and he feels his lip wobble so he drops it. he settles on rubbing his thumb on luffys shoulder. something to keep him here. 

so he rubs and luffy talks little things until he cant anymore. until his eyes grow dull and his skin loses its warmth and still zoro rubs and he rubs.

—

thats how law finds them. zoro hunched over a body that should never be as still as it is. and its really no surprise hes there, hes been gunning for the one piece since the time he could captain a ship (or a submarine) but it all feels so wrong. 

zoro either doesnt notice him or doesnt care, but either way the man doesnt acknowledge law until he’s right behind him. its not like law can say anything to announce himself either, not after seeing the state of the body that zoros currently holding. the body that used to be luffy’s. hes still processing it all when the other man(the one whos alive) finally speaks. 

zoro asks if hes got a devil fruit. less of a question and more of a statement, but he should know anyway since theyve spent considerable time together and hes literally seen him use it. law cant unstick his jaw so he hums in affirmation. “and you can switch stuffs’ places?” another hum. “what about time.” 

that makes law pause. “what?” his voice comes out stronger than he feels. 

“what about time? can you switch things in time?” by this point law has awakened his devil fruit or some shit dont sweat the logistics but hes never tried anything of that sort so he kind of stumbles “im not- maybe? ive never attempted-“ zoro interrupts “send me back” 

“what?” 

“send me back so i can fix this. you can do that, right.” it clicks. law would pity zoro if he didnt know any better, instead he just feels mounting despair and resignation. 

he may not be crew, but he knew luffy too, he was allied with the man for fucks sake, and this just feels- wrong. he sighs, a tired, heavy thing. 

“what about your crew?” its useless. zoros as stubborn as his captain, with arguably a handful more screws loose. “it wont matter. they’ll never know because i’ll make sure this doesnt happen.” he still hasnt turned around. law doesnt know what expression hes making and hes sure he never wants to find out. 

hes ready to deny it, cut his losses and head for the one piece himself (hes not heartless, but if he stands here any longer and has to look at. well. he think he might never be able to move again) but then he really thinks about it. could he? would it even be possible? surely this isnt the way things were supposed to go, surely this isnt right. luffys never been one who was supposed to die just like that, like this, law knows that much. he thinks hes going to regret this, but he counts it as one last thank you for everything luffy did for him. 

youre gonna owe me big time strawhat-ya. if i even remember this, that is. 

he puffs a breath “i can try. i cant- promise anything but. i think we both know this,” he makes a vague, weak gesture, “isnt right.” 

zoro doesnt say anything, law didnt expect him to. he just bows his head slightly and law takes that as the acknowledgment it is. 

he brings his hand up, “dont do anything stupid, zoro-ya. or, at least, make it stupid enough to bring him back.” 

he positions his fingers in way so familiar, but the weight of it now is nearly unbearable.

room.

shambles

—

zoro’s world shatters, differently than before, and then theres nothing.

—

he wakes up in bed, bleary eyed and a pounding headache assaulting his senses. his alarm clock is going off which only adds to the drumbeat against his eyes. he grumbles and whacks around aimlessly to shut it off. the silence lasts a moment before his eyes fly open and he jolts up, sheets pooling around his waist. luffy. where was he? where was zoro? did the crew find him and take him back to the ship? did law fail? but this didnt look like chopper’s office.

he looks around to find hes in a room hes never seen before in his life, yet he instinctively knows is his. it all feels so wrong, like he doesnt belong in his own skin. he scratches lightly at his arm. he needs to go to work. 

work?

what the fuck is happening. 

its like his mind is at war with itself, one truth trying to dominate over the other. he trained at sensei’s dojo. he aged out of foster care. he was a swordsman, he was the first mate of the strawhat pirates. he didnt go to college, hes working construction. he made a promise, and kuina died. kuina…died. huh. his captain, his luffy, someone he knew so intimately and who knew him in turn. hes never met someone with that name his entire life. he needs to go to work, he needs to find his crew. 

he doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening. 

without his permission his legs stand him right up and he moves confusedly, surely, to the bathroom he didnt know he had. his reflection stares back at him in the mirror and its him, of course it is, he doesnt know why he expected someone else, but hes also…different. he has both function of his eyes, first of all. a scar in the same place as before but its light and healed over and doesnt seem to have blinded him like it once did. his hair is green, sure, but black roots peek out from underneath the familiar shade. hes grown stubble, he should shave. he needs to go to work. 

hes so confused, but his body moves like its been doing this its whole life. as far as zoro knows, it has. 

he continues getting ready, mind still at odds, and makes himself a cup of coffee (in his own kitchen. his own kitchen? the state of it leaves less to be desired. sanji would surely skin him alive) before tucking into his shoes, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading out the door. he seems to live in a single room apartment, and a crummy one at that. his legs move him faster, he has to go to work, he cant be late again (again?).

his car is parked outside the building, he has no fucking clue what it is but he unlocks it all the same and settles in. he feels like he shouldnt be operating this sort of machinery. franky would know better than him how it must work. he starts it up and backs out. trusting his gut to get him where he needs to be. he should be more concerned, he should be frantic and inconsolable, his captain was dead in his arms and now hes? what? going to lay some bricks or some shit? but he finds that part of him dulled in favor of following whatever mundanity this body is pushing him towards. 

uumm whatever whatever he arrives at work eventually i dont know how construction jobs work are there offices or something. idc thats not the point. johnny and yosaku are there and zoro is surprised to see them since, as far as he knows, the last time they were with each other was at arlong park which was years ago for him. but the two greet him like this is a daily occurence, like theyve been working together for years. and zoro thinks, knows, they must have. but this is good, this is great fucking news actually because until now theres been no confirmation if zoro was here alone (wherever “here” is) but now his proof is right in front of him because if johnny and yosaku are here, and they exist the same as from before, then that must mean everyone else is here too right? he clings onto this hope with both hands trembling. 

nami, usopp, the cook and chopper and robin and franky, brook, jinbe and fuck. fuck, luffy. theyve got to be here somewhere, zoro just has to find them. hes not sure if they remember things like he does but hes got to try because they are his as much as he has always been theirs and they should all exist together as it has always been. 

so then yeah he finishes his shift because its what hes ‘supposed’ to do but he doesnt go home. he drives around aimlessly before pulling into a random lot and pulling out his phone (theres no snail attached to it. weird.) he doesnt even know where to begin. hes not usually the one coming up with plans, he just goes where theres blood need to be shed. but no one seems to be in any danger here except for maybe himself, and its not like he has his swords anyway- shit. fuck did he still have wado? he must have right? he knows there was a kuina that existed here too, he knows because he remembers. and she, well she wasnt around anymore so he must have wado. he must. with shaking fingers he pushes that aside for now, though barely. he needs to find luffy, but he wouldnt even know where to start. luffy could probably find the rest of their crew by simply wandering around and happening upon them, thats how he did it before. but zoro has no idea where he’d be, he doesnt even know where he is. nami or robin would be a good bet to at least form a plan, but he wouldnt know how to find them either. 

is there even a coco village here? would robin still be part of baroque works? he needs someone who has a defined location that he could google or something (what the hell is google?). usopp would be at syrup village right? shit. is there even a drum island? these are all too broad, he needs something specific. specific…..a place with an identifiable name, somewhere smaller that would be easier to stake out…

a lightbulb goes off. 

fucking shit he thinks. of course. of fucking course it would come down to the cook. 

he types in “baratie” to his maps and a location pops up, just 27 minutes from where he is now. he hasnt eaten yet either, so he figures thats killing two birds with one stone. he taps the address, backs out of the lot and drives. 

(if it takes him nearly an hour to get there thats nobodys business but his own)

he pulls up to the building about a quarter after 7. it seems packed enough already, but if memory serves him right then that was just par for the course for baratie. he parks, gets out and locks his car, then shoves his hands in his pocket and resigns himself to another oncoming migraine hes sure to get upon interacting with the man hes certain is waiting somewhere inside. 

the tables are full, the host tells him, he slips a 20 from his wallet and suddenly (of course) theyre more than willing to serve him. 

he gets settled in a far and somewhat isolated booth and a waiter comes up to him, but he cuts the man off as hes introducing himself and says “you got a blonde working here? stupid ass side part with a weird eyebrow? goes by sanji” the waiter looks shocked and put off by his rudeness but quickly collects himself and says “we might. depends on whos asking” zoro snorts “just tell him hes got someone who wants to talk to him,” he cringes at this next part, tries to smile but knows it comes off as a sneer. hes not sure if he still has conquerors haki wherever he happens to be now, but he tries to channel that energy the same way he would if he were in battle and says “tell him im a fan.” the waiters eyes widen, in fear or surprise zoros not sure (most likely a mix of both) before he nods and scurries across the floor, weaving in between patrons and coworkers alike until he disappears behind the double doors to the kitchen. 

zoro sits with his arms crossed and skims through the menu out of boredom and impatience. its a couple minutes before he sees a familiar head of blonde hair emerge from across the way. a smile climbs onto his face despite himself. sure, the guy annoyed him to hell and back and their…friendship (if you could really call it that) was a tumultuous one, but it was good to see someone familiar nonetheless. he schools his expression before the blonde can spot him. a few moments pass before hes standing right in front of zoro, his stupid suit primped and pressed as always, and a cautious look on his face. 

“you asked for me?” his tone is the one he only reserves for men who he deems not worth his time. zoro grits his teeth but says “yeah, theres something ive gotta discuss with you.” 

hes never been one for tact, forever blunt unlike his swords. 

sanji quirks a brow “i dont plan on talking about anything with anyone unless theyre a paying customer” zoro feels his eyebrow twitch but grabs his menu nonetheless and points to a random item without looking “i’ll have this then, and whatever booze you got.” sanji leans in to see what hes pointing to before his one visible eye widens and a grin slowly overtakes his previously unaffected face. 

he speaks condescendingly. “wonderful choice sir, coming right up.” before zoro can get another word in he grabs the menu out of his hand, spins on his heel, and marches back to the kitchen. 

zoro clenches his fists and does his best not to grind his teeth into a fine dust. no matter where they are or what displacement in time the fucking curly brow never fails to be absolutely insufferable. at least this way though, zoro knows its him for real. 

its another 20 minutes before the shit cook reemerges from the back with a platter and a mug in his hand. he steps up to zoros table and places the plate and cup down in front of him with a smug look. zoro has no idea what the fuck hes looking at on his plate. he doesnt have time to question it before sanji plops down in the booth seat across from him, disregarding all previous faux-professionale and asking “so what do you want” zoro tears his eyes away from his plate and looks into sanji’s, trying to convey as much emotion, as much urgency as he possibly can. 

“luffy needs us. and we have to find him” whatever the cook was expecting him to say, it definitely wasnt that. the other man regards him more warily now, looking him up and down with a tense frown before replying “i dont know what the hell youre talking about. and i dont appreciate being mocked or having my time wasted” he goes to stand up but zoro grabs his wrist, yanking him back down unceremoniously. 

he blinks before rounding back on zoro, flaring his nostrils in a way zoro knows means hes about to get himself in deep shit “oi, what the fuck do you think youre-“ he doesnt let him finish “im not mocking you. this isnt some stupid prank or whatever youre thinking. and despite how much i would enjoy punching your teeth in right now im not looking for a fight either.” 

the cook still looks affronted but seems to actually be listening. zoro continues “look, i dont know what the fuck is going on. i was at laughtale with you and the others, with luffy, and then i woke up and now im here and i dont know how but this is all wrong. its all wrong but i need to find luffy and fuck, i cant do it alone. i need your help to find him. find everyone.” the blondes eye is wide, but he blinks and its gone. he looks more tired than zoro has ever seen him 

“im not paid enough for this shit. i dont know why i even-“ he looks like hes getting ready to leave again but zoro is desperate at this point so he blurts out whatever he thinks will convince the other man hes not bullshitting.

“we met you here, at the baratie. me and nami and usopp and luffy. luffy busted through one of your walls so your old man punished him by making him wash dishes. i dont, i dont know what luffy said to you, or how he convinced you to join us, but he changed your life like he did mine. we sailed together, and we had each others backs no matter how much we got on each others nerves. you were our cook. i was our swordsman. luffy was our captain and youd do anything to help him, i know you would, same as me. youre a pervert and an asshole and a damn annoyance, but youre strong. i could still kick your ass though” if the cook’s eyebrow could go any higher hes sure itd be clear off his forehead by now. 

“and you- your dream. you wanted to find the all blue.” he stalls there, engine sputtering. zoro doesnt know what else to say, so he snaps his mouth shut. 

the blonde is still gaping at him like a fish, but he mouths the phrase “all blue” like hes been searching for it his whole life, like he always knew but just never had the words. 

he blinks. 

then he blinks again, rapidly. there are tears pooling in his eyes. his mouth flaps for a moment before he seems to finally be able to push out words. 

“you- zoro?” he sounds small. he sounds hopeful. zoro grins. 

“yeah, yeah its me.” sanji stares at him a moment, then looks around, as if hes seeing everything with clear eyes for the very first time. zoro figures he might as well be. 

“holy shit. holy shit.” 

zoro laughs, a rough thing. theres a ball in his throat that he cant seem to dislodge. “nice to have you back, curly brow” sanji’s gaze snaps back to him before he scowls and tries wiping away the tears that are now streaking down his cheeks. its useless though, it seems they cant stop. zoro laughs again at the sorry state of the asshole in front of him, this time more full and genuine. he feels so relieved he doesnt know what to do with himself. 

“yeah yeah, whatever dick head.” sanji grumbles. zoro quiets down, glances away, lets him have his moment. “fuck, mosshead, im still on the clock and you unload all this on me? how the hell am i supposed to finish the rest of my shift?” his words are sharp but he doesnt sound angry at all. in fact, when zoro turns back to look, hes smiling. 

“you remember now though, dont you?” he has to be sure. 

“what does it look like, dumbass? think im tearin’ up cuz of pollen or some shit?” the cook rolls his eye. theyre both silent for a moment, trapped in their own heads, before he speaks up again. “so, what now?” zoro doesnt even have to think before he answers “we find everyone else, obviously.” “well no shit, but how?” zoro glances to the side. “i was hoping youd figure that out” sanji stares before bursting out laughing. zoro scowls and hunches into his shoulders. 

“of course!” sanji cackles “of course your dumbass wouldnt know what to do! you probably just typed in the most recognizable place you could remember and hoped one of us would be there!” zoro doesn’t answer, because yes thats what he fucking did, but it worked didnt it? he doesnt see whats so funny. 

“fuck you.” 

he wants nothing more than to bash that smarmy mouth in, but the familiar egging settles something in his soul. sanji gasps a few breaths before calming down, now wiping tears from his eyes for a completely different reason. 

“alright alright, well lets figure this out then, yeah? we figure out how we got here then we can figure out how to get back right? simple enough” 

zoro nods, “law was-“ he stops. remembers dull eyes and clammy skin and wrong wrong wrong. he shakes his head, “no, no we cant” sanji looks at him confused. 

“we cant go back,” zoro presses, “not until i fix things. i promised i would” the other man seems to pick up on his panic and his mood dampens, becomes more serious. “promised what?” 

zoros never been one to sugarcoat, but now he wishes he could find a way to soften the blow hes about to deal. he inhales, pushes the breath out. says, “luffy died, sanji.” the fact the hes actually using the other mans name seems to fly right over his head in favor of the first part. “what?” zoro huffs, is he really gonna make him say it again? “luffy di-“ sanji interrupts, angry now, fists clenched and whitened from the pressure “i heard what you said. but what do you mean.” 

he doesnt want to have to tell sanji what happened, doesnt want to talk about it at all, wants to slice it up into small enough pieces that it very well may have never existed.

he told law the others wouldn't have to know, that he would make sure of it, but he's realizing now just how unrealistic that is. as much faith as zoro places in his own abilities, he's aware he's only one man.

and, he figures, if there's anyone i can trust enough to share a burden heavy as this with, might as well be the one who's strength i'd count on just as much as my own.

sanji cant help if he doesnt know what went down once they got separated at laughtale, so zoro sets his shoulders, clenches his fists, prepares himself like hes riding into a battle he knows he has no chance of winning—hes the first mate for fucks sake—and resigns himself to filling the other man in on every horrible detail

by the end, the cook looks much the same as zoro feels, pale-faced and shaky. he runs a trembling hand through his hair and clenches his eye shut. “fuck mosshead, thats…” he doesnt bother finishing, and zoro stays silent—already knowing just how much of a shitty situation it is that theyve found themselves in.

—

(btw the reason sanji was so smug about what zoro randomly chose on the menu is bc its one of their most expensive dishes. even upon regaining his memories he still makes zoro pay it cuz hes an asshole like that. business is business 😁)

uuummm i dont feel like detailing the rest basically my idea is that they work together to try and track down all the members as well as law, since hes also a part of this. i dont know how or when or in what order but i do know finding luffy would come last. so yes its zolu but for a majority of it more in spirit than anything. maybe i can throw in some luffy pov of him living with ace and sabo . he knows something is off but cant place his finger on what. he knows something is missing but hes got his brothers with him so what else could he possibly need? etc etc. you get the idea

[purplepeptobismol]

The urge to quit my job and become a full time fic writer is strong. I was born to do this.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Oh being a GM is so fucking fun

[cloudbends]

new pokemon episode!!!

[osamucide]

⊹ I AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NASTY DOG!

. . . BSD MEN AS OVERUSED PORN PLOTS!

wc: 5.3k

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

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

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Osamu!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Unh—ugh..."

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuckin' slut—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.

"I mean, unless..."

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

“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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