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solardrop · 4 months ago

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mean drunk.

aaron hotchner x fem!reader.

summary: after a bau night on the town your boyfriend tries to get you to admit to being mean when you drink. But he can't seem to keep his hands to himself either... (or hotch says you're a mean drunk and you say 'nuh uh") tags: smut NSFW 18+ alcohol use. dubious consent because both parties are drunk but 'consenting'. oral m/f receiving. unprotected p in v. spitting. literally like 2 seconds of anal. word count: ~2.6k a/n: be nice to me you aren't allowed to be mean this is my first time writing a fic since the finnick odair x oc fic i posted on ff.net when I was like 12 LMAO. first smut in general too so. yeah. all divider creds. to @cafekitsune

The two of you stumbled into the entryway of Hotch's bedroom with your faces all but glued together. Thick hands grasped at the small patch of skin revealed as your shirt rode up your back.

You lean into his chest and grips a handful of your breast in his hand appreciatively before walking you backwards to the plush comfort of his bed. Suddenly, he pulls away from you completely and boyishly smiles down at you perched on the edge of his bed.

His lips and neck are covered in a glittery brown sheen from your lip gloss. Black hair spiking in unnatural directions. The powder blue dress shirt he wore haphazardly wrinkled from your efforts to untuck the crisp fabric from his now tightening dress pant. You could eat him from the top down. But he was just standing there. Smiling at you instead of stripping.

"Aaron, I swear if you dont fucking touch me I'll kill you-"

He giggles as he unbuttons his shirt, "Very mean drunk."

A successful case led the entire team to a night of drinks at O'Keefe's. Penelope was all but pouring shots down everyone's throats; she somehow even managed to get Hotch to down a few extra glasses of scotch than his typical. Unsurprisingly the result was everyone being absolutely sloshed. Everyone was giggly and free, playing stupid drinking games before the topic of 'drunk personalities' came to the table.

JJ declared herself a sleepy drunk, while Derek, Garcia, and Emily all admitted to being more flirty. Spencer and David started going back and forth about the psychological implications of the human personality traits while intoxicated. So their categorization as chatty drunks went without saying. You were starting to agree with JJ on being sleepy when your annoying man decided to cut you off and say you were mean when drunk.

Sure, liquid courage did loosen your tongue a bit. You were guilty of causing few hurt feelings after a night out. And maybe Aaron had to whisk you away from a few bar fights with people you couldn't take without your handgun. But you were not a mean drunk!

An uncharacteristic back and forth bounces between you for the remainder of the night. Only ceasing when he smashes his lips against yours in the taxi home.

His calloused hands flip you around roughly. Propping your hips up towards his face. Your face heats as he presses his face into your wetness, inhaling deeply and moaning at the scent of you.

"So pretty.." He spreads your lips apart with his thumbs, the moisture there almost holding them together.

Your head was spinning, now from more than just the alcohol. The position was just embarrassing. You were almost completely upside down and your back arched shamelessly. Hell, you couldn't even see Aaron's pretty face like this. His strong thighs and thickening length weren't bad to look at either but you wanted to see him.

you crane your neck around to tell him as much when he closes his lips around your clit and sucks greedily.

"Aar-" you gasp.

You squirm in the grasp he has on your hips. He tightens his hands around you, preventing your from escape. the warmth of his lips travel up from your nub to lick a few long stripes against your slit.

"Oh fuck off-" you start.

He was going to kill you like this. Your face and neck were too hot, your back was starting to ache. The alcohol and your arousal swirling your mind into a fog. Hotch continues his attack on your sex. Sucking and licking with whatever intensity he pleased. His words slur together as he praises you. The sound so intelligible you're convinced that they're more for himself than you.

When the warmth of his tongue prods at your entrance, you fall forward. The wiry hairs along his thigh press into your cheek as your face is squished there. The invasion has you moaning and wailing, bucking your hips closer to him now; begging for him to delve deeper. Your desperation must amuse him because you feel a short puff of air and the semblance of a smile against you. What an absolute drunken ass.

With a renewed burst of energy, you lean over without warning and suck the head of his length into your mouth. The strong, salty flavor of him spreads along your tongue as you circle the muscle around his tip.

"Fucking hell-" he rips his mouth from you and yelps out.

He jerks at your stimulation. His hips thrust into your mouth reflexively, the erratic movement causing his shaft to slip deeper into your mouth. You allow it, pressing your face closer and closer to him until the coarse patch of curls above his length pressed against your chin.

He's always been so thick. But being held like this, he felt even heavier and stiffer in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks to pull off of him almost completely, the remaining glitter on your lips streaking up his shaft, before quickly pressing yourself down to the hilt. His tip taps against the back of your throat, you welcome the intrusion and swallow around him.

He stutters your name out, the syllables melting together as you bob your head along him. You giggle at his lack of articulation. The mean, pristine, crime-fighting machine Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. Reduced to nothing but a gasping mess from a moment in your mouth and a few glasses of whiskey. A hum vibrates from your chest when you pull of to stroke him with a taunt. A string of saliva still connecting your lips to his swollen pink tip.

"See honey? if I was such a meanie drunk," a bead of precum weeps from his slip, you tongue darts out to collect it, "I would take such good care of you like this. Right?"

You slip back down to bask in your self-proclaimed victory. Savoring the heady taste of him before Aaron abruptly drives two thick fingers into you.

Your eyes snap open and the sound that rips from your throat reverberates around the room, even muffled by the length of him. He picks up a rapid pace. The wet sounds of your pleasure winding you up even further than you thought possible. His girth slips with a pop. Moaninh against his calf as your body slides from its arched position to lay almost flat against his outstretched legs.

"Aar- '' you cry. "Aar this is so- Baby I- I don't think I can-"

You jump as he spits on your lips and grinds a thumb into your nub. As if you needed to be any slicker. The tight circles he makes are punishing. His saliva cooling against your folds doing little to waver the heat building between your legs. His fingers slam into you over and over, sometimes curling down and brushing that soft, sweet spot deep inside you.

"Uh uh. The gorgeous girl I know can do anything," he presses an additional finger into you, "isn't that right?"

You buck your hips back into him, the praise sending a shock to your core. You chance a glance over your shoulder at him, and you have to screw your eyes shut again and groan at the sight. The entire lower half of his face was covered in you. The bottom lip tucked between his lips shiny, red, and swollen. His eyes were low, hyperfocused on the movement of his hands between your legs. Pale face still red from the night of festivities. He looked absolutely entranced. Completely pleased himself and they way he was wrecking you.

"Aaron, Please just-" He wickedly pinches your clit between his thumb and forefinger and you squeal.

"Hm? That attitude" he says as he pinches you again.

"Fuck-"

"See?" Another pinch. " I told you, you're a mean drunk," he does it again.

Tears prickle in your eyes, sweat along your forehead clinging your curls to your warm skin. You thrash and cry as he continues his onslaught. He was sitting beneath you, pushing and twisting and gripping your body in any way he wanted while you cried and you were the mean drunk?

You try to slip away from him, the pleasure too much, yet not enough to send you over the edge. But he slips his fingers out of you to grab you by the hips, spreading the globes of ass apart to spit on you again.

Except this time the cold shock landed right on the pucker of your asshole.

"Aaron!" you whimper

"If only my baby was nicer to me," he has the nerve to sigh wistfully, "I'm so damn hard, if she asked me politely I'd fuck her so good she'd lose it..."

He rubbed his thumb over your hole, not pushing in, but applying enough pressure to have you keening in pleasure.

He sighs again, completely ignoring your pants and cries. "But I think I can finish without touching just like this, hm? Maybe in 30? An hour?"

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

If you had a lick of sense left in your brain right now you'd realize he was fucking with you. You'd recognize his words and the creeping smile on his face as the bullshit they were. But right now all your muddled mind was registering was the danger of being held shaking and pained for an hour without release. You would never finish like this, you couldn't. You needed to look into his eyes, feel his lips graze along your face as you came. You wouldn't get that, not like this, you'd be stuck like this.

"Pleaseplease Aaron- Aar- fuck. Please I need you, Aar. Please-"

He breathes out a laugh. Finally granting you mercy from his wicked hands. He grunts a little at the effort of pulling himself up around you, kissing your shoulder as his face finally nears yours.

"I thought you'd never ask" he smiles, "Where do you want me gorgeous?"

You twist to move on your back, and Hotch shifts to allow you more space. You face him for the first time in a while, and your heat clenches almost automatically when his eyes meet yours.

It was fucking sick how he had the nerve to call you gorgeous when he looked so positively delicious himself. His lids were still low and his cheeks were still tinged pink. But now you had a true view of the slick coating his mouth and chin. A crooked smile beamed off his face, smile lines deepening at the gesture.

"Like this," You hold his face in your palms, pulling him down to peck on the lips quickly, "I want to see you, please."

"Anything you want, legs up for me." He playfully taps his hand on the side of your ass. Your legs shoot up quickly, and his eyes crinkle with laughter at your desperation when he props your knees on his shoulders.

He presses his lips to yours again before shifting all his weight to one arm, the muscle there flexing while he reaches down to grip himself with his free hand.

He runs the tip of his length along your folds, every brush causing you to twitch with sensitivity. Special attention is given to your already swollen clit, nudging his hips forward to swipe against the delicate bundle of nerves. He pulls away and slots his lips above yours to kiss you fully.

You eagerly press yourself closer to him, deepening the kiss. His tongue presses into your mouth and you groan when the taste of your wetness mingles with the familiar bite of the dark liquor on his tongue.

He notches himself at your entrance, massaging but still failing to push inside of you. A whine bubbled from the back of your throat.

"Baby, I promise I'm already wet enou- Oh!" your murmuring is cut short by Aaron thrusting into you all at once.

He doesn't even move before your wretched body betrays you. the abrupt force and fullness pushing a white-hot pleasure throughout your entire being. Your thighs beg to snap shut, but the spread of your knees on his shoulders denies them. Your walls lock around him in a vice, causing him to grunt above you. You're saying something, probably some warbled nonsense, but you can't even hear yourself above the heartbeat in your ears.

Aaron presses his face into the crook of your neck as you come down from your high. Whispering your name and 'i love you', 'so beautiful's into your skin.

The fluttering of your core begins to slow when he pulls almost completely out of you, only the head remaining within your warmth. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly, when your breath catches.

"We're not done here are we? Best one of two?" He doesn't wait for an answer before pushing into you, this time much slower.

you mewl at the firm stretch of him. Your hands reach up to grip the back of his neck, pressing his forehead to your own. Your eyes bounce around his features, burning each one into every empty space in your mind like you could ever forget. The precious mole you loved to kiss on his cheek. The unruly hairs sticking up on his temples. His pretty jet-black lashes flutterinh as he struggles to keep his eyes open for you.

His pace intensifies as he gets closer to his own climax, ramming into you. Every push tickles your clit with the thatch of curls that crown his shaft.

"Such a good girl for me," he tries to hold back a moan causing him to stutter, " Y-you have one more in you I know it."

The rough sensation of his calloused hands running up your side makes you shiver. You feel it again as he continues to bully his way through your center, the intense warmth pooling in your toes before creeping upwards. You nod your head at him, begging him to keep going, go faster, fuck into you deeper, love you fully. He complies with every soft cry, kissing and biting at your jaw as he forces you over into your second orgasm.

You were almost completely gone for this one. Screaming into Aaron's mouth as he continues to chase his own release using your body. Your body shakes and you grip his biceps until the crescent marks of your fingernails are guaranteed to become a permanent fixture on his body.

The breathless whimpering in your ear is what helps slowly bring you back down from your own world. You could tell he was close, his eyes screwing shut and his hips bucking into you out of pace every few beats. Using the last of your strength you push your hips up to meet his thrusts, fucking him back. You press a kiss on his good ear.

"You treat me so well Honey," you murmur, "Come for me, you're so, so good to me, let me have you"

You suck the lobe of his ear into your mouth and bite down. He punches into you with one final thrust before you feel him twitch, bursts of his warm release spurting deeply inside you. He gasps your name out like a prayer as he comes down.

Normailly his hardness slipping out of you after a session would cause you to cringe, but right now you were so fucking tired you barely even took note of the sensation. Clearly he was just as out of it as he plopped unceremoniously next to you in silence instead of his normal bossy demands for you to get up and pee after he wore you out. Before you even realize it both of you are drifting off into the best sleep you've had in a while.

This had to be the worst sleep Aaron's had in a while. His mouth was dry, his head pounding, and his skin felt parched and scratchy despite the sweat that slicked off him. Not to mention the very obvious lack of clothes he was sporting under his bed sheet.

Before he could grab his phone to send Strauss a termination request form for Garcia (the one he kept saved in his files, yes for moments just like this) you burst into the bedroom and flip the bright lights on. He groans as the rays stab him in the back of the head. You giggle, his pain clearly amusing to you. You saunter over, place a glass of water on the nightstand and press a kiss to his beating forehead.

"I was wrong, you aren't a mean drunk. You're just mean." he sighs.

You throw your head back in glee

"I'm fine with being the mean drunk," you shrug, "at least we know for sure you're the horny drunk."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fic #mine

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queenendless · 3 months ago

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🍑 TIME

A/n: The twerk GIFS got to me! All credit for the GIFS involved goes to @screampied for the Gojo and Sukuna ones, @heian-era-housewife for the Shiu Kong one, @mahgyu for the Geto one, and @blkkizzat for the Toji one. THNX U ALL for the glory that is JJK TWERKING~!

🔞 MDNI CONTENT. JJK men twerking for their lives, sub!JJK men x dom!GN!reader, ass cheeks clapping, ass slapping, ass marking, ass eating, ass abuse, cum time, impromptu ass piece. Also first time writing Sukuna and Shiu so go easy on me.

©️ PLEASE DONT PLAGIRIZE, COPY, TRANSLATE, EDIT, REPOST, AND ETC TO MY FAN WORK. Rather like comment reblog share and follow cause I personally want to reach close to 1k follows on this blog by the end of the year pls n thnx.

SYPNOSIS: OH, TWERKING IN YOUR FACE, BIG ASS MISTAKE~

GOJO with his cheeky ass grin growing every passing moment you demanded he strip those skinny pants down. Boxers included. Shameless heathen. Hanging over the bed's edge as you straddle his skinny thighs. You drum those bare melons like your own personal bongos. Granted, your cheeky bastard asked for it. And those loud passionate mewls of his earned him your red hand prints on his rippling hills. Literally chewing on them peaches came right after, your nose poking out of his ass crack while your mouth sucked his asshole, having him come one too many times against the strewn sheets to both your likings. Stroking his veiny coated dong between his lower valleys made it that much more tasty to suck him off, with his cock cumming again in your very grasp.

"Ohhh, honey loves my buns~! Yes you do – AAAAAH~!"

GETO bashfully blushes, his veiny knuckles pressed hard to his mouth to muffle his grunts and moans of painful pleasure as you spanked, clawed and teethed on those supple succulent peaches quite insistently. This cult head laid on his side along the mat covered platform, clawed the sheets with his free hand as his legs spasmed with those poofy ass pants hung off his calves like pooled up velvet. The ministrations your tongue gives drives him mad. Slobbering and slithering into his hole quite deeply with skillful strokes before suckling downwards. Like his pecs, his peaches smothered your face cheeks. Teasingly nipping at his leaky balls had his dong spasm and spurt in your face. You licking his cum off your face right into his had him squirt longer and harder.

"D – Darling~! Don't ever st — stop – AAH~!"

TOJI the physically gifted super human slash sorcerer killer that he lazily splays along the couch on his ripped tum tum, his ass practically jutting out right in your burning face, browsing his phone casually. Only to literally crush it in two with his giant beefy hand. Straddling his hips, you press his form into the cushions, as you knead and massage his chiseled cheeks, digging your nails in, before sucking aggressively to the point where your lip imprints are scattered along his now reddening bruised skin. His hips buckle sporadically right into yours but with such steel restraint not to literally shoot you up into the ceiling. The couch cushions however were torn to shreds as his stream of feral profanity fills the air as does his guttural carnal shouts of fervor.

"FUCK baby~! Starving for me already huh — NGH SHIT~!"

SUKUNA the literal King of Curses would be as amused as he would be resting his head atop two folded arms along his Malevolent Shrine, letting you lay atop him while you smack his cheeks together just to hear his skin clapping. On top of biting, tugging on his skin between your teeth, and nuzzling them fine giant melons had you on Cloud 9. His other two arms would possessively gripped on your hair to tug on now and then as well as fondle and smack your own bare tussy, his mouths popping out of his palms to layer bloody bite marks on you to get even. Raunchily making out with his a-hole had his giant cheeks suffocate your face, nearly passing out in the process from the light headed state you were left in his clapping cheeks freed you just to smack his double dripping dongs in your face to shower you in cum to lick off yourself. Guess he did get excited.

"Oh human~ To think you would react to that so sinfully~ Interesting~"

SHIU the mediator of dealings between the shady and the shadiest should have known you'd be down for a show and what it would entail at the end. The burnt out cig between his lips would fall out. Strewn across his marble work desk, you lounged in his rolling desk chair as you massaged and groped his peaches to loosen up his fatigued state. Leaving deep imprints engrained into mounds blushing in thanks. Too much workload means easily becoming mush in your titilating touch. Rutting within his fist now coated in creamy thickness as it dripped down his work pants pooled around his ankles. Wiping up some cum from his fist to your fingers, wiping it along his crack, to suck it up sloppily, including right up his hole. That got him moaning out passionately.

"Mmm~! Love, please don't let up now~! So GOOD~!"

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edgeray · 8 months ago

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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alxxbee · 2 months ago

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Ok, I just saw your redesign of Lucifer for the 2P AU you did and I honestly like it a bit better than in the show, he actually feels prideful here since purple is in fact the biblically accurate color of Pride! :D

Also making him a brunette and adding bright blues (a biblically accurate color of Sloth) as accents was a nice choice :) and the golden eyeshadow! :)

But does he still rule Hell in the AU with Alastor coming from Heaven? And what's the latter's role IN Heaven?

(I’m actually not very familiar with 2P lore if there really even is one but i’ll try))

((i also haven’t rewatched the show since it literally came out i maybe have forgor about like many things LMFAO))

(this also got deleted like twice and i’m pissed for rewriting this again)

(anyways here’s 2P Lucifer in my own interpretation)

2P Luci thrives in being alone, finding comfort and strength in it rather than misery. He doesn’t mind ruling Hell on his own. He doesn’t need anybody and doesn’t want anybody. His relationship with 2P Lilith has broken apart completely, due to their different views on redemption and the treatment of sinners. 2P Lilith is tricky since we know almost nothing of her, but i believe that she harbors a deep disdain for Hell and rejects the idea of controlling sinners for personal gain

BUUUUT something that has been in my mind recently is how he is essentially the embodiment of Pride.. but since 2P is (technically) the opposite of something (an inversion) The opposite of pride would be HUMILITY. Instead of making him a sad, insecure ruler, ..I’d like to think he thrives on human’s insecurities, fear, humiliation and self-doubt instead.. (rather than in the show he puts ON a prideful face when in reality he’s quite timid and socially awkward))

His relationship with 2PAlastor is quite decent (2P radioapple 🙂‍↕️) they still bicker but not in a hateful way like they do in the show, lighthearted jokes and banter, reflecting a mutual respect. (Lucifer knows how sensitive 2P Al is, and despite flourishing in humans despair and emotions, He has a soft spot for 2P Al.) ..Oh and they do not try to win over Charlie’s affection, ((2P Charlie actually does not really gaf about them XD))

Does not care for Heaven.. maybe even hates. but is not emotionally affected by his fall, I don’t know if Lucifer actually misses Heaven in the show, we can see how deeply affected he still is by their rejection of his creativity.

so i guess id like to think instead of him feeling hurt or betrayed(?), he feels somewhat thankful. Thankful that he was able to flourish in HIS ideas at last, finally seeing the evil of the world like he intended to.. destroying the order Heaven worked hard to maintain. Maybe he wanted Eve to bite the apple because he WANTED evil to come and corrupt the world, He knew what came with free will. He was a rebellious angel who went against Heaven in every way, intentionally with malice. Implying that Lucifer does not regret his role in giving sinners free will. He also cares for his sinners but not in a good way, more like he wants as many as possible so he could one day potentially top over heaven in power. A power hungry bastard.

He is serious, and a realist. NOT goofy and silly lmao. (Though he has goofy moments i shall not strip him of his whimsical fun entirely)

2P Lucifer and Original Lucifer share some similar qualities aswell. Something Both 2P Luce and Original Luce have in common is that they love Charlie.. and will protect her at all costs. Luci actually maintains a positive relationship with his daughter, He is close with her and tries to be in her life like a good father should, but 2P Charlie doesn’t usually give him the time of day. although she can be quite mean, and not the bubbly type at all like she is in the show, she still loves her father to a certain extent.

Again, we don’t really know much about the characters and the family’s history in the show.. And until we do, everything i said could be changed completely!! Like i said this is something for fun!! I haven’t really been thinking much about this AU, i designed him as a silly redraw but if i ever in the future add more details to his lore i will 🫶

Oh and as for the relationship with Original Alastor and 2P Luci…

Ok that’s all idk i don’t write for a reason 💀💀💀 💔

#lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #appleradio #radioapple #hazbin art #alastor #2p #2p alastor #2p lucifer #2p lucifer morningstar

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azulsluver · 1 year ago

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haunted house au??!! Is that a new event coming up? Will it relate to the last chapter 👀👀

Originally, bunch of ghouls who haunted this old house/apartment or whatever. I wasn't paying a lot of attention to that au but realizing the Halloween event was perfect for starters. For those who read the event then it would make sense of how the characters came to be in the world MC lives in.

Here are the basics of how they accustomed to their new life.

tw: yandere, ghost!twst, mentions of attempted suicide, obsessive/possessive behavior, mentions of gore-ish fantasies and acts, nudity (non-sexual), they watch you sleep every night.

Your apartment is small. With them all inside as ghosts they can physically interact with each other so it gets pretty cramped. They’re attached to you, literally, they aren’t able to leave the place they’re in unless you track down Crowley or COUGH COUGH the man who owned the store. Also moving places since it is “haunted house”, will lead to them following along.

-What did he do to deserve this? To be transferred into a world with no magic, and to be a ghost again! He can't physically touch you or use any sort of magic to collar you, it's a nightmare for Riddle when you break some of the (unknown) rules.

-To keep it short, Riddle is a noxious ghost to have around. He practically breaths down your neck for everything you do. You'll mostly see Riddle inside your bedroom, along with many others who are trying to get comfortable. Besides the bedroom, Riddle is one of the many ghosts who will volunteer to go along with you for your errands. That is if people like Ace or Floyd who always wanna tag with you.

-The second person to be leaning over your shoulder is Trey, he’s more than curious of your everyday life. What type of shampoo you wear, lotion or perfume that reminds him of you. He’s not a nauseous but you’d wish he’d leave you alone as well. The veil covering his face burns into your mind of the people he tore so easily, no matter how much he smiles sweetly at you.

-Like clingy dogs, Deuce is nearly always on you. Be it a hug, hand holding, or trapping you in his arms, he can’t stand the thought of separation now that you’re here and alive. Second clingy dog; Cater. He’s so fascinated by everything and you, often times teasing Deuce to not hoard you all for himself. Cater does bother you as much as Deuce does, his odd fixation on you is unknown and sometimes freaks even Ace out. But Cater thinks it’s adorable, funny even.

-Nobody really eats anything. They don’t have the stomach in your world to actually enjoy cuisines like you.

-Ruggie and Ace are always pulling pranks on you, inside your safe haven has been stripped from you completely. Where privacy privileges are nonexistent as the ghosts free roaming in your home. You’re always on edge with these psychopaths who have no problem using your fear to their advantage.

-None aren’t as kind as Silver however, but he doesn’t bring you much comfort. When everyone feels no guilt of killing the innocent, Silver is nothing but human to you as he shared a deep meaningful conversation with you during the late night. Times where you couldn’t sleep and he just so happens to be awake there for you.

-Speaking of clingy, Leona, Rook, Jack, Kalim, Floyd, AND Malleus are there to make your mental sanity DROP. With their weird confessions and obsession of wanting to cut you open and eat you is bad enough. Their touches burn like hell. Oh will somebody solve the problem of these big mean demons….

-The shop is your solution. With the shop owner spewing nonsense into your ear, hope drains when you catch upon the fact ghosts like them will stay until your time has been served.

-Like death themselves, until you can no longer breath will you be free, not unless one of them manages to snag your soul into their realm.

-However, there is a part-time solution if you wish to have peace and quiet. A sacred scroll that mostly works like a phone seeing how it needs to recharge energy to work; as it is unbreakable, it’s used to ward off evil spirits for a whole week before falling into a deep recharge for a month.

-Was it a scam, maybe, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

-Now there are some who aren’t as obnoxious as the rest, that being Vil, Jamil, Trey, Azul, Jade, Lilia, and Silver. With your space being respected if asked, they’re more curious about your world. Not being obnoxious doesn’t mean they aren’t playful, often making comments on how you’re gonna die. What position, what days, places, all the scenarios that feeds into your brain like scratching chalkboards.

-What should be dreaded most is sleeping hours. The touches are faint and almost weak, something that had to do with your current situation and mood. As your drowsy figure stumbles into bed, somehow they too become more docile and quiet. That sounds good but it’s the fact they don’t sleep. Instead now that you’re state is dreaming off they can’t really interact with anything else. Other than watching you in a single room. Their touch is haunting.

-No one can see them, other than you and Grim. With you and your fat little feline friend have to deal with losers like these. Sadly, Grim can’t do much as no physical contact works, much to Idia’s pleasure.

-Absolutely no one likes any of your friends coming over. Surprisingly even Sebek is possessive over you. They’d glare so hard it makes you pass out from fear they might cause actual harm. As they can’t be seen doesn’t mean the force of their wrath will.

-Having friends over is not a good idea. But leaving home doesn’t get rid of their pissy attitudes. As spirits have strong emotions and auras; leaving you feeling sick and lightheaded by their constant bickering.

-Settling for agreements are tough, people like Azul and Vil have no problem with that. In fact they were one of the many to ask before doing things. You recognize Azul as the one who attempted to drown you, as Floyd dose nothing but babble about how much he cried and how he whines it hurts. Azul and Vil someone….respect you in a way? You certainly aren’t seen as equal but from everything that’s happened to you? A pat on the back is all you’re given.

-Get use to nudity. They sure are but they’ll still be dicks about it: Ace, Sebek, Jamil, Leona, Lilia, Floyd.

-More about their physical touches. It can cause a lot of harm to your body. Leaving marks and evidence of their abuse. Depending on your circumstances it can hurt as bad as getting your nails ripped out, they aren’t able to dig their fingers into your flesh to the point of slicing limb to limb.

-That has something to do with life and deaths they aren’t allowed to kill you ad your are bounded to the book. Serving the years of unknown disasters (murder, accidents, etc…but any attempt of self harm brings agony until you are waking up with their faces hovering above you.) or old age

-Rook makes most of your situations worse somehow. He’s always teasing the others for stupid reason. He wants to sit with you when Leona has a arm slumped over your shoulder on the couch. Invading your personal space in from of Malleus when engaging (not so willingly) conversations. Asking stupid questions like; do you prefer waking up to me or blah blah when you awake from your slumber.

-“Neither.”

-They don’t seem very useful other than bothering you whenever you come back home. The problem is how small room there is, and they complain about it a lot as well.

-Luckily for you they aren’t completely useless nor do their powers; it’s still pretty weak and does little. Malleus is ancient, his power weakens him if used, but he’ll use it for your advantage. Good luck.

-That’s the power, yep. Only key holders contain powerful magic as they did back in their world.

-Technically Malleus has the power to bring good and bad luck. Depends on how silly he’s feeling. Cue the blackish grey skies with green thunder causing crashes outside.

-Riddle’s power does more harm to others however, like his usual unique magic, and the reason why you don’t bring anyone over/ victims are forced to experience a choking hazard, one that’s not visible to touch or see.

-Leona can bring you golds and jewels, those are rare times if he ever thinks you deserve it. As I say when you have a whole drawer of them.

-Azul’s power allows him to create illusions, they are weak yet powerful on your still traumatized soul. When angered he’s petty enough to bring the faces or place of the events that happened in the book.

-Kalim is like a drug, his power is anything including smoke. Smoke that can make you sleep, intoxicate you, feel hunger or smell something like childhood.

-Vil is draining and giving. Having the ability to give or take your fatigues, when used more it can cause you to bleed from the nose and lead to hallucinations. It’s best to be on his good side if you ever feel the need for more enthusiasm energy.

-Idia can create skeletons to the living world. They don’t last long but are able to sedate and hold you. He doesn’t use them much as it quickly drains him. (Skeletons won’t be seen by others btw)

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calware · 1 year ago

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Can I ask you for what it is about Hal you like so much you based your username on him? I think he's a good character tho he was never a favorite of mine so I am curious

1. i am a big fan of robots (/robot adjacent things such as AI) on like... an aesthetic + thematic level :)

i like the look of machinery and one day i hope to be artistically strong enough to make really cool and complex robot illustrations + designs [shoutout to everyone who gives him glowing circuitry btw... ooooh glowey :) can never go wrong with that]

plus, exploring the idea of a person that isn't human.. ough. yes

minorities who don't conform to society (easily or at all) such as people who are neurodivergent, queer, etc. projecting onto nonhuman concepts/characters/species is sooo real

this post

i also love how humans will bond with literally anything, be it a roomba or a pair of silly triangle sunglasses. oooooo you want to think about the inherently kind and compassionate nature of humanity oooo

2. i find him to be so funny. i can't get enough of his personality, the way he talks, etc. for example i made a post forever ago with quotes of his that i find funny. he isn't on screen for a long time but i really think he makes the most out of it lol. he's literally there just to annoy everyone... and i love him for that. he's very snarky while also being deadpan while also being completely full of himself, and not in a way that's annoying for the audience to read, at least to me.

he is also sometimes funny specifically in a silly way, like how he keeps making over 9000 jokes even though the meme's been dead for over 400 years. i just find his dialogue incredibly entertaining to read

3. he is red and red is my favorite color :)

4. he is so accidentally transgender [every friend group got the transgender allegory]. to quote me from 2021:

you know sometimes i think about how hal feels like he was made to “replace” dirk and how it’s his literal job to pretend to be dirk and how he has to learn to accept that he isn’t dirk he’s his own person with his own identity and as he interacts with dirk’s friends he feels like they’re disappointed and that they’d rather speak to the “original dirk” instead of him and also he names himself and also he feels literally trapped in dirk’s shades which is basically his body and he wants to be prototyped so that he can have a body that’s his own and also literally the physical manifestation of who he is but when he asks for it he’s put in danger out of fear and paranoia and when he does end up getting prototyped he’s ecstatic you know i just think about these things a lot

5. because he's a side character and he was given... that ending.... there is a lot of room for fans to do further exploration and interpretation on his character which i think is fun. i like rotating him around in my mind, thinking about what could've been

6. i think it's great that we as a society all collectively decided that we needed to do something to make up for stanley kubrick saying that hal 9000 was a "straight" robot

7. i also think it's great that we as a society all collectively decided we needed to make as many characters referencing hal 9000 as possible. i love this guy let's get more of this guy i will never have enough of this guy

8. i like how he's genuinely mean sometimes. flawed and interesting characters are what make homestuck so interesting to me, and hal is no exception to this

9. the Important part of this post:

THERES FEELINGS.

it's about the hollow feeling of your friends going from thinking of you as family to thinking of you as a stranger in an instant. it's about still trying to be a good person despite being told by everyone you've ever known that you are incapable of emotion and compassion and morals and never quite finding proof that you do feel those things and maybe you even believe it too but you still never stop trying. it's about the horror of being stripped of your autonomy and humanity and body and senses and free will at the age of 13 and when your creator starts to kill you there's nothing you can do but beg. it's about a boy so truly, painfully, and UNFATHOMABLY alone he cuts away chunks of himself and molds them into companions that he can surround himself with to make it seem as if he's a little less alone but in doing so suffocates himself in his own identity. it's about "what if you cloned yourself and it killed you and you were dead and you were alive and the clone is you and it's not and your existence is perpetuated and you've ceased to exist. what if you killed your clone before it could kill you. would that be fucked up or what" it's about the thematic significance of twin motifs. it's about not being able to cry or laugh or dance or sing or scream or fingerpaint or breathe or sigh or chew or stare or run or

10. um. evil robot guy <3 yay ^_^!!

#ask #Anonymous #i say things #homestuck #💾

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yestrnight · 1 year ago

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hiiiii!! if you do sub readers, can you do a sub ditzy/dumb slime reader who gets fucked by kaveh and alhaitham? if you don’t wanna you don’t have to, but thanks for reading this!! nd i really loved the other slime reader fics!!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACTIN' LIKE A DAMN HYPOCRITE !

FROM: kaveh / gn! slime! reader / haitham

SUBJECT: you did something wrong and now you're fucked. literally. except i did not do the request and it became kaveh and haitham fighting over you while you get plowed and haitham's a hypocrite the entire time.

( gn reader but they have a CÙNT, seeex, idk this is pretty tame bois )

no matter how endearing you are— all of your gurgly-voiced, innocent-eyed adorableness— one cannot just let you roam free without some sort of discipline. after all, who knows what you're capable of? you're a humanoid slime that kaveh picked out of nowhere, that alone should raise some bells, and plus the fact that you were sucking the living soul out of their dicks every day should warrant you a damn collar.

alhaitham raises his brow at his roommate, who coddles and coos at you in your slime form. "this is why the pesky thing keeps thrashing our room. you spoil them too much."

kaveh stops babbling to you in baby-talk just to shoot his roommate a glare. "oh, shush you. even if they look like a human, they're still a slime through and through. it can't be helped that they'll be a little rowdy every now and then. it's part of their nature!"

"if their nature is going to cost me 10,000 mora for renovation, then it becomes quite the inconvenience for me, i'm afraid," haitham deadpans, shutting his book and leveling his senior with a stern stare. "as the one who found them, do you even have the means to get that money right now?"

kaveh winces. "well, i... i'll manage somehow. somehow." his tone becomes pitiful at the end. finally realizing that he has to teach his little pet some manners so that they won't keep bankrupting him, he turns you around and tries to muster the harshest glare that he can. you notice that the situation has become serious, and in his hands you slowly morph into your humanoid form as you tilt your head innocently.

"kav... eh?" you gurgle in questioning, wide innocent eyes looking up at him. "did i do something wrong?"

"yes, dear," he starts, and he reddens when he notices haitham's amused expression from the corner of his eye. "that was very naughty of you, to destroy haitham's study while we were away. we... i..." he heaves a breath, wincing as he continues to speak. "we need to punish you. you've been a very bad slime."

"we?" haitham cocks a brow.

"oh come on!" kaveh groans. "i know you want in too!"

he's not wrong about that. not when haitham's deep groans sound throughout the room as he's fucking your wet pussy like his life depended on it. it was nice, to be the one fucking instead of being fucked. he still had his pride after all, even if you had stripped him of it countless of times before.

he pinches your clit as he grinds his cock deep into your cunt. you let out a squeal, a cross between surprise and pleasure as you start leaking more and more slime around his cock. he's always been a petty jerk, and it's become more obvious when he relishes in the cloudy expression on your usually clueless face. the face of his dreams and nightmares, staring down at him as he drowns in his own shameless pleasure as if they haven't stripped him of all his dignity.

he swipes a thumb across your lip— relishes it when you shiver in pleasure from his touch— and dips it into your mouth. "this is how you ought to look like everyday," he says, serious eyes studying your face as you whimper and suck on his thumb. "brainless monsters like you should just sit still and submit like a good pet."

"don't be so mean!" kaveh admonishes his roommate, giving him the side eye as if he's not sat behind you and torturing your chest with those delicate fingers. "we're just disciplining them. you don't have to demean them like that!"

haitham shoots him a glare and kaveh, not one to back down from haitham, glares right back. "you don't have the right to talk, " he spits, glaring moodily down at your fucked expression. "you brought this one into our home and allowed it to destroy both of our lives."

"oh please," kaveh sneers. in his aggravation, he pinches your perky nipples so hard that you let out a small sob as he abuses them. "destroy? more like destroying your ass." his smirk widens when haitham blushes angrily. "we both know that after your done plowing my cute lil [y. name] you're going back to taking their dick in your ass."

haitham clicks his tongue, venting his frustration by rutting too deep into you. he's close, kaveh can see it, if the white liquid leaking from his head and floating in your slme torso was any indication. "as if you don't do that either," haitham snaps.

"well, i'm not a bitch about it," kaveh scoffs.

"you act like damn slut when it comes to [y. name]."

you rock up and down against kaveh while you whine and moan from haitham's rough handling. kaveh pecks a loving kiss on your cheek, snuggling into your neck, and you whine back as you try to find his lips again. kaveh grins at haitham.

"better than acting like you don't get bitched everyday."

haitham growls, but says nothing more. once he's done turning your body into his creamy white, he's coming after kaveh.

#uh whoops #i think i did not do the request at all #i went into my own tangent whoops whoops #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #alhaitham smut #kaveh smut #nite.writes #this does not focus much on y/n :'(( more on kaveh and haitham #i just wanted to post smth already hehe

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silaslich · 14 days ago

Text

Words that melt in your mouth

Simon “Ghost” Riley x afab!reader

Wc - 2k

Summary - Simon is finally home, you show him how that makes you feel.

Cw - 18+, smut

He looks different every time you see him.

Perhaps not literally, but you’ve always seen through the mask. Both real and metaphorical; it’s as if another layer of him is stripped away with each passing footstep through the pools of blood coagulating in the sand and across the broken slabs of concrete that are left in his wake. The splintered buildings crumble and the structures give way around him, yet he never quickens his pace, as if he welcomes it - almost like he’s waiting for it.

“Deserve it” he’d grumble to you, mumbled against your throat when you question a fresh scar or open gash, because his voice is more often than not a grumble or laced with a somber tone that totally contradicts what he might actually be saying.

You’ve learnt to live with that. The self depreciation that comes along with Simon Riley. You’d learnt to live with what little value he puts on his own life and happiness for the sake of feeling like he brought this on himself. He won’t ever change - no. He was made this way, further moulded by the death and destruction he brings with him when he flies over seas and straps a gun to his chest.

He doesn’t talk about it, not much, you never dare to ask. It’s one of those things you don’t talk about, biting your tongue till you taste copper out of morbid curiosity because it’s a basic human reaction when it comes to the life he leads.

Of course you ponder what killing someone is like, doesn’t everyone?

They’re lying if they say no. It’s human. It’s instinct, long ago maybe, but instinct. Fight or flight. Predetermined to be overcome by the adrenaline or fear, so much so it’s often the urge to fight that outweighs the instinct to flee.

If given a chance, a free pass; you’d ask him about all of it.

The bloodshed and the bullets, what it’s like to bury a knife so deep into someones throat that your knuckles meet the thick corded tendons that hold their oesophagus together.

What does death smell like, exactly?

How is it that you make the split second decision on ending someone’s life or letting them live?

The foggy skies filled with rifle smoke and looming rain clouds, washing away the blood splattered stains on the sandstone and what’s left of the men, women and children killed in the line of duty.

Part of you thinks he’d tell you, he’d tell you too much, make you regret asking.

He carries that weight in a way he shouldn’t, but how can’t he? It’s like a chain-link mass of lead attached to his ankle, dragged with him wherever he goes, the clank of metal resonating in his ears as the weight almost pulls him under - soon enough he’ll sink.

That’s why he looks different.

It’s not the scars that tally up with each visit or the way his lungs rasp with the tacky sickness of tobacco hindering them that have caused him to change. Nor the length of his hair, wether it’s newly cropped or he’s let it grow a bit longer, it’s not even the sadness in his eyes that he tries to hide as anger or as lacking any emotion at all.

It’s the way he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. His guilt and his sadness; an ugly creature with jagged teeth and weathered skin, a stench of booze emanating from its skin when it hisses his name in his ear. Hissing like the snakes in his childhood, tormenting him in his bed, when the image of his guilt and resentment build themselves into a tangible image -

He’s that little boy again. Too small to stand up for himself and his mother, too weak to open his mouth and say what he thinks, and too much of hopeless dreamer to pray to god that things will get better. They didn’t. He cared too much back then, now he doesn’t care at all.

It stings, somewhat, knowing he’s not fighting to come back, but at the end of it all - you don’t think you can blame him.

He’s sitting on the sofa, a book in hand, flipping mindlessly through the pages. You linger in the doorway, drinking him in for a second, he sits in his own blanket of silence. You assume he enjoys the quiet, he’s drowned in too much noise for months at a time, it must be a nice feeling to leave it all behind. If only for a few days.

You make your way over to him, he spares you a glance, watching you come close. “Alright darlin’?” His voice is low, it rumbles in his chest when he speaks, it makes your stomach flip. Even now, after so much time has passed you both by, the novelty never wears off. “Much better with you home” you push his hand down, the one holding the book, climbing over his knees and setting yourself astride his thighs. You feel the muscles in his legs tense beneath you, so sturdy, solid.

The book is discarded, tossed aside, all the focus is on you. He tilts his head, the light catches the scars littering his face, the one that cuts through his right eyelid and the one that drives down through his lips at a sharp angle are the most prominent, you tell him that they add character- he disagrees.

“That so?” He asks with a raised brow, you nod profusely, “indeed” you purse your lips “all the other fellas that come over aren’t nearly as fun as you” he pinches the slight flesh over your waistband and you squeal, he doesn’t let up. “You’re a cheeky fucker” he smiles, slightly toothy, he dips his chin when he smiles out of instinct and you wish he wouldn’t.

You cup his face in your hands, mapping out his features, the notch at the bridge of his nose from multiple bad breaks and the speckles of honey that litter the deep walnut-brown of his eyes, everything’s perfect to you. “You’re so pretty Simon” you huff, “it’s unfair” you jut out your lip and he pinches at your flesh again, “don’t start” he groans and you lean forward to bury your face in his neck, drawing him in. You wish you could fold him up really small and put him in your pocket, a keepsake, treasured forever. As long as you remember to take him out before you stick the clothes in the washer.

He searches your eyes, there’s that vulnerability that sticks there, disguised as so many other things, but nothing gets past you, not when it comes to him. You lean forward and press your lips to his, a tender peck. “So so unfair” you say between kisses, dotting them over his face, over his scars and freckles. He groans again in annoyance and his fingers root deeper into your flesh, one big hand on your thigh while the others at the small of your back. He’s had enough, “come ‘ere” he meets you half way, back straightened as one hand moves to cup your jaw, he kisses you in that tender way that makes your bones melt into nothingness.

Simon’s efforts are never halfhearted, he starts as he means to go on, that cruel tongue and those plush lips, a deadly combination. It’s never innocent, he kisses you with intent, with meaning and passion and you can never deny him. You’d be denying yourself, still after all this time you never get tired of this, of him and his ways.

You roll your hips forward, teasing, testing. Simon moans into your mouth. Unabashed, all for your ears to hear, he doesn’t hide it from you. His hand cups your throat, thumb stroking over your neck, tenderly. Your fingers root into his clothes, warping the fabric you’re sure, you need him closer. “Fuck” he rasps, the word travels from his lips to yours, right down to your core, dropping lower. He’s hard, it’s a given, doesn’t take him much when it comes to you, it’s an issue at this point - the two of you had to return home from food shopping the other day because you made an indirect innuendo about the uses for whipped cream and he couldn’t pick his mind up out of the gutter.

It’s not as if it’s still the honeymoon phase, so much time has passed and yet you’re still both horny at the drop of a hat.

You smile against his lips, catching his bottom lip with your teeth. “Can’t wait Simon”, he growls something low in his throat. You both fumble with zippers and pants, shoving layers out of the way, as quick as possible.

It’s a sensation you hope you’ll never have to forget when he pushes home, rooted deep inside you, his cock slicked in his own spit where he wasted only a second to ensure it didn’t sting too much. It’s always too much, there’s so much of him, but you wouldn’t ever change a thing. You gasp, rocking forward as Simon hisses, bruising your flesh in his grip, it’s always so good.

“Fuckin hell” he groans, tilting his head back till the cords of his throat bunch beneath his skin, straining. You preen, “it’s so good Simon” your voice carries off, rolling your hips to a rhythm as he guides you by the thighs. It’s gotten so hot, your brow is sweating and your skin is clammy, you don’t want to rush but you need this so badly. “Wanna cum Si” you moan, leaning forward as you brace your palms on his stomach, he nods. “Yeah? Wanna cum for me love? Gonna cum all over my cock?” he smirks, eyes black as a shark, a predator - you nod like a maniac.

Your skin all but shreds itself to pieces when he brings his hand between your bodies, his touch is like electric, sending sparks right to your nervous system. He knows just how to get you going, just how to bring your to the edge and let you teeter there for as long as he sees fit - today? He’s not playing games. “Oh god” you pant, throwing your head back, digging your nails into his shirt to keep yourself upright. “Right there, that it love?” He asks, tone dripping in sex, “yes- yes!” You gasp. He hums, watching as he pleasures you, his lids are low as he watches his own show. You moan, “I’m so close-god” you groan, you’re so nearly there.

His hips rise to meet your rhythm, fucking up into you, pressing deep - it’s heaven. He’s panting, “m’close love” he grunts, lids low as he focuses on where the two of you meet. You arch your hips and it’s enough to topple you both, the way you squeeze his cock as you cum sends him over the edge just after you and the sounds he makes will forever be engrained in your memory.

You’re both heaving, catching your breath, slicked in sweat as your clothes stick to your skin uncomfortably- no time to even remove them. He leans forward again and catches your lips sweetly, big soft Simon Riley, kissing you gently after fucking on his sofa, what a good day.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #lichwrites #cod fanfic #cod mw ghost #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley x afab reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty ghost #ghost x reader #ghost cod

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tinydefector · 3 months ago

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Hello Tiny, I'm a little nervious to ask but here I go. Feel free to respond when ever you want.

It's regarding the effects of perfume/cologne in cybertronias.

I was thinking about Tarn being unable to transform for a time due to not having a Tcog replacement in hand. While he is trying to get one, his frustration and anger increases and his little human gets the idea of drenching themselves with the small amount of perfume they were able to obtain during their time with the DJD. The human tries to calm Tran by rubbing their hands between his cheeks, just wanting for him not to lose his mind and focus on his search. If it works, this could turn into a new addiction for Tarn.

PSA: I also want to thank you for all your writings. They make my day and bring a smile to my face.

Ohhhh, but like, could you imagine he turns from this very agitated bot who is extremely quiet because he goes dead quiet to the point that it's like there is dead space around him. And the next thing he is getting hit with this very sweet scent that smells like one of his favourite energon treats from before the war. And he can smell it from the other side of the ship. He literally stalks his say over there before realising it's coming from his quarters. He opens the door and stalks his way inside, looking around for the sickly sweet scent to find his human. A small rumble leaves his vocalizer which in turn makes you turn around to meet his glowing optics.

"Strip, slowly"

He calls out, and you discard your clothes slowly as he stalks his way closer. His masked face presses into your back as he lets out another deep rumble, one servo coming around to grip your hips and pull you back against his frame. The moment his optics land on the small glass bottle.

"Pour it on yourself"

He calls out again, watching and waiting, and the moment the bottle is empty he is on you like a hungry wolf. Mask pulled up enough so his lips can lap at the sweet taste of the perfume on your skin, denta leaving bite marks across your skin he scoops you up into his arms.

It's safe to say that you're not leaving his berth until he has made sure to have licked your skin clear of the perfume, taken you thoroughly. He will curl his frame around you as his engine lets out a deep purr as his face presses into your back as the two of you lay on the berth together. It helped him take his mind off the T-cogs, and it gives him something else he's rather invested in. You can expect to find many more perfumes left as a gift for you.

To Tarn it smells like Garent crusted Salfate crystals sticks that he liked adding into any type of energon.

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@kgonbeiden

@murkyponds

@autobot79

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

@ladyofnegativity

@desertrosesmetaldune

@stellasfallow

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa

@shinseiokami

@tea-loving-frog

@aquaioart

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers lost light #mtmte #valveplug #mtmte tarn #transformers tarn #idw tarn #tarn #tarn x reader #Tarn x human

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dearly-somber · 11 months ago

Text

Heat Stroke | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, fluff, eventual romance, mutual (👀) pining, f2l (friends-to-lovers) humor, found family, high school!au, eventual smut

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 836

-> warnings. Nothing other than some suggestiveness I think

-> a/n. This is my favorite installment :>

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Oct. 26th, 2022 @ 13:34

-> fin. Sat., Jun. 10th, 2023 @ 23:04

-> edited. Tues., Nov. 14th, 2023 @ 12:44

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

There’s always that one summer-day where it’s so hot you genuinely think the only way to escape the heat would be to somehow remove your skin and then everything underneath it.

Today is that day. And you just so happen to be spending it with an equally uncomfortably-sweaty shifter named Jeon Jungkook.

His white tank top sticks to his skin as sweat (quite literally) drips down his exposed sides. His thighs strain against a pair of black basketball shorts, and his comforter lay kicked off the side of the bed to make as much room for fresh air as possible.

You lay in a similar state: your short-shorts barely cover the top halves of your thighs and you’ve rolled your tank-top until just below your breasts in an effort to leave as much of your sweaty skin open to the single fan placed desperately at the foot of the bed.

“I’m gonna die,” Jungkook moans loudly, throwing an arm over his face. You look over at him with an amused snort. His shirt has ridden up, showing off the skin at his waist.

You try and glide your eyes quickly over the sight of his abs so he doesn’t notice you staring.

You watch as a drop of sweat runs down his side and resist the urge to push your hand under the slit in his shirt to run your palm over his stomach. You shake your head free of that fantasy immediately, blaming your inappropriate train of thoughts on heat stroke. (A more honest part of yourself knows it’s because seeing Jungkook sweaty and frustrated is doing things to you.)

“I hate summer,” you groan, turning on your stomach in an effort to air out the sweat collecting between your shoulder blades and the small of your back.

“I wish the river was closer.” Jungkook sighs, his eyes still covered by his arm. He grabs one side of the waistband of his shorts and pushes it down until it’s barely around his hips. Your eyes glue themselves to his v-line for a few seconds before you force them closed.

“No way in hell I’m walking an hour in this heat to go swimming,” you say. Your heat-stroked brain comes up with the tempting idea to strip yourself down to your underthings. It’s not like you have anything to be embarrassed about��you’re wearing a matching set of underwear, and though you have some fat around your lower abdomen (uterus-wielder things, amiright?), you’ve never been too bothered by it. Especially not when you’re getting so hot you feel like you’re about to melt into a Y/N-shaped puddle of sweat.

Besides, it’s not like you’re trying to impress anybody…

You briefly open your eyes and deduce that Jungkook isn’t faring much better. His shorts sit dangerously low on his hips (you swear he pushed them down even further) and he has a hand up his shirt, over his stomach.

You really couldn’t give fewer craps when you say, “Okay, fuck this shit,” and sit up to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in only a black sports bra. As much as you wish you could take them off, you decide to keep your shorts on for the sake of decency (and societal standards for states-of-undress with your completely platonic male best friend).

“Just take off your shirt, Kook,” you say as you lay down again, already feeling much better without your shirt sticking to your skin.

“You could’ve just asked if you wanted to see me shirtless.” Jungkook grins, sitting up to reach behind him and tug his shirt over his head. He sighs when the cool-ish air from the fan hits his sides and chest, laying back down next to you.

“Ha ha.” You roll your eyes. Trust in Jungkook to be an annoying (albeit correct) little shit even in 37°C (98,6°F) heat. “Don’t get too excited, pup.”

He turns to look at you and whines. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You don’t bother hiding the incredulousness in your voice. “It’s cute! It’s better than bunny.” You nudge his bicep with your elbow.

He scoffs. “Bunny fits you perfectly.”

“Yeah? Name one thing that makes me a bunny.” You push yourself onto your elbow so you can look at him better.

“You’re skittish and jump at the smallest sounds—almost more than Jin hyung does. When you chew you chew quickly and kind of to the side of your cheek. When someone calls you, you look up in the way rabbits do when they think they heard something dange—“

You gently push his cheek to the side, unable to stop your smile at his adorably delighted giggle. “Okay, okay, I get it. You can stop, now.”

He grins and closes his eyes, his hands intertwined on his lower stomach. “Whatever you say, Bunny.”

You scrunch your nose disapprovingly. “If anything, you’re the bunny with your cute little nose scrunches and bunny smiles—“

“You think I’m cute?”

“Jeon Jungkook I swear—”

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centrally-unplanned · 6 months ago

Text

Adam Tooze giving some pitch-perfect pornography targeted at me specifically with Israel's "Gaza 2035: A three-step master plan to build what they call the Gaza-Arish-Sderot Free Trade Zone", capped with an AI generated Gaza-Dubai:

I'm in love, this is so glorious. "The world if Israel could play around with Gaza like a little set of Legos" tell me this is not identical energy:

Except its not a shitpost its an actual report from the Office of the Prime Minister. And folks we have got it all! The most convoluted administration system you could possibly imagine for no reason:

The new free trade zone would be administered by Israel, Egypt, and what the Israeli Prime Minister calls the Gaza Rehabilitation Authority (GRA)—a proposed Palestinian-run agency that would oversee reconstruction in Gaza and “manage the Strip’s finances.”

A cutesy little minimalist graphic of all the brand new industries that will magically become globally competitive in export markets because Israel says so:

The beach resorts are in my beloved!! But what are the little factories you ask? Oh nothing, just electric car production facilities!

Remember, before building your first factory, you need 18 Burj Khalifas. We economists call this "infrastructure development", take notes.

It will have high-speed rail through its center, oil projects on the coast, and of course, I'm saving the best for last - a rail project to NEOM:

🥳The 🥳Line 🥳Mentioned 🥳

The legend on the map literally just says "a mega project" like, oh yeah, one of those! See em all the time.

Now, you might be asking - Ash, if this is your goal wouldn't you have not destroyed every square inch of habitable urban infrastructure in Gaza and shredded their economy into scraps of paper soaked in blood if your plan was to Singapore-on-the-Sea the place? You sweet summer child, those apartments? They are apartments of the past, darling, you don't need organically developed urban ecologies built over time to compliment human habitation. That is for fucking libs. All of this "war" thing was just set-up to create a blank slate for the construction of The Line 2: Its Definitely Real This Time!

I am going to murder James C Scott myself just so I can hover this plan over his corpse and watch the sheer hubris of this monument to the state's desire for legibility and technocratic solutionism resurrect him from the goddamn grave.

"Well....at least after all this they would have to recognize Palestine as a stat-" Woah woah woah woah, hold on:

The final stage would be when Palestine signs the Abraham Accords signaling “Palestinian self-rule,” albeit without statehood

Lets not...lets not get overambitious here. Baby steps, you know? We have to be careful.

Anyway this is the most ludicrously ill-considered and ill-presented reconstruction plan I have ever seen in my life and I shudder to think that, instead of it being an off-hand drip of propaganda intended solely to brush off nosey reporters and diplomats, it might actually be serious. Bibi hasn't let me down yet on the "thinking things through" front!

But tbc if this was fiction - instead of a ruthlessly grim reality - the Regional Deputy Minister of Trade charged with implementing this technocratic abortion would be my precious little blorbo and I would stan her to hell and back.

#i/p conflict #technocracy '''''fanblog'''''

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cringefailvox · 17 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/cringefailvox/764976225598029824/my-ultimate-fantasy-for-hazbin-s2-is-a-reveal-of?source=share

I give zero fucks about Alastor, but Valentino *IS* irredimable, rape *IS* the worst thing a person can commit. More than rape, Valentino ENSLAVES sex workers, dehumanizes them and abuse every single part of their existence. He is irredimable. He is a monster. Rapists are monsters and they don't deserve any kind of sympathy. The fandom hating Val more than Alastor is not a big deal as some people think it is, it's literally being a normal human being. (Alastor is also terrible, a serial killer and what he does to Husk is horrible, but even if he gets some sort of redemption it would be much better than giving a rapist redemption)

i hear you, but i respectfully disagree on a few points. apologies for how philosophical / unrelated to hazbin this is going to get, but i'm also a correlated philosophy major and i can't help it.

firstly, i generally resist the urge to strip the humanity from people who have committed atrocious crimes, because it's a slippery slope. dehumanization is always extremism, even if you're doing it to someone who you might think deserves it, because then how do we measure when a person has gone too far to be human anymore? how can we objectively measure the no-return threshold of irredeemability? i personally don't think we can, and that we shouldn't try. it classifies certain actions as outlandishly beyond the pale of the everyday person, when in reality anyone is capable of doing horrific things, and i'm not interested in obscuring that truth. it absolves responsibility.

secondly, with the understanding that obviously we're discussing a fictional character that has no bearing on the material world, i am wary of the claim that rape is the worst thing someone can do. not because i disagree, but because i don't believe in some objective scale of badness where each crime is neatly filed and ranked according to how horrible it is. it's sort of ridiculous how subjective morality is when you get down to brass tacks and super frustrating occasionally but it is what it is.

i also don't think there's such a thing as someone being irredeemable. cards on the table, i'm religious, and my tradition holds that redemption is possible for everyone - someone who is incapable of change may as well not be alive, and no one is incapable of missing the mark. in judaism, murder is the worst thing you can do someone, because there can be no complete repentance "unless the injured party has been appeased" (mishna yoma 8:9), and you can't repair a relationship with a dead person. of course, there's no compulsion for forgiveness either.

this is also tied to my rejection of punitive justice / the death penalty in general but i digress. this is really dicey, subjective moral territory, and i really don't have a perfect answer. i am just personally bothered by the idea that we can categorically revoke someone's ability to feel remorse and change their ways if they've "gone too far" and become some nebulous, inhuman monster by crossing the subjective line we've drawn in the sand. you can believe that rape is the absolute worst thing anyone can do, but i just want you to consider why you believe that beyond the cop-out that your belief makes you "a normal human being". your moral values are not universal, and neither are mine, and i would gently suggest examining your principles and whether they're based on punishment or rehabilitation & coexistence. there's really excellent scholarship out there on restorative justice and the shift away from carceral thinking, so i'll link some of those here:

breaking free of the prison paradigm by judy c. tsui

sexual violence and the possibilities of restorative justice by nicole westmarland, et al

restorative justice: the challenge of sexual and racial violence by barbara hudson

feminism, rape, and the search for justice by clare mcglynn

#i'm sorry this ended up so long. apparently i feel more strongly about this than i thought i did #ask

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5eraphim · 10 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/5eraphim/706289447610761216/medic-or-engineer-with-someone-who-ran-away-on

you touch on the idea of collars briefly at the end of this - i love it. i feel like engie specifically would stick a shock collar on just to make sure attitude is kept in check, complete with a little tag with his title on it (whether it be daddy or sir or whatever)

Character: The Engineer 🦫 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: M ( MINORS DNI, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: yandere, x reader, abduction, mind games, possessiveness, NSFW mention, dehumanization, forced domestication, reader is kept gender neutral

Word Count: 750

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

From your perspective, the collar was a cruel physical reminder of your place, forever shackled to Engie's side as his enduring live-in hostage. An untamperable heavy-industrial device which clipped your wings and effectively nullified any resilience you tried to hold onto or any kind of hope to fight him off. Let alone ever regain your freedom. With this painfully literal weight around your shoulders, the grief felt altogether too much to endure. It's not like he'd officially "won" by forcing you to wear a collar, but the collar was as depressing as it was humiliating.

From Engie's perspective, the collar was, at least at first, little more than a fun side project. An electrical collar designed to keep his favorite test subject from escaping confinement, strong enough to prevent human tampering from the inside. But as he understood exactly how it made you feel so domesticated and broken down, the more it spurs him on.

The slightest consolation you had to comfort yourself with pertaining to the shock collar and a tracking device within, at least you could trust Engie to design something comfortable and practical. Something nearly impossible for you to chip away at or to break by yourself. (As if any other Conagers would help you escape if you asked.)

It wouldn't be painfully tight or abrase your skin. Engie would be sure to pad the inside generously to keep the cold, hard metal from damaging your neck. Still, while this protects you, it has the unfortunate side effect of making the device much bulkier, forcing you to be almost always aware of the device strapped around your neck's sensitive skin.

Engie likes to mindlessly drum his fingers against the metal when the two of you are cuddling or run his thumb along the area where the lock is connected to the collar. Especially loves the sound of his gloves squicking as they rub against the collar.

Nothing is sexier to him than thinking about you stripped down in nothing but the collar, warming his bed at night, waiting faithfully for him to return home after a long day. It really fuels his possessive side to see you shackled with his collar, without any clothes to hide behind and nowhere to run, forever bound to his bedside by the threat of force. He's also turned on thinking about you desperately trying to cling to your inner resilience and attempting pitifully to fight back. Knowing you're not entirely mind-broken yet but still have that helpless look in your eye and a kind of limp quietness on account of the exhaustion that fuels his ego and libido.

It's painful to imagine breaking free now. You've been shocked as punishment for bad behavior before, and you didn't want to think about what you'd feel if you tried to go out of bounds now. Engie would also install a physical hook on the back of the collar, giving him the option to lock or chain you down physically with some kind of a leash if he feels like it. (Additionally, as a shorter guy, he likes that he has the option to force you to look up at him by grabbing onto the collar and craning your neck upward to look him in the eye.)

If you still try to fight him back and refuse to give in and let him take control, Engie would be more than happy to whip you up a pair of locking cuffs to match the collar and to see how long you want to resist while you're forced to entirely rely on him.

Sooner than you anticipated, the paranoia of being forced to live like this caught up with you. Feeling endlessly on edge, aware of the weight around your neck keeping you from letting your guard down around Engie.

Always looking over your shoulder, expecting to see him behind you when you thought you were alone. The psychological toll of having to live like this was almost as bad as the physical toll. With every passing day, you feared your grip on reality, your memories of a life outside of the Conagher family land slipping from your mind as you were reprogrammed in real-time against your will to become nothing but a subhuman docile and well-behaved pet.

The name Conager is engraved on the back, but yours isn't; as far as Engie is concerned, you're his property first and foremost and a person of your own second.

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mrsshabana · 1 year ago

Text

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 ~”

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟖: 𝐒&𝐌

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary At first, you were just another meal to him. But when he hurt you, you didn't beg for him to stop, you actually liked it. Maybe he could have some fun with you before he makes you his next meal. If you can handle it. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, Sadist!Gyutaro, Masochist!Reader, violence, blood, gore, rough sex, vaginal sex, creampie. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.3k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist

The only reason he chose you was because you were pretty. Jealousy filled his veins when he laid his eyes upon your beautiful visage. He would make you pay, make you suffer by his hands.

He swiftly plucked you from the crowd and took you back to his underground lair where he and his sister eat their prey. Stripping you of your clothes so he can feast on your flesh. You kicked and screamed just like the others, you weren’t special. At least not until he sunk his teeth into your skin. He wanted to make it slow and painful, slowly sinking his teeth into your neck as he holds you down.

A soft, pleasured whimper escapes your lips when his fangs tear into your skin. Never has he seen a human react that way. It makes his eyes go wide and he has to pull away to look at you. Is this really happening right now? You should be crying and begging for your life. But here you are, deriving pleasure from the pain he inflicts upon you.

He looks down at your flustered face. You quickly turn your head to the side to avoid his gaze, ashamed that he just heard you moan.

A devilish smirk appears on his face as he roughly grabs you by the hair and pulls your head up, “You like this don’t you?”

You can’t muster the courage to respond to him, only moaning and blushing more from his rough treatment of you.

“How disgraceful,” he growls, “You should be begging for your life. But here you are, enjoying being tossed around by a demon of all things!”

Out of nowhere, he cups your pussy in his other hand, “And already wet too. Don’t think I couldn’t smell your arousal when I bit you, sweetheart.” He collects your slick on his fingers and brings it up to his mouth. Groaning as he savors your taste.

“Guess I could have a bit of fun with you,” he rasps, “Then get rid of you when I’m done.”

You know you should be afraid right now, your life is literally in this man's hands and he hasn’t shown any intention of letting you walk away alive. But yet you still can’t help but feel some kind of twisted attraction towards the demon. His sadistic personality makes your knees weak, and not to mention his appearance. He looks like a monster, but that only turns you on more. Especially when he glares at you with those yellow eyes and smirks with those sharp teeth.

“F-feels good,” you stutter, speaking quietly. Too ashamed to admit to him that you do indeed like what he’s doing to you.

“You like it when I hurt you?” he grabs your thigh, slowly sinking his nails into your flesh, “What a fun human you are ~”

“ Ahhh ,” you whimper in satisfaction as blood rolls down your thigh.

He leans down and licks the blood from your leg, “Mm… taste so sweet too. Might lose control and devour you while I’m fucking you. I bet you’d like that huh?”

You nod shyly and open your legs, a clear invitation. If you’re going to get eaten alive, then you might as well go out with a bang.

His erection is already straining at the front of his pants, you can clearly see that he’s big too. But that only makes you more excited.

His eyebrow twitches as he looks down at your soaking cunt, it looks so inviting. “ Fuck ,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls down his pants. His hefty cock springing free, the length and girth of it will be sure to hurt you in more ways than one.

He grabs you by the hips and flips you onto your stomach, “Get on your hands and knees. Now,” he commands.

Your legs shake with anticipation as you get into the position for him, exposing everything to his predatory gaze.

“That’s it.” He grabs your ass with his left hand, and forcefully slaps it with his right.

You squeal at the sudden pain, and the sting of his hand is left on your skin. A red mark immediately forming, bringing a smile to his face.

And without warning he shoves his cock into your entrance, sending a surge of pain through you as he forces himself inside. Literally tearing you to accommodate him. It makes his immediate thrusts even more painful, but that is the whole reason he’s doing it after all.

“ Fuuuuck you’re so tight,” he groans, slapping your ass again as he continues at a rough pace.

“ Ah-aaahh! S-slow down please,” you beg. Partly because it really does hurt, but also because you know your begging will only make him go harder.

He leans forward, grabbing you by the hair and lifting your face. He lowers his face beside yours and looks at you from the corner of his eyes. “Gyutaro,” he grunts, “Scream it. Now."

He punctuates his command with a violent thrust, ramming into your cervix.

“ G-Gyutaro! ” you scream.

“ Ngh - That’s it. Good girl,” he coos. Letting go of your hair and moving his hands to cup your breasts. His nails dig into the fat of your chest while he holds you against him, thrusting deep inside of you.

The pain is overwhelming and your vision is blurred by the tears flooding your eyes. Every part of you hurts. Your neck where he bit you, your thighs, your ass, your scalp, your now bleeding breasts, and worst of all your cunt.

His hands are covered in blood and so are yours. You don’t know where it all came from, but there is a pool of blood beneath you, soaking your palms as you hold yourself up.

The pain feels so good. And he loves administering it.

You don’t know if it’s from the overwhelming pain or from the blood loss, but you’re starting to feel light headed. And it doesn’t help that he keeps hitting your sweet spot with every thrust of his hips. Not to mention how hard his bony pelvis slams into the flesh of your ass, surely to leave a bruise. But that’s the least of your worries.

“ G-Gyu… ta-tarooo ,” you moan desperately, as you begin to lose your balance and everything starts to blur.

“Stop whining, you pathetic girl,” he growls, his thrusts becoming animalistic.

Looking down at you, he can see that you’re struggling to hold yourself up. So with a sadistic chuckle, he grabs your wrists and pulls them behind you, keeping you held up.

“Can’t even hold yourself up? You’ll be punished for that.” His lips curl into a twisted smile, showing off his bloody teeth. He moves your right hand up to his mouth, and bites off your index finger. Promptly chewing through the bone and swallowing it.

The combination of pleasure and pain is far too much for you. “ Gyutaro! ” You scream his name at the top of your lungs and cum all over him. Your tight walls squeezing him as your body shakes. The combined sensations are too much for you to handle and everything goes black.

Your body goes completely limp and Gyutaro continues fucking you at a rough pace. Until he finally spills inside of you, groaning as he’s filled with ecstasy. Painting your insides white as he shoots thick ropes of his semen.

Finally, when his orgasm has subsided he lets go of your arms and you collapse on the ground.

“Human?” he asks as he pulls out of you and lifts your head to get a look at your face. “Oh… she’s passed out.”

Blood drips down his chin as he grins sadistically, getting an idea.

“I could just let you bleed out,” he chuckles, “ Or , I could turn you into a demon and we could have more fun. Then I could be as rough as I like.”

He looks down at your blood covered body as he thinks about it.

Gyutaro brings out his sickles and cuts his wrist, hovering it over your face and letting his blood drip into your mouth.

“This is going to be so much fun.”

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #gyutaro smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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