#meaning to stiffen or numb

[anantaru]

GENSHIN + NUT IN ME NOVEMBER

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — who cares about NNN? your boyfriend and you certainly don't!

— ꒰ including ꒱ — neuvillette, scaramouche, childe, wriothesley

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fem! reader, breeding kink, slight size kink, unprotected sex, very messy & lots of cum, they're a little mean & tease a lot, pussy drunk genshin men

— ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱

from the current appearances, neuvillette could hardly indulge in the magnificent view emitting from underneath his large body— and the handsome man was just about to open his mouth, precisely to spell out those candid words and praises into your ears when you're prompt in your own gentle ministrations by wrapping both arms around his neck to shush him before a mere word could slip, tickling the fine hair on the back of his head.

"it seems— ugh, like we've lost," neuvillette was barely capable to say anything out loud without in his words resulting in crumbling apart when you squeeze around him tighter, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head in pleasure at the way you were gripping him, your lungs feeling like they stretch out on each new whimper, whine and writhe as he fucks you in sheer desperation.

a faint outline of a groan exudes from the both of you when he bottoms into you again— while now, what was slow at first, meaning just gentle and slow thrusts in and out of you every so softly to build up the fizzing pleasure on your wet insides, soon manifested into something else, the rapid shoves making your things tense tight, your used cunt merging into his stiffened erection as you shake beneath him.

your face squeezes into that of deep pleasure, your nose puckered around the bridge and brows knitted together when your climax was right around the corner to trigger something unnamable in your stomach, a sinking fieriness that almost appeared to be as strong as to numb the salacious thrusts and grinds that were becoming messier, so greedy and harder to tame.

you hear it, those lewd noises, and your body reacts to them as well, a quivering murmur to his tone as soft tremors of neuvillette's groans exhale from his mouth and slip right into your searing kiss— because you see now, you're in control of his mind, and at this rate you're practically begging him to go harder on your cunt with each smack of his hips convulsing on your core when he slants back into you to press his delicate lips against yours, pushing his tongue in between as your slick smears along the thin skin of his shaft, your walls throbbing and turning with each new wave of unforgiving thrusts of his hips splitting you in half.

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱

"why did you even believe i would consider going without this for a whole month?"

oh, who would've thought? but this happened to be way easier for scaramouche, more delicious and empowering than any reluctance or guilt when the both of you haven't even gotten through one day of november without practically being all over each other— your hips arching into his strong thrusts forward, fingers curling into the disheveled bed sheets as your soft insides clench up around his rigid erection. 

"i thought it'll be— fuck, it'll be fun!" you attempt to reason with your boyfriend, although sweetly smirking against his lips demanding entry into your mouth as you began to pepper searing kisses on them, your tongue teasing into his warmth to lap across his wet muscle, your skin sticking against his own as his hips roll back and forth your clenching hole, breaking through your thighs squeezing together with fierce need.

scaramouche breaks the kiss at once, "look at me," he demands, visibly swallowing before taking a deep breath, his voice surprisingly low, a pinch of a rasp tottering on top of your lips as his tone was evidently wrapped inside the limit of a domineering cocoon fully consisting of vicious pleasure.

"you know that's no fun," you tremble as you shake under his looming body, his hips pressing in deep, in fact, so deep that you were now full of him, crowded as your pussy made his pace stutter, your hole overflowing with his throbbing cock and altering the steady stream of pleasure running through your veins, his grin only widening at the feeling of how much you liked the way he fucked you so desperately.

"but this is fun, wouldn't you agree?" scaramouche made sure to convey each of his words with a new, even stronger, sharp thrust into your warm hole as his balls tighten against you, the heaviness of his length pressing through your solid ring pulls your body in a tremble, your face now buried in the curve of his neck as you climax with a loud cry of his name, the sudden compression of your pussy making it harder for him to contain himself as he cums hard as well, spilling hot white ropes of sticky cum deep inside your pulsing spots that the heaviness of him made you wince softly.

"this— oh this feel so good." kuni mumbles against your lips with a large smirk manifesting on his handsome features, grunting as he continues to pound sloppily into you, "you feel so good," his hips treasuring how your cunt continuously throbbed around his shaft as you close your eyes due to exhaustion, breathing out heavily at the same time, "all mine."

— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱

"ajax, i don't— ahh, think that's what no nut november is about,"

you really do not have to tell childe— and the salacious thoughts he had about breaking the little bet between you was clinging on to his brain ever so vividly, until he simply could not resist himself and split your thighs underneath him the second he stepped home, pressing his slender fingers into the flesh of your ass as he moves you back and forth on his length, the hot breathes he expelled going hand in hand with each new thrust controlling your frame, his heaves fanning against your skin as his delicious traces invade your psyche and cloud your mind.

"you wouldn't say?" there was a curve in his voice, one that made his sentence sound all the more mischievous and deadly as childe clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

you know you're done for when his hips suddenly pick up on pace, as if he wanted, no, needed to show you that he was very much aware that he was breaking the rules of such silly little bet, every massive shove amplified by the enduring limbs in his muscular frame, your inflamed pussy squelches loudly with the wet smacks of his hips giving you no time to rest.

you whimper, if you can even call it that because in truth, it was a desperate attempt of a pathetic little sob, your glasslike eyes beclouded with deep-rooted bliss— and ugh, the harbinger was just absolutely intoxicating, it's totally unfair! and you were reacting just the way he wanted you to as you found yourself to indulge in his maddening fragrance penetrating your tottering skin, your nose buried into his neck as you inhale it deeper, sneakily teasing your fingers into his silken hair.

it only needed a couple more thrusts before you unravel underneath his looming shade at the same time as the tightened bubble in childe's stomach snapped in two, thick and heavy whites causing havoc inside of your pussy when you feel his tongue push into your mouth as to drink in your filthy moans, swallow the desperate attempts to signalize just how fucking good he felt when he pushes his load all into your little cunt to keep it there, the delicious pleasure on your lower area weighing you down the bed as you're nothing but a tremble left, your hole tensing every so often before he pulls out to watch the sweet mess he made on you.

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

a flavorful multitude of skilled touches deeply dwell inside of your swelling sensitivity— with one trace in particular that sought out to reach the deepest parts of your responsive nerves.

wriothesley turns the air in the room heavy within the period of a single heart beat as he presses into your hole, the lewd squelches of wetness slapping against each other overcrowding the room as he fucks you with his weighty cock— a thin sparkle of sweat persisting over his chiseled chest as you squeeze roughly at his shaft, sending him deeper into you.

but wriothesley needed more, he had to make it somehow messier than it already was— because careful now and listen close, but the duke had found your overly irritating talk about being so dear confident about going a whole fucking month without doing this a little bit insulting, in fact, have you already forgotten what kind of emotions he was able to awake within you with nothing but his cock fucking you filthily until your thighs tremble on either side of him?

now, your bodies were sticked up together, the scent of lewd sex hanging in the air and mixed with the glazing scent of cologne and sweaty musk enticing the duke to fuck you harder, his once precise thrusts developing into sloppy and desperate movements, your skin practically on fire when he races through your walls with each squeeze of your cunt knocking the air from his lungs.

your fingers slide through his matted hair, your body lost between the pressure of his thick shaft dragging along your sensitivity as your arousal smeared all over his base, drenching the sheets below as he feels his balls tighten, he's so close, his body suddenly even heavier against your own as he slants himself forward, your erected nipples rubbing across his chiseled chest when he pins you down at once, leaning into you until merely a hairbreadth away.

"isn't this so much better, hm?"

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ultravioletrayz]

KINKTOBER

╰┈➤ DAY EIGHTEEN: DIRTY MASSAGE w/ KENTO NANAMI

"What's the matter?" Kento mutters, brows furrowing in curiosity as he glances up from his book to look at you limping down the hallway. He has one leg over the other as he leans back on the couch, glasses sitting on the edge of his nose, but the frames are unable to hide the immediate concern on his face at your strained movements.

You've just gotten out of bed, hair messy and eyes still droopy. Any other day, you'd be beaming to see your husband comfortably entertaining himself in order to let you sleep in on a Saturday morning. But his gentlemanly act only serves to make you roll your eyes and huff.

"You're the matter, Ken'." You laugh, leaning against the wall to still your quivering legs. It takes Kento a few seconds to absorb your quick comeback, before his eyes widen and he immediately gets up to walk over to you.

"Come here, my love. I'm sorry. I knew I should've been gentler last night. I got ahead of myself." Kento rambles as he pulls you into his arms, patting your head and burying his nose in your hair. You giggle at his instant remorse, pulling away from his chest to smile up at him.

"I'm kidding! I'm not mad. Just in pain." You say gently, filling Kento with a sliver of relief, but he's still kicking himself for putting you in such a state. By no means does he regret the things he did to you in the moment, he just wishes he had maintained at least a smidge of his composure to not render you completely helpless come the morning. It's a sweet sight, but overall, it's a little distressing for the poor, sweet man.

Nanami Kento physically can't have you so weary and wounded on a perfectly good Saturday. No, he needs to make it up to you.

"Let's lay you down for a bit, and I'll massage that pain away, alright?" Kento coaxes gently, already leading you back to the bedroom with a hand pressed to the small of your back before you can respond.

"What're you gonna do about my pussy, Ken'? She's real beat up." You coo teasingly, glancing up at Kento with a sly little smile that has him rolling his eyes.

"Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

. • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆. °.•°:. *₊° .☆

"Shit- you're so tight, honey." Kento hisses, and you're too fucked out to register whether he's talking about your knotted shoulder blades as his thumbs knead your sore flesh... or your drooling cunt as he fucks you into the mattress.

You're lying flat on your tummy, arms folded beneath your face and hands clinging to the sheets beneath you. It had started as an innocent massage, with Kento perched behind your ass and straddling your legs while pressing his digits deeply into the ridges of your back. But each time you made a show of writhing beneath him and "accidentally" lifting your ass off the bed to graze his stiffening dick, Kento lost more and more of his restraint, until he found himself frantically shoving his cock between your legs and dealing with your poor, achy cunt.

Kento's body smothers the back of yours as you're forced further and deeper into the mattress with each churning, wet thrust. One of his hands come down to grip the globes of your ass, trying to still your desperate movements as you nudge your hips back against him. Seeing how much you need him makes Kento's head spin, and he knows he'll be creaming within the valley of your sweet pussy if you keep backing into him like that, your plush thighs flexing each time you do so.

His other hand, the only part of his hazy body that remembers his original task, still soothingly rubs the top of your back, massaging your aching muscles while his hefty cock massages your gooey, sloshing cunny with his long, lingering strokes deep inside your core.

You're getting closer, the throbbing in your lower tummy building up into a mind numbing tightness that radiates throughout you. Each passionate thrust sends shudders rolling through your body, the moans spilling from your lips muffled by your arms. Kento carefully grips a handful of your hair and pulls it back into a messy, makeshift ponytail, nuzzling his nose against your neck as he groans and pants against your skin.

"There you go. M- My sweet girl..." He whispers, dragging his teeth along your jawline as his other hand squeezes your shoulder as he fights the urge to cum the second he feels your pussy clinging around his girth.

It's safe to say that you're no longer thinking about the soreness in your thighs and back, Kento's fat dick always and forever occupying the best of the real estate in your pretty brain...

me when i'm still working on kinktober in january 2025: ☹️🫣😢

me when i realise it still counts as me posting content: 😜😁🥳

[pennyellee]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 - 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 title: champagne confetti - side B pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: tba beta read by @chaoticpuff17 release date: january 2025

Prompt 1: “you give me brand new emotion, you got me drinking that potion” Prompt 2:  The lines did blur, in his mind for sure. Will you be tamed or will your passion for fashion falter for greater good - a life without Jeon Jungkook. When everything you’ve worked for hangs in the balance, his twisted love comes as both a gift and a curse.

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | physical violence, hint of incapable police department, jk is the boy saviour here and everybody bends backwards for his famous ass, dubious consent, possessive/obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, references to medication that affects mental and physical responses as "drugs" or "pills" or "medication", power imbalance, themes of isolation and confinement, gaslighting, mentions of mafia and criminal underworld, forced intimacy, oral sex (m!receiving), numbness, reader's difficulties getting wet, use of lube, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding/cow girl, orgasm difficulties, creampie, and so on (if i'll forgot smth, im so soorrryy!)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

this is a sequel, read part one of 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 main masterlist

author's note: so, where to start right? this was a long ass ride, mainly because i was fighting with myself to not burn out on this fic coz i loved it so much, and i still love it, but i won't lie that i got lil overwhelmed with how much love this fic received. I am so so so grateful for each and one of you! ♥ and thank you for your patience too. Life's not easy, please understand that, i always try my best. Thank you all. OH! I hope you will, have, or had very lovely and holy, merry christmas fairies ♥

You looked down at your mug, swirling the mulled wine as you gathered your thoughts. “I... I think I’m ready to go back to work,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The change in Jungkook’s demeanor was immediate. The warmth in his eyes flickered out, replaced by something harder, colder. He set his mug down on the counter with a soft clink, his posture stiffening.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm, but you could hear the edge beneath it. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, the tension between you palpable. He took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You have,” he admitted, his voice low and measured. “But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to go back out there.”

You felt a pang of frustration, but you tried to keep your voice steady. “I need to feel normal again, Jungkook. I need to get out of here, to do something meaningful.”

His jaw tightened, and he reached out, gently but firmly taking the mug from your hands and setting it aside. His fingers lingered on your wrist for a moment, his touch both comforting and possessive. “This is meaningful,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction as he looked into your eyes. “Us, here, together. This is your life now, Y/N.”

“But..but you promised.” Jungkook's expression flickered, a brief moment of conflict passing through his eyes before his gaze hardened again. He took a deep breath, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he processed your words.

“I promised to keep you safe,” he said, his voice firm but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite identify—fear, perhaps, or desperation. "And letting you go back to work... it's not safe for you now, Y/N.”

You pulled your wrist free, taking a step back to create some distance. “I can’t stay cooped up in here forever, Jungkook,” you said, your voice trembling but determined. “I need to feel like myself again. I need to be around people, to do something other than just exist in this penthouse.”

He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch gentle but his eyes intense. “You are my life now,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “And I can’t lose you. Not to anything or anyone.” You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite the turmoil inside you. Jungkook’s thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Freedom comes with risks, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of love and possessiveness. “And I’m not sure I can handle those risks.”

“I promise I am not plotting, Gguk—” you began, but Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly.

“Are you not?” he cut in, his voice low and dangerous. The hint of desperation from before was now replaced with a cold, steely resolve.

“Just give me a chance to prove—” His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of deceit.

“I don’t know if I can trust that, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with an unsettling mix of love and possessiveness. He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tight with tension. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his grip on your face softening.

“We have a family dinner coming up. It’s important, and everyone will be there. If you can behave, show that you can handle yourself around my family, then maybe... just maybe, we can talk about you going back to work.”

The implication of his words settled over you like a weight. This wasn’t just about proving yourself to him; it was about proving yourself to his entire family. The thought was daunting, but you knew this might be your only chance. To get away from his grasp.

“I'll do my best,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of determination and anxiety. “I promise.”

A small, almost tender smile tugged at the corners of Jungkook’s lips. “Good,” he said softly.

You swallowed hard, the pressure of the upcoming dinner weighing heavily on you. “Who will be there?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Everyone,” he said simply. “My parents, all of my Hyungs... among whom someone can offer you a position if you make a good impression.”

This was your chance, and you had to take it.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” you promised, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

You stood there in Jungkook’s arms, the Christmas lights twinkling softly around you, you resolved to do whatever it took to reclaim a part of your life.

“Now, show me how good you can warm my cock this Christmas.”

.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy (was unable to tag) - @mylyus-blog (was unable to tag) - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim - @doulcha - @sexytholland - @minyngrl-blog - @mizuumii (was unable to tag) @ali99eel - @loomipee @jkslvsnella - @tearykth - @iveivory - @lachimolalajeon - @mother2monsters - @junecat18 - @mayvalentine33 - @ttanniett - @elle0604 - @mageprincess7 - @laylasbunbunny - @ashthetic7 - @00frenchfries00 - @weareatthebadlands (was unable to tag) - @annafarrr -

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see ya soon, love, p.

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: gn reader, non - con, kidnapping (hinted)

He's awfully gentle - and perhaps that's what you hate about him the most. The way your tears reduce him to a shell of a man, the way he holds you tenderly, like glass about to shatter from the wind. The way he looks at you - like you're the only person in his small grey world that's made of moving, breathing flesh and fragile breakable bones and splash of incoherent colour all over your cheeks. The way his irises move with feral speed when the ring on your sharp, barking laugh fills the stuffy mold - infested air with life, and his heart all but throbs out of his chest when you push him away.

He holds you at night through the nightmares and the screams, refusing to let go as you fight with all your might to break free, but it's pointless. He knows you - he's studied you, every creek and curve, every dream and fright, every single thing that makes your being tick and purr and surrender. He speaks your language, despite your best efforts to remain hidden, to remain a mystery, he's managed to slice through the protective shield of your psyche, of your most intimate fears, and he's made himself at home in your arms.

It's odd - perverse even, you realize in rare moments of rationale, how used you are now to waking up with his warmth inside of you, nested neatly between your folds; whispering soft little nothings in your flushed ear. Keeping you at the realm between sweet dreams and bitter reality, making you question every fluttering touch, every butterfly kiss against your throat. You're not sure what's real anymore, hot, throbbing pressure pulsating in the middle of your core, the honey nectar dripping down your thighs, back arching in a pleasure - fueled spasm so erratic you're left breathless. Overwhelmed by ecstasy, followed by guilt - ridden shame in a ruthless cycle you have no hope of escaping anymore.

To think it used to be different all those months ago when he first took you in. You would scratch and bite, kicking at will - acting as crazy as possible in hopes he'd find you too difficult to keep. But alas, his gaze never hardened, lips mouthing words of adoration in respond to your countless insults.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you, y-you - you maniac!" You'd hiss through clenched teeth, sweat forming under your brows as your whole body stiffened before his naked figure hovering over you, strong muscled arms keeping you close to his chest in an awkward mockery of a hug.

"Shh, I know you're scared, my love." He'd caress your hair softly, running his fingers through your wet messy locks, cooing as if you're a cornered animal. "I know you're frightened, but I am not going to hurt you, precious. I love you more than you could possibly imagine. You don't know how long I've dreamt of embracing you." He'd press hot, feverish kisses down your collarbone, stroking your numb fingers until you eventually unclenched your fists. "Just like that, you're doing so good for me, angel, so fucking beatiful for me, just lay back and let me show how much I adore you."

You'd relax your hips slowly, keeping your eyes fixed to the ceiling - yielding to the inevitable, yet making a last pitiful attempt to hide the growing heat between your legs.

"You're so perfect, angel." He'd say, slowly undressing you. "I need to feel you against me. I hope you can forgive me one day - but here, before you, I am just a man. Without you my life would lose all meaning, I can't let you go. Forgive me. Love me, please."

And somehow deep within your heart, you wonder if you truly can.

[hon3y-y]

your choso has rewired my brain...literally cant stop thinking about popular reader who has a new bf every week x virgin nerd choso who despite his inexperience has every intention to leave you dumb on the end of his cock. He even lets you slap his books down and talk shit about him with your little girlfriends in public, but behind closed doors you're the one crying and begging him hdjsjs definition of 'send her back to her bf w my handprint on her ass' aaaaa and if its a love story, it turns out chosos had the fattest crush on her bc he knows shes actually a sweetie at heart but loves her toxic side too and gives her the best dick until she stops playing around like THE REVERSAL 😭 he would be so sweet in his own way and so loyal and a fucking dog to her lowkey but covers it up with mean words and pussy slaps 🥺

Nerd!choso has a special place in my pants heart😵‍💫

Cw; nastyy smut, filming, infidelity(👀), choso is a little pervy but that’s why we love him🫶, talks of bodily fluids, reader is a lil mean

Enjoy<3

After the first time you fucked, he was extremely a little mad about you dating someone the next day (especially since it was his first time and you knew that) but quickly forgot about it once he had his head between your legs later that night, your mouth babbling nonsense when he sucked a little too hard.

He would purposefully leave hickies on your chest and thighs, smiling cheekily as he watched your shakey legs try to dress yourself. “Don’t look at me that way," you mumbled, your usual attitude gone and replaced with shyness under his intense gaze. Yeah, he didn’t have to worry.

Choso let's you get away with everything. the laughing, the pushing, and the taunts about how “small” he probably is from your friends (to which he nearly smirks when you stiffen slightly). He goes along with all of it and even watches you tongue-fuck your stupid boyfriend, who’s likely one hard hit to the head away from permanent brain damage. But he can’t stay mad; you look so cute trying to be tough. Eyebrows furrowed and a little hiss in your tone, knowing that the moment everyone disappears, you’re nothing but a sobbing mess, begging for him to touch you.

You’re in his room later, bent into a mating press, gasping for air as his cock clumsily batters your g-spot. “Yes—fuck, cho! "Your skin feels so hot, and your mind is so numb. Choso is nearly just as loud, already cumming two times, but watching you made it impossible to pull out. A sticky mess of both your fluids caused gooey strings to form whenever he moved away, the erotic sight making him pull out and reach for his phone. “W-what are you—"

You tried to sit up when the light of a camera flashed in your eyes, making you gasp before he tilted it down, focusing on your pussy. “Look at how wet she is.” He reaches out to touch, making your hips jerk in sensitivity. He plays with your wetness, making your cheeks hot, showing off the substance to the camera before placing his finger on your hole to tap at the new cream that seeped out.

You went to pull your legs closed. "E-enough, Choso." You sent him a glare, making him laugh before leaning down to kiss your cunt. He pointed the camera up to catch your shocked face, and you glanced at it again. “Why are you filming this? I never said—"

You squeal as he nips your clit, immediately shutting up but sending him a harsh glare. He kisses your thigh at your compliance. “Do you really not want me to?” He stared up at you, putting little pecks on your bud, making your breath hitch. You shook your head, ‘no’, “fuck, I don’t care, just make me cum,” you whine, pushing his head down. You jolt up, your eyes widening, when you feel the stinging slap on your pussy.

You’re about to speak when he does it again and again, each hit harder than the previous one, a yelp of surprise escaping you as he forces the light in your eyes again, making you squint. “You’re such a slut, it’s almost pathetic." His harsh words make you pout, mumbling about how mean he is. “I’m mean? Tell the camera why you came here.” You bite your lip, looking away, causing him to grab your chin and force you to look. “I’m not asking.”

It feels humiliating: “He couldn’t make me cum.” Your voice is quiet, but you could practically feel the cocky smile on Choso's face. “Who’s he?” You want to die, shaking your head. He rolled his eyes, tapping on your cheek to signal you to talk. With a sigh, you repeat yourself, “My boyfriend couldn’t make me cum.” Choso mockingly coos behind the camera, his thumb going to rub your swollen bud. “And how many times have you cum since getting here?”

He pans the camera back and forth between your needy pussy and pretty face, your sweaty skin glistening under the intense lighting making his cock impossibly harder. You look so delicate, just helplessly taking the pleasure he gives you because your body needs him so bad. Tears gather in your waterline whenever he applies more pressure, eyes zeroing in on the slick that starts to drip down your ass.

You can’t answer, your jaw hanging open when he quickened his pace. Your chest is heaving as you chanted out ‘please!’ hips thrusting up to meet him until you quickly cum with a shutter, choso slowing but not stopping as you relax again. You look up to the camera with a tired smile, holding up your hands to signal four, your eyes could barely remain open, head flopping back into the pillow. your eyes are getting heavy, nearly having you succumb to sleep when you feel his tip align with your cunt. “Flip over, slut.”

He forces you to film yourself as he pounds into you from behind, crying when he leans down to tug at your sore nipples. He forces your back to arch more, pathetically taking his cock into your swollen pussy. If you drop the camera, he’ll wait until you pick it up again. Or, he’ll snatch it from your hand to catch you desperately rutting against him, begging him to let you cum and “fuck you right." He does just that, leaving you with a fried brain and a puddle of your own drool, tears, and juices from how intensely he made you squirt.

Honestly, he’s so horny and has so much stamina he’ll just keep going until he’s shooting blanks, making sure to point the camera at the cum that leaks out of your puffy cunt, spreading your lips so it can closely get your gaping hole. Of course, after he’s had his fun, he’ll gently take care of you. You’re practically sleeping already, barely being able to speak as he nods along to your near incoherent praise, “S'good t’me. Luv you so much."He smiles, a giddy feeling in his tummy, as he holds a water bottle to your lips, which you gulp down quickly, not realizing how dehydrated you really were. He tucks you in, cuddling as you grip onto him tightly.

It’s not long after that you stop seeing the guy you were with, or any for that matter (at least, according to your friends' knowledge). When they ask what happened, you just shrug, making up some excuse, trying not to stutter as the vibrations in your panties speed up. Choso watches closely, smiling happily as you try to discreetly roll your hips<3

A/n: I need him so bad it’s getting to me. Also, send request bc writers block is a btch. Mwah💋

[fattystoriez]

Cursed Pigs

Content Warning: Incest, Weigh Gain, Homophobia, Misogyny

Mason was about to go on a date with his girlfriend, he sent a snap to his story to show off his body. Mason was a sophomore in college, he loved to workout, he’s the type of man who could easily steal your girlfriend.

Mason was an arrogant asshole who didn’t care who he was mean to, he was as homophobic as it gets, genuinely being disgusted by gay men. If any girl he dated had a gay best friend he’d force her to drop him, and they’d always listen because he was extremely good in bed. He hated fat people the most, found fat women to be disgusting and fat men to be pathetic. He learned all of this from his father of course, who he was on his way to visit for Labor Day weekend. His father was a muscular daddy type, if Mason had been in his 40s they could be twins.

He couldn’t wait to meet his dad for Labor Day, he and his father and they were planning on going camping. Mason had gotten home and called out for his dad. “

“Dad! I’m home!” Mason walked into the living room where the tv was on and his dad was in his cushioned arm chair, but his dad looked different. His dad had become fat, his once muscular body had been covered in blubber. There was a thick musk in the room, and he was just in underwear that had been clearly stained with cum and piss.

“Dad what the fuck happened to you, when did you become a fatass?!” Masons dad said nothing, instead he let out a rank fart. Frrrrrbbbbttt. “Oh god dad that reeks!” Mason didn’t realize what was on the tv, it was playing a weird sound and as Mason looked closer there were fat fags feeding each other with junk food. “Dad what the fuck are you watching?? What’s wrong with you!” As Mason yelled his minds started to feel numb, he started watching the TV and taking his shirt off.

A drip of drool started to fall from Mason mouth as he watched the fat men stiff each other with doughnuts, cake and burgers. He watched as the fat men started getting fatter, he was feeling hungry. “D-dad… what’s happening?” His dad continued to stay silent as he rubs his stinky crotch. Masons body started to soften, all of the hard work he had put into his muscles was being wasted.

The softening of his body continued, a feeling that was foreign to Mason. “You’re started to look good, boy” Masons father finally said something, his voice had gained a southern twang, which made no sense since they were from Jersey. Mason had a hard time getting his words out, he tried really hard to protest, but his cock was starting to stiffen.

“Da- daddy please… what’s happening?” Mason’s belly started to hang over his waistband, his chest was quickly becoming plump moobs. His v-line has become a u-line. “I-I’m getting fat… daddy why am I talking l-like a fag-got…” Mason grabbed his fattening belly, causing him to moan.

Masons body began to become covered in body hair, where he use to shave regularly, now he looks like he’s never seen a razor. A piercing formed into his nipple, his dad got up and tugged on it. “Smell my musk, boy” Mason’s daddy groped his moobs and played his with sons growing belly. “Mmmm your cock is getting covered in fat, boy. Fat boys don’t get big cocks, you know that piggy.”

Mason reached down and felt that his once 8.5in cock shrunken down to a 3in nub. Fat was swallowing his body and Mason fought with the urge to run and the urge to worship his daddy’s smelly cock. Mason was starting to get smellier and smellier, BO and musk emanating from his body.

Masons transformation was almost over, as his daddy played with his fat belly his brain was becoming foggier and foggier. His cock a useless nub that he can’t use to fuck bitches anymore. The misogynistic muscle head was gone and was replaced by a slobby, stinky fat pig.

What Mason didn’t know was that his father had pissed off a fatass on twitter, and she cursed him and his jock son to be fatass faggots. Because of her, Mason and his daddy were closer than ever before… and they could no longer spew ignorance because they were too busy shoving food into their mouths.

[thehusbandoden]

He Doesn't Realize How Much he Needs You Until You're Gone Part One- Dabi

A/n: 100th writing I've posted :3

I hope you like it haha.

General info:

Genre: pure angst \\ wc: 2,425 \\ female reader \\ posted: 06/06/24

Warnings!: arguing, neglect, pure angst, crying, yelling, screaming, hurt, feeling betrayed, injuries (reader gets burned- not by Dabi), pushing your partner away (both parties), feeling worthless, feelings being discarded, mention of therapy, thoughts of leaving, thoughts of death, fear of a loved one dying, numbing your emotions, Dabi raging (burning things), leaving, partner being very tsundere, mention of blood (Dabi's tears), regret, guilt, becoming a husk, I think that's all haha. Pls lmk if I miss anything! <33

I will post two endings, one with angst and one with fluff. Lmk if you want to be tagged!

Tears roll down your cheeks as you spam Dabi with texts. You had just gotten into an argument with your beloved when he stormed out, cursing you out.

"Please." You quietly plead, your voice broken with sobs. "Don't leave me."

All of your texts remain unread. All your calls declined. You were having a panic attack by now, yet nothing seemed to get the villain's attention.

Just as you're about to completely lose it, you hear footsteps. Your freeze, listening with an indescribable intensity. The window opens. Your eyes dart to the activity.

Familiar black combat boots peek through the gap, falling to the floor. Your eyes travel up the familiar torn jeans, the worn out t-shirt, the burned neck, the crooked frown, and finally to the comforting turquoise eyes.

You let out a sob of relief as you see your Dabi standing in front of you. He looks down at you, grimacing.

"What happened to you?" He scoffed.

"I-I was worried." Your voice was hoarse and broken from your sobs.

"Worried?" He grunts. "You're more idiotic than I thought." He groans, grabbing the sandwich you made before the argument.

"I-I thought you were leaving me."

"I'm not gonna leave ya. No matter how annoying you are." He scoffs.

Annoying....

Your mind repeats the word several times, your face stiffening as you numb your emotions.

"Sorry..." you mumble.

"Don't start that pouty crap." He scoffs, shooting you a glare. "I'm tired of you being such a bother. I have so much to deal with. Your pathetic emotions isn't on my list."

You quietly fold your arms, moving to the couch. You watch Dabi silently, taking deep breaths to contain your emotions.

"I'm leaving for a mission tonight. I'll be back before next week."

His voice was less harsh, but nowhere near as warm as usual.

"O-okay.." you mumble, fidgeting with your sleeves. He rolls his eyes with a scoff, stomping into your shared bedroom.

~~

"I'm leaving now, brat."

You scramble to your feet, swiftly moving to his side. You lean up, hoping for a kiss as you ever so slightly pucker your lips.

You know your husband. He will notice... won't he?

His cold eyes move down to your lips. He grunts, turning around and leaving. "See ya later, brat. Don't be pouting when I get home, you hear?" He mutters, hauling himself through the window.

He always came in and out through the back window... it would be bad if your neighbors caught a highly wanted villain in your apartment.. hence the sneaking.

You've lived together for over a year now, you've moved four times now.

"Wait-" you call out, reaching out to your husband. His cold gaze burns into you.

"Um- a-aren't you going to... going to.."

"Spit it out, woman."

"Aren't you going to.. kiss me?" You blush. Dabi scoffs.

"Don't expect needles privileges after your attitude yesterday."

"Attitude?! Do you mean our argument?" You protest.

"Here it goes again." He groans. "You're always complaining and refusing to take accountability."

"Thats nonsense." You clench your fists, trying to suppress your emotions. Tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let them shed.

"What's nonsense is your attitude. You can't even keep me around now can ya? Your attitude always drives me off! I wonder why I ever married you in the first place. You give me attitude and then act like I'm the victim. Pathetic."

Tears well in your eyes. You bite your lip. "I won't ask for anymore from you." You whisper.

"Good. Keep it that way." He lands outside, shrugging his shoulder before walking off with an nonchalant attitude.

You close the window, leaning against the wall as you try to slow down your breathing. Tears fall down your cheeks as you curl in a ball, feeling hurt, angry, betrayed, and worthless.

The days pass by as you wait for Dabi to return. You didn't hear from him, and he was gone far longer than he said he would be. Every text was left unread, every call ignored, every voice-mail left un-listened to.

Eventually, you stopped trying. You got a therapist, and ended up deciding on what was best for you. When he comes home, if he doesn't treat you better, if he doesn't even listen or try to change, its better for you to leave. Even if it was just for a little bit.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks blur into months. Many nights you lay awake, doubting yourself. Doubting your worth.

It killed you inside. Your self esteem plummeted. You stopped going to therapy. All you wanted was your husband. Your husband's love, his validation, his touch, his mere presence.

Curled in a ball, you stared at the wall with a blank expression. Horrid scenarios went through your head as you imagine your poor husband alone, injured, and dying.

Tears blur your vision as you imagine him already dead, his loving soul leaving this world without even telling you goodbye. You hadn't even gotten a kiss. Or an I love you.

The tears don't stop. And they didn't as the hours slowly pass by. You felt like ripping your hair out, screaming, hitting, throwing things- anything to get your mind off of your husband's doomed death.

The window opens. Your eyes dart towards the unlocked glass pane. Combat boots pokes through. You gasp in relief.

A worn, exhausted, injured, and in pain figure follows the boots. Revealing your beloved, Dabi. You let out a small sob, launching yourself at him.

You close your eyes in relief as you feel his warm chest, the familiar staples bringing you comfort. As you move to open your eyes you feel a hand to your shoulder, your backside hitting the floor.

You look up in shock, Dabi looking down at you in disgust.

"I thought you said you wouldn't ask anymore from me." He scoffed. You grab your arm, holding it to your chest.

"I-" you start.

"I really don't want to hear it. Just let me rest." He groans. You slowly lift yourself off of the floor, silently moving into your shared bedroom.

You curl in a ball, hiding under the sheets. You hear him walking around outside of the room, silently listening. Tears blur your vision once more. You cover your mouth, tightly closing your eyes.

You shake with sobs, doing your very best to stay quiet. You can't help but feel worthless. Tears stream down your cheeks as you listen to your husband's familiar footsteps, glad he's safe at the minimum...

Hours pass by as you cry yourself to sleep, your stray tears staining your cheeks.

~~

Dabi's POV

Dabi strolls into your shared bedroom. "Oi, make me a sandwich will ya?" He grunts. Yiu don't move, irritating him.

He moves to your side, snatching the blanket. "I said-" he stops as he sees you asleep, tears stained on your cheeks. A strange pain dtabs at his chest. Shaking it off, he drops the blanket.

Staring at you, he gently cups your cheek, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. He pulls away, caressing your cheek. "I've missed you. Even though you're a pain." He whispers before pulling away.

~~

Your POV

The next morning

You blink open your eyes, rubbing at the lingering sleepiness. Yawning, your eyes lazily run over the room. The curtains were hiding the small bedroom from sunlight, the entire room encompassed in darkness.

Sitting up, you rub your puffy eyes once more. Dabi was no where near sight. Sighing, you absent-mindedly trace the bruise on your arm where you fell.

Your heart aches as you remember your therapist's words. This isn't healthy. It needs to stop...

The door opens, revealing Dabi. "Finally awake, sleepy head?" His voice wasn't the cold growl like last night, but it was no where near gentle.

You nod, timidly. Afraid of upsetting him once more.

"I'm starving. Want to make breakfas..?" This was his way of asking you to. If you agreed, there would be no thank you, for you "wanted" to.

If you said no, he would be irritated for a while. He won't cook, no matter how many times you beg him to while you're away, so he will oftenly go without eating if you're unavailable or refuse to cook.

Biting your lip, you nod. He gives you a short grimace, something similar to a small smile before walking out. Standing up, you yawn, stretching your arms. Your eyes ache from all the crying, but you push that to the back of your mind.

You walk out to the kitchen, beginning to cook. You feel Dabi's eyes on you, but you don't pay much attention. You were guarded, unsure why he's acting so differently this morning. Cautious of unleashing the monster once more.

"Dabi?" You murmur. He grunts in response.

"I talked to a therapist when you were on your mission..."

"A therapist? What for? Did you leak my identity?!" He snaps.

"No, I didn't. I was really struggling for a while and needed someone to help me."

"So you relied on a stranger?!"

"You wouldn't answer. I called, texted, I left voice-mails."

"Oh so you think that your crappy attempt to get my attention justifies getting help from a stranger!? Was he a guy?! Were you sleeping with him?!"

"What?! No! I would never!"

"Then what were you doing with them?!"

"I was getting help for my mental state, Dabi!"

"Oh poor baby, you think being lonely justifies that?!"

"You're being unreasonable. Dabi she told me it was best for me to leave you if you keep treating me like this. I'm telling you this so you can wake up and change. This isn't okay." You snap, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

"Leave me?!" He laughs. "You wouldn't. You can't live without me."

"You've been making me live without you for months, Dabi. You don't tell me you love me, you don't show me affection, I'm lucky just to have you not yell at me!"

"You're being dramatic." He spits. "You're a spoiled brat. I've been working my arse off for you and you're this ungrateful."

"You've been working for revenge! It's not for me, it never was! I have my own job that pays for all or our bills Dabi!"

"You're listening to a stranger's advice and plan on leaving me?!"

"Only if you don't change Dabi!"

"You knew what you were getting into when you married me, y/n. Stop playing the victim."

"You didn't treat me like this when we first married."

"Keep telling yourself that." He spits, putting his jacket on.

"Where are you going?!" You cry, the food far from recovery, you hazardously shove the pan into the sink, burning your hand. You cry out in pain.

"Y/n!" Dabi yells, hurrying your side. He aggressively graps your hand, making you cry out once more. "Idiot! Why did you hurt yourself like that?!"

"Just leave me alone!" You try to yank your hand away but Dabi yanks it back.

"Stay still!"

"Let me go Dabi!"

"Y/n just sit still!!"

You push him back, protectively pressing your injured hand to your chest. "I said to let me go!"

Dabi's face scrunches up as he looks down at you. After a few silent moments he turns away. "I'm over you and your dramatic act." He mumbled.

Walking to the door, he pulls his combat boots on. "Don't leave!" You cry, coddling your burning hand.

He ignores you, moving to the window. "Dabi! If you leave without us finishing this I'm leaving."

"Go for it. I don't need you. I never did." He sneered.

Your heart throbbed as your beloved husband jumped through the open window, not looking back. Falling to your knees you break into sobs.

You cry over the absence of your beloved, you cry over the pain, and you cry over the dreaded feeling of being completely alone.

You don't stop for hours. It goes on and on until your completely out of tears, numb to the feeling of utter loss. Your hand aches. Your eyes aches. Your heart aches.

It all just- hurts.

You slowly drift to sleep, the cold kitchen floor being the only thing that grounds you from the pain of betrayal.

~~

Dabi's POV

Three days later.

Dropping from the window Dabi nonchalantly glances around the room. It seemed unusually cold an empty. Paying it no mind, Dabi hazardly tossed his jacket and boots towards the front door.

"Y/n, I'm home." He calls, running his hands through his greasy hair, his roots were growing out. Rolling his eyes, he opens the fridge. It was... empty.

"Y/n!" He calls once more, huffing in annoyance. "I get home and can't even eat?!"

No response. "For Pete's sake you petty brat! Get out here!"

Silence.

Anger fills his being before he remembers your words before he left. A strange pain shoots through him, his eyes widen as he runs into your shared bedroom. Everything of yours was... gone.

His heart quickens as he searches the entire house for you. Nothing. Not even a trace. His breathing quickens as he pulls at his hair. Taking a shuddering breathe, he shakes his head.

"You'll regret this y/n... you'll be back and I'll laugh in your face!" He chuckles, losing a bit of his sanity. "I DON'T NEED YOU! YOU'LL SEE!" He screams, activating his quirk as he knocks over a chair. He let's out a scream, lighting anything and everything in sight on fire.

Months pass by. Dabi has turned into a shell, simply surviving. Work, sleep, work, sleep, work... a "good" day is when he remembers to eat or drink. A shower or change of clothes is out of mind.

Walking through the streets, he walks inside the charred apartment. Stepping inside, he closes the door. He doesn't care about his identity anymore, or anything really.

His turquoise eyes scan the apartment, his eyes landing on a photo of you and him. His heart strangely aches once more. "Y/n..." he murmured, his fists clenching.

Falling to his knees, he lets out a broken sob. His eyes burn, tears would be running if they could. Blood drips from his charred tear ducts. He falls to the floor face first, nothing but his beloved wife on his mind.

How could he be so stupid?! How could he be so utterly retarted?! He lost the one thing in this world that actually loved him. Grasping his phone, he dials your number.

Please. Please pick up... please... I need you...

~~~~~

Part two (coming soon) | alt. ending (coming soon) lmk if you want to be tagged!! <33

Dabi's masterlist | Masterlist | Navigation | Tips<3

Reblogs make me smile (bonus points if you tag) and comments make my day!!

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging. 

[myownwholewildworld]

requiescat in pace (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: you learn of marcus' son's death. a/n: welp... yea. can what i say, i enjoy making these two suffer c: apologies for the brief passenger's lyrics references. i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. angst (what a surprise). mentions of death. marcus says "my lady" and i think that should be a warning. let's just assume that this whole series is pure angst, alright? w/c: 2.1k

“Did you offer your condolences to General Acacius, filia mea (my daughter)?”

Your father’s question broke the trance you had sunk into, the bronze spoon falling from your trembling fingers onto the porcelain plate set in front of you.

Leaning back, you looked at your father as if he had spoken a different language. Surely you misheard him — your mind still numb with grief, unable to process anything since you received the news of your husband’s demise.

It had been three days and the gaping hole in your heart had only gotten bigger. Like an umbra lurking in the shadows, you had stayed in your shared bedroom, crying your sorrow onto Resius’ breastplate, hugging the last piece of him you would ever hold. You grieved for your love but also for the life you would never spend with him, for all those precious moments that would remain in your memory as what if’s gnawing at the confines of your mind.

But now, right now, your pain lessened for a second, your brain focusing on something else.

“What do you mean, Caesar?” you whispered, voice cracking in the last inflexion.

The Emperor eyed you from across the dining table, silence lingering and stretching in the space between you. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, the wait almost forcing you up to stand on your feet.

“General Acacius lost his heir at the battle of Sarmizegetusa. He has asked to return to Dacia to retrieve the body of his son and bring him back home for proper burial,” he explained with caution, watching your every expression.

Your heart had now climbed up your throat, the pulse wild in your eardrums. You hadn’t misheard, your father had said Acacius very clearly, dragging the word out.

Mind racing, you fidgeted with your hands on your lap, twisting them in despair as you tried to recall your conversation with him a few days ago. “He’s resting now,” he had said when you asked about Augustus.

Resting. You had assumed he meant that his son was back at his villa, resting from the extraneous physical toll a battle would take on the body. Not for one second had you considered that Marcus actually meant resting in peace.

You had been so blind, letting your own grief consume you, you had not noticed the tells in the General’s behaviour. The feeble smile, the downcast almost solemn expression, the stiffened nod he gave you, the brevity of his response. It all made sense now, and you couldn’t help but feel… selfish. So drowned in your sorrow, Acacius had kept it together so you could cry your loss in his embrace.

Your stomach churned at the thought — the General had no one left by his side. No wife and no son waiting for his return, not even his best friend. How would he have felt in the emptiness of his home with no one there to console him? You at least had your family and closest friends, who had checked on you from time to time to ensure you were safe.

Had someone checked on the General?

“May I take my leave, pater (father)?” you requested with your gaze averted, a sudden need to find General Acacius, your hands twisting uncontrollably.

You needed to know he was… okay. Alive? He had talked to someone at least, asked to go back to Dacia to get his only son back home. You could only imagine his heartbreak, the hell he must be going through. The thought of him dealing with all of it alone… it fractured a piece of your soul.

The Emperor watched you attentively, eyes lingering on the full plate in front of you. There was something about his wary demeanor that didn’t click right away — and right now you were too preoccupied with something else to be paying attention to politics.

“You may go, but tread carefully, filia mea,” was his veiled answer.

With no time to waste, you stood up and curtsied before disappearing from the dining hall.

Marcus’ body was controlled by another being — a non-sentient one. He got up, attended his duties to the Empire, paid a visit to the barracks in the outskirts to train with his army, and then got back to an empty home.

It all felt like a sick loop, one he could not break from. His feelings had deserted him, leaving him be a hollow carcass of who he once was. There was no joy, no incentive to even pretend there was.

It took him a couple of days to finally let the dam crack in the solace of his villa. It all came to be because of something as simple as Augustus’ toy gladius. The one that Marcus himself had forged for his son’s tenth birthday. Little Augustus had been so excited, he had almost hit his head against the edge of the dining table while running around wielding his new toy. That memory had resurfaced unexpectedly and the smile that came with it quickly mutated into a sad grimace.

He longed for something that that was safe and warm, but all he had was all that was gone. Marcus felt as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Tiber. And the river was wide, so much he was scared he wouldn’t make it to the other side. And what would he find on the opposite shore? Did he really want to cross?

Marcus couldn’t, at least not yet. He needed closure before he could carry on with his life, if that was even a possibility. Augustus belonged in the family’s mausoleum next to his mother, so they could both be laid to rest in peace together. With Dacia under the iron fist of the Romans, he could retrace his steps and get his heir back home.

His leave had been approved that same afternoon. In a hurry, he had packed the bare necessities he would need for the long trip and headed towards the barracks once more. In the stables his stallion was awaiting, all prepped by one of the ostlers.

He was ensuring that the saddle was properly on when a gentle voice called his name.

“General Acacius,” as soon as you spoke, he recognised your delicate accent.

Marcus turned around, his back bending immediately at your presence.

“My lady,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the straw splayed across the dirt on the floor.

What brought you here, he wondered. The horses belonging to Traianus’ family were kept elsewhere, away from the mediocrity of the reminders of war. This was no place for someone of noble birth like you. It reeked of the musky scents of nature to which he was immune now, but you sure weren’t.

Your hand found the way to his shoulder, a light tap to silently ask him to straighten out his posture. He obliged, his brown orbs showing his confusion at finding you here. And you seemed unbothered about the mess surrounding you.

“How may I be of service?” his question was a trained response, the only reason for you being here was that you required something of him.

Perhaps you needed to know how everything unfolded so you also got closure. Perhaps you required details, something more than just a “General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword” — had he been too concise in his explanation, too General-y? Or perhaps you were after the reassurance of a life well lived with your husband, a reminder that there had been light amongst the darkness.

The Gods knew he felt that way sometimes too.

“That is not why I am here, General,” you hummed with a broken smile, your hand dropping off his shoulder like the last needle-like leaves clinging onto a toppling, decaying cypress after a wildfire.

Your admission took him aback, unsure now of what else you could need of him. What else would he have to give for Rome to appease the Emperor — was his heir not enough? But you weren’t your father; Resius would always say you were too kind of a soul, would only speak high praise of you. But was not that what a husband was supposed to say about his spouse, especially Traianus’ daughter?

So perhaps he was mistaken in that regard, although he couldn’t know. Marcus had interacted with you multiple times, in serious and more relaxed settings, but the barrier was always there — he was just a General you graced with your presence because of Resius. You participated in conversation, laughed at Resius’ and his jokes and offered words of wisdom to Augustus like the mother he never had.

But despite all of that, he didn’t really know you. Knew your persona, the way you portrayed yourself to the crowds, but it was fair to wonder how much of it was just a front.

That was, at least, until three sunsets ago, when you cried your loss with him — something he had not expected. How your façade tumbled the moment his perhaps-not-so-carefully-delivered words furrowed through your mind until they took root. How he tried to console you in spite of his own sorrow.

The crease between his brows accentuated slightly, a small tell of his confusion.

“I heard,” you only said, a whisper that made his skin crawl with anguish, his throat squeeze.

The softness of your eyes left no room for misinterpretation, an unmistakable mist in them. About your son’s death, was the bit you did not pronounce out loud.

His chest tightened as his gaze drifted down, catching a glimpse of your fidgety hands, twisting nervously.

Did you feel guilty? Was that the purpose of your unexpected visit?

“My son lived and died for the glory of Rome, Your Highness. Honourable to the end, he gladly gave his life for the Emperor and the cause. A warrior’s death, I couldn’t be any more proud of his sacrifice,” he attempted to put your mind at ease, tone steady repeating the words he had been saying every time someone approached him with empty condolences.

Your hands paused wriggling, your expression shadowed by his automatic reply.

“Oh, Marcus,” you whispered, taking a step forward but stopping yourself before you reached for his forearm. “You don’t need to— to pretend this is okay. It’s not,” your trembling fingers played with the golden bracelet adorning your wrist. “War is a disease, an ailment to mankind, to ourselves and our loved ones. I regret to know that you have given so much for Rome’s thirst. You shouldn’t have to. My father… he asks too much of his people,” you added, the mist in your eyes developing into a single tear falling off your bottom lashes. “Far too much.”

Pain stirred within him, lost for words he was. What you just said was a good outline of his own feelings — thoughts he couldn’t put into words, because they would sound treacherous. Did you really mean it?

“I… thank you, Domina mea. I appreciate your sentiment,” he accepted with a stiff nod, his voice raspier than usual. But he wouldn’t let emotion overcome him.

“I was informed you have taken leave to bring Augustus back home. I came to see if you would accept a few soldiers of my own personal guard to escort you,” you offered, your tone gentle and delicate.

Marcus was moved by your offer, one he didn’t expect. Were you worried for his safe return? That the journey back with his dead son in tow would break him, his resolution? Because he was worried too.

“I am touched, my lady, truly. But it’s not necessary. Some of my men will be accompanying me,” he assured you.

Marcus was lucky to have loyal fighting men under his banner. People he could blindly trust in battle, and outside of it.

“Please, send for me upon your return, General. I would like to attend Augustus’ wake. Unless you want it to be private, in which case I completely understand,” you almost stumbled with your own words towards the end, lips pursed with nervousness.

Resius was right. You were too kind of a soul, worrying for him when you had your own demons to deal with. The dull ache blanketing his heart lifted ever so slightly, your petition soothing and a reminder that he was not alone in grief. You would understand.

So Marcus nodded, his throat tighter.

“I will, Augusta (Imperial Princess),” a promise he would keep.

“Safe travels, General. May Salus watch over you.”

[ultram0th]

@rainbowhypno

Request: Aaron bigoted over religious straight homophobic man harasses Brad for being gay. Which ends up being a big mistake. Brad turns Aaron into a proud gay musky slutty man and makes him his boyfriend. Aaron tries to fight the changes but loses the fight. Aaron remembers his old life, but he is reprogrammed to remembers his old life but he is reprogrammed to love the man he is now. A out and proud slutty gay man

★······★

Brad was heading to his dorm room after a rough day of seemingly endless lectures. All the slender guy wanted was to lie down and numb his aching head with some random cat videos.

Before he could reach his dorm, he was hit with the sickly stench of beer as a red solo cup was tossed at him. Drenched in beer, Brad huffed as he looked up and saw none other than Aaron.

The big, beefy jock was a pain in Brad's ass. For whatever reason, the jerk had made it his mission to make Brad's life as hard as possible. He was always there to pester him or even "playfully" shove him too hard, always muttering some sort of slur under his breath.

Aaron mock-frowned at the wet Brad. "Sorry 'bout that, Ma'am," he almost sneered. "I thought you looked thirsty, but I didn't have some fruity cocktail. Hope that works."

Normally, Brad would've just tried his best to shrug off Aaron's homophobic shenanigans. However, this time, he was prepared.

The skinny man reached into his pocket and grabbed a fistful of the pink, shimmery powder that he'd purchased from a mysterious woman the other night. Then, like a scene out of a cartoon, Brad tossed the powder into Aaron's face, smiling widely as the larger man winced as his face was covered in pink.

"What the hell was that?" the muscled jock sputtered as he wiped at his face.

"You'll find out soon enough," Brad lowly chuckled as he prepared himself to watch was was going to happen.

"What does that mean-- UUUhhhh!" Aaron's voice cut off as all of his muscles seemed to tense up. It looked as if the big jock was flexing, but soon his eyes widened when he felt the cool air on his torso. Looking downward, Aaron was surprised to see that his shirt was gone, exposing his plump pecs and washboard stomach. "Wha--?"

His voice trailed off when he witnessed his pecs shudder before it looked as if they were beginning to inflate. The jock's jaw dropped when he saw his pecs steadily grow larger and rounder. It wasn't an exaggerated growth, especially when the rest of his body followed suit. His muscles grew in size, taking his body from jock to bodybuilder in mere seconds. He paled when he saw his abs gradually grow fainter until they disappeared, his stomach rounding out to form a firm musclegut. His pants felt painfully tight as his butt swelled up, his cheeks going from perky to full on beach ball size. They grew so large that they began to push his jeans down, exposing the top of his hairy crack to the whole dormitory. As a final touch, Aaron's skin began to itch as hair started to sprout over his body, leaving him with copious amounts of body hair, with most of it concentrated on his pits and chest.

When he was done growing, Aaron had to have gained at least fifty pounds of muscle and had sprouted lots of hair. His large hands explored his larger, hairier body, blushing when he caught of a whiff of the pungent musk that seemed to radiate off of him in waves, almost as if he'd just finished an intense workout.

"Whoa," Aaron groaned in a much deeper voice, "what happened to me, Bro?" He flinched at the slowish quality to his voice and the way he'd said Bro unconsciously. "My head feels so slow."

Brad just smiled at his work, thinking that this new Aaron would be a much better guy than the old one. "You're the new you," he grinned.

"The new me...?" Aaron wondered aloud, freezing when his eyes landed on the smaller guy before him. His heart began to race in his beefier chest, and despite himself, he felt his cock start to stiffen. Worse was that he felt an odd emptiness forming deep within his ass, and he unconsciously flexed his huge bubblebutt with want.

No matter what his brain told him, Aaron was horrified to find that he viewed Brad as... cute!?

"Oh no," Aaron groaned, paling at this new realization, especially as new memories started to filter into his brain. He was still a college jock attending university on a football scholarship, but now he was also the muscled up and dim-witted boyfriend of Brad. He could see crystal clear mental images of himself wearing the skimpiest clothing and flexing for the small man on command, loving it whenever his huge ass was stuffed full with Brad's cock. And not only his, but their supposed relationship was flexible enough to where Brad was cool with Aaron getting fucked and sucking off every other guy on the football team. Apparently not a night went by when Aaron wasn't bouncing on cock after cock and showing off his large, hairy muscles to every guy on campus... but apparently he had a huge soft spot for Brad.

Brad basked in the warmth that this new Aaron brought him. He stepped forward and ran an admiring hand over Aaron's hairy pecs, loving the way the formerly straight jerk shuddered at the contact.

"Hey, Babe," he teased, "why don't we go to our dorm and I'll fuck that huge butt of yours?"

Aaron wanted to decline, to beg to be changed back, but instead he felt himself pick up the smaller man with one arm and flex his other one. "Hell yeah, Bro," he smiled dimly, "you're gonna fuck me so damn hard all night!"

[pursuitseternal]

Hello my partner-in-crime!

Could I pretty please have Sauron x Reader with prompt number 7: "Can you feel how much I want you?"

Love you! ❤️😘

“𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊…”

First Age Sauron x f!Reader | Dead Dove | 3.7K

Summary: There is no hope in Angband, in the dungeons of the Dark Vala…. But there is the Servant. Sauron.

A master craftsman and artist, forever seeking perfection, obsessed with creating his own beauty, and yet a victim of torment by his master that twists his sense of creativity to something vile and precious only to him.

CW: Dead dove: Do Not Eat, graphic violence, torture porn, bondage, temperature play, forge sex, corruption, marking branding biting, mind breaking, mind control, body worship, First Age Sauron, if evil why (literally) hot

Ao3 link | Tolkien Masterlist

You can see your breath, hear your heart beating slower and slower with each passing hour. Languishing. A slow death. A painful death. A merciless one that meant to break you without hope.

There is no hope in Angband.

Even the floors here are ice. Not even prison rats scurry around your cell. Your pointed ears have long grown deaf to the noises of the dungeon, numb from the icy chill of this evil frozen North. The chains on your neck and wrists have long since frozen to your skin. Death will be a relief, you sigh, when once again you’ll see the shores of Valinor and find comfort in the Halls of Mandos.

That thought makes your heart warm just enough to last a few more beats. But then you hear them—footsteps—lighter than Orc, more graceful than Balrog… and your body stiffens as you hear that sound on the icy air.

Humming. Music. Means one thing. Ainur.

Please not the Dark Lord, you beg to divine forces too far away to hear you. Your pleas have fallen on deaf ears. But you hope not this time.

“Do not fear,” that voice croons from the shadows. His presence seems to instantly thaw your extremities, warmth seeping in where there had only been cold for so, so long. You see eyes and movement in the darkness, but from his stature and bearing, you know it’s not the Lord of Angband…

It is the Servant.

His gaze is sharp, eyes darting over your crumpled mess of a body nearly frozen to the floor. His hair is bright; reds like blood and oranges like flames hang in long waves down his back and shoulders. His voice seems to tickle right in your ear, even at this distance, even as he stalks closer towards the bars of your cell. “Do not fear, I’m here to free you.”

“Wh-what?” You croak, the truth of those words do not deceive you, no matter how much you long for them to be true.

Those lips twitch as with a wave of his hand, the iron door swings open, the groaning hinges echoing against stone. “Well,” he suddenly sounds sharp, exacting, “free you from your cell, Elf. You are by no means free, not in body or in will, nor will you ever be again.”

Reality smacks you, your chest constricting.

“The Dark Lord has no need of such a small, frail Elf like you,” he strides in, grasping your chin in fingers impossibly hot. His touch sears like the fires of the forge, the stink of brimstone and smoke fill your nose. “You’d make a weak, pathetic Orc.” Then he shoves you by your face back to the ground at his feet. Your manacled hands catch yourself just in time to keep your nose from smashing against stone.

“Fortunately, what is unfit to serve the Master is deemed worthy of his Servant,” that voice returns to such silken, lilting tones, and you look into his face. His bright brown eyes rake over you, assessing and evaluating your worth, as if you were a precious gem examined for the flaws in your cut.

Those eyes, the more you stare into them, the brighter they seem to shine, a mix of golden browns that bubble and simmer with flame. You see them, the ripples of his power that creep beneath this disguise of a mortal form. “Come,” he orders you, those frozen irons and chains melting from your skin to clatter on the floor around you. “There is much work to be done.”

His grip on your wrist tightens, and you realize with certainty that his skin is hot… flushed and searing you by touch alone. It would frighten you, if it wasn’t for the sense of reprieve it gives from the biting cold that has settled in your bones from your imprisonment. If anything, you draw your scantily clad body closer to his, seeking that thawing sensation…his black robes barely brush your flesh, The bared skin of your arms, even patches of your torso where your gown has shredded to rags with violence and time crave to be nearer.

It feels so… good. After so long in the cold alone, to feel another’s touch, it makes you melt. He guides you through the dark, and even though your jaw aches from that fleeting ferocity in your cell, you can’t help but wish for more warmth shared against your skin.

The memory should terrify you but… it doesn’t. Your mind only remembers how good those fingers felt, their warmth, their command…

And you crave more against your better judgment. You would call it hope, but there is no hope in Angband. No hope. Only craving. As if you know that the only thing that awaits you is fire and blissful burning.

Shadows deepen as you walk, those brown-orange eyes flicker at you beside him as you both ascend the darkened stairs. That scent of smoke and ashen stone that clings to his skin suffocates you. Your frail lungs burn with every inhale, and as you reach the ascent, you see why.

No ice prison, he’s brought you to a massive forge. Torches burn and flicker, but no light is brighter than the gaping maw of a furnace. Orange flame reflects in his eye as he scans you. Grip deathly tight on your wrist, he leads you with graceful movements… lithe and sinuous. Like a snake.

Like a predator stalking his prey.

The faintest of smiles turns his full lips, and he stops you beside a great metal anvil… wide and long and big enough for any great creation. You recall the tales of such things from those of your kind who had come from Valinor, from the workshops of Aulë himself, or of Fëanor and his descendants.

It is on this warm, dark metal that he effortlessly lifts you up to seat you. Its surface is roughened with divets and grooves, the scars of the Servant’s work spanning its face. That relaxing heat creeps through the skin of your ass and climbs your spine until you feel a smile stretch on your cracked lips.

His fingers wander their soothing touch over your collarbone, the slightest push guides you to lay back on the heated anvil. You stare into the ceiling, seeing only the gathering darkness offset by rippling steam and flickering light. His touch continues to dance on your chest, tracing the parts of you where starvation has prodded your bones towards the surface.

And that sharp face, that handsome face, smiles… so warmly. “The Dark Lord insists that we each are forged in the shadows, that what has once been bathed in the light is made anew in the dark. Morgoth’s way is to maim… to ruin and torture and kill the light of beings he drafts into his service…”

You see a flicker behind his eyes, a memory of his own past perhaps, you surmise. A recollection none too pleasant as it darkens his gaze and stiffens the corners of his smiling lips.

Then, he turns that smile down upon you, spread so perfectly on his anvil. “But such is not my way. I am no jailer or executioner. I am an artisan, a craftsman of greatest skill, and I shall make you anew, my treasure.”

His fingers trace your gaunt face, warming it, caressing the spots that have grown stiff and lined with fear. His voice is dulcet, sweet and singsong as he purrs down, and you want nothing more than to feel those full, smirking lips on your skin and taste the sweet promises that drip from his tongue. Before you even realize your need, before you can name your inner burning as desire, two words fall from your panting mouth. “My Lord…” you whisper.

And the Servant smiles. It’s radiant, a flash of brightness in his eye and a brilliance to his grin. But he tuts his tongue, chiding you for the youthful creation you are. “Tsk, none of that. I am no Dark Lord. I am called many things… Admirable, Abominable… Gorthaur… Sauron…”

His hands come to rest at the top of your throat, a slight pressure around your neck as his thumb traces your lower lip.

“But you, my treasure, you shall call me by one simple word…. Hîr.”

Master.

Your breath catches in your burning lungs, your tongue already noiselessly testing out the syllable as it dances at its tip.

His reddish brows arch, pleased at your submission as he can see every little twitch of your mouth.

“You are a rare beauty,” he whispers, “the undiluted blessing of the One shines in the skin of the Elves, their eyes still bright with the memory of the Two Trees…”

He peers into yours, almost wistful, as if he longs to catch a glimpse of that Starlight to capture for his own. Sauron lowers his mouth, hovering just out of reach of your own lips. The scent of his forge is so strong, you can taste it, you are lost in the wash of his singeing breath on your face. “Hîr,” you obediently rasp, arching off the anvil to catch his lips.

And he lets you, lips and tongue so overwhelmingly warm, there is no sensation in your body other than his mouth as he devours.

Wave after wave of his mouth on yours, you fail to sense the snaking of chains around your arms and legs until they have chinched themselves bitingly hard into your flesh. Then you panic, your heart thundering no longer from pure arousal, but that wild rhythm of racing fear. You tug at them, fight them, and with one last desperate plea, you beg for Manwë, Varda… Eru himself to hear you.

But there is no rescue, no whisper of a reply to your prayers.

There is only Sauron’s shimmering toothy smile in the dark as his eyes dance over your form… spread so perfectly for him to work with. “Do you know, my treasure, why I’ve loathed the beauty of the Elves? Eru chose to bless you, to gift your kind the wisdom and graces first given only to me, to my kind… and you squander them. You cannot fathom, cannot see the greater purpose such power could serve.”

He’s pacing between your body and his tools, spread so evenly and orderly beside him. A long iron brand in his grip, he sticks it in the opening of the furnace.

The hissing of metal heating makes you shiver. Makes your skin crawl.

Fingers pull away the rest of your rags, baring every bit of your taut skin to his flickering gaze. “You are beautiful, but it is shallow, it is false. And I, my treasure, will purify you. I’ll remake you in my image and likeness, a thing of incomparable radiance ....” You whine as his hands wrap their warmth around your breasts. “You now are a thing to be admired… as I once was,” he croons down at you, pulling your ass to the edge of the anvil, your chain impossibly tight around your arms, breaking you in their unyielding hold as your legs hang down precariously.

Those lips press searing kisses down your neck, over the places where your mortal heart is thundering. His eyes flash up at you, and in that moment, you swear you see the reflection of the furnace beside you. Or perhaps it is more… the power that lies barely concealed in this handsome, sensual form. Those full lips wrap around one nipple, then the other, an inferno drummed up at his call races through your veins.

It is agony, hot and wild, that courses in your flesh. Never would one of your kind be so… wanton. Lust feeds your form, every bit of your skin wants to be touched… and the more he caresses your breasts and trails his mouth lower over the hollow of your belly, the less you care if that contact is pleasure… or pain.

They are one under his command, your mind purrs to your reason. Every thought reduces to the mere sensation of his mouth, his hands that press now between your spread thighs. The moment his tongue touches you, parting your folds to taste you, an unholy sound tears from your lips. Flames pulse through your veins, every lick and swirl of his tongue draws ungodly ecstacy. You weep for the feeling, the overwhelming waves of pleasure he coaxes from your nearly-broken body as if he drew your very soul, your fëa, to the surface.

Words tumble from your lips, nonsensical and varied in language until it is one word over and over again. You rasp it, cry it, scream it as he brings you right to the edge of your climax… Hîr… Hîr… Master.

His laughter tickles your flesh and your mind all at once, the sensation of his presence in your skull and his tongue in your walls throws you into oblivion. Your climax slams into you, all fire and heat and tension as he withdraws from you in that moment of bliss. Your chain grows impossibly tighter as you convulse on the metal beneath you, and for a split second, you wonder where he has gone….

At first you think it’s the ice of your prison again that slices through the warm pool of pleasure in your belly. But then, you open your eyes… it is not ice but white hot fire on your skin as his brand marks your inner thigh. The hissing, the steam, the scent of charming flesh takes over your pleasure, stealing it from your body. And all the while, he smirks down from between your soaked thighs. Orange hair catches the glow of the brand as he lifts it, a satisfied glint in the flames of his own gaze.

Fear races down your nerves, every corner of your being screams at you to fight, to run and resist… the pain almost breaks through those tendrils of shadow that have woven into your senses. And now, as you inhale, you can smell it.

Death. Ashen and purifying. You see him, eyes ringed in flame and breath blackened like smoke… your heart could burst from your need to resist…

Until you feel his hands on your skin again, that warmth somehow driving the dread back into the recesses of your mind.

That teasing touch traces the prongs of his mark, three of them, ugly and deformed, a perversion of the pronged crown that rests on the Dark Lord, the Dark Vala’s head.

Your body shakes with the shock of pain, even as he presses his lips to kiss that angry flesh. “Ninya,” he whispers against it. Mine.

The pain intensifies as he removes his touch, the euphoria of your climax dulling to leave you with only the searing agony he’s caused in its wake. “Mine, and like me, you shall be remade from admirable to abominable… and I will always possess you.”

The sound of liquid swirls in glass, the soft tapping of a brush against its rim… he stands over you, eyes roaming your bared form and lingering on the places he deems most worthy… or is it unworthy?

“The light of the Valar still shines too brightly on your skin, so soft almost like pearls of the Sea… it too shall have to be remade,” he rasps. The black bottle in his hand coming closer, the wooden brush wiping the excess fluid before he brings it to your legs.

The bite of acid eats at your skin, burning you, tearing you inside out. That music in his voice invades your mind, warping the pain into a warm sort of pleasure. Every drip of acid on your flesh as he paints higher and higher… your thighs, your belly… it shifts into that hot coil of need roiling behind your navel.

He doesn’t slather you, he’s not destroying you… it’s painstaking and exact the way he draws into your skin, making it burn and hiss and bubble anew. Remaking. Whirls and swirls and swipes in the precise places his critical eye deems worthy.

It’s agony… blissful agony… Every scream from your throat breaks into a moan. The perversion of your pain into bliss brings a drugged sort of grin to your face. The grin of a fool.

He sets the brush back inside the bottle, his hand tracing the rises and valleys of your face, your sharpened cheekbones, the hollows of your cheeks. His fingers dance on your wincing face, warm and burning, a herald of the pain you know he’s about to inflict. Your heart will surely explode, and your death might just be the final offering you make… But then, he cups your cheek, fingers laced in the mess of your long and knotted hair.

“Don’t be afraid, my treasure. You are being oh so brave… oh so valiant as you are remade.” His kiss instantly numbs your pain and slows your heart, the torture of resistance in your mind instantly silenced. That coil of need flames anew as his hand wanders back over your mound, dipping that addictive touch into your slick.

You gasp, eyes rolled back, spine arching off the anvil’s metal. Then you look into his face, the abyss of fire and darkness behind his eyes sucks you inside, lost to anything but the sensations of his fingers that tease you and torture you in a different way. A more pleasing way.

His fingers slide so easily, playing you like an instrument in his grasp. Your moans are the melody of his composing, the bucking of your hips keeps a steady rhythm, one perfectly timed to the thrust of his fingers. His mouth on yours once more, the biting of his teeth on your lips, the growls of his own pleasure in his throat form a counterpoint so intoxicating, there is nothing left but the music of him finger fucking you.

All that pain that is bound in your nerves and coiled in your belly bursts… white hot and violent as you come. Then, you scream until your voice cracks, until your vocal chords are fried from the force and volume he demands from your spent form.

“Good, my treasure…” he rasps against your lips as they fall silent. “Ninya… you’ve done so well,” he purrs into your pointed ear as the world grows dark to your vision, as your body gives in and falls unconscious. Those little praises bring a twisted smile to your face as you drift into oblivion. “When you wake, you’ll be mine alone, mine forever… the most beautiful abomination I have yet crafted…”

And the final sensation to pierce through the veil of your slumber is the sting of acid on your forehead and cheek… the flicker of pain plunging you completely into the darkness at long last.

There is no hope in Angband… There is also no time. Only darkness and craving. Hunger and satisfaction.

Pain. And pleasure.

It’s a lesson you are taught nightly, at least you assume it’s nightly… whenever it is that Sauron returns to his chambers where you are kept sequestered away. The chains from his forge are gone, replaced with elegant links of gold and gem-entrusted trappings that hang on your frame. Your hands fiddle with them, where they drape down your arms in layers, where they sweep over your bare skin to your middle.

You’ve long forgotten the feeling of clothes. There is only the bed and your elegant chains, the heat of his touch and the sting of his biting teeth and burning brand and lashing whips.

You wish that your memories would dim… that the burden of your elven heritage would forsake you as easily as that fair, starkissed body you once called your own. Tears prick your eyes, your own fingers steadily tracing your once soft skin, touch dancing over blade scars and the rough ridges of his burning… the brands of his possession forever glaring at you from your thighs, not unlike those ghostly flickering eyes that haunt you each day… whether Sauron visits you or not.

“Mairaza…” the whisper brushes your mind before it settles in your ear. “My precious…” you’ve learned his new tongue… this speech he’s created for his servants, for you.

The warmth of his body seeps into you from behind, that scent of fire, of ash and smoke and forge excites you now… it conjures that swirl of damp heat in your cunt. Already you grit your teeth, craving in excess, hungering for more. The thin chains of gold and jewels clink and jingle as those calloused hands caress your body. He lingers over his marks, the scars of his pleasure-pain that have molded you into his own creation.

“Can you feel it, Mairaza, can you feel how much I want you?”

You clench around nothingness, hoping beyond hope that he fills you soon and grants you release this time.

Soft words of his own invented tongue purr inside your brain, praising your scars, the healed-over bubbles of flesh from that day he claimed you…

Sauron turns you, your attention lost in the bottomless depth of his eyes as those magical fingers caress the scars that curve in serpentine shapes over your cheeks. “Beautiful, so beautiful,” he rasps. “Can you feel how much I want you, body and soul?” his lips whisper against your own. “Can you feel how much you are mine, Ninya?”

The words do not come to you outloud; they flood your very being, racing to your awareness down the tether that binds you to him.

That taste of his mouth swallows you whole, and there is nothing left of hope and peace. All that remains is the fire of lust and the darkness of desire. You cannot escape, nor would you seek to anymore. No lies or deception are required any longer, for you feel his want and crave his attentions…

He is always in your mind, his marks always on your body… his greatest creation. For now.

A gift to @myfavouritelunatic for her ask, for @marimosalad for betaing and inspired by @ogyscrypt and his masterpiece of a nsfw audio you should totally check out… Link on Reddit

[chiliyue-archived]

Backseat of his car

↬making out with him in the backseat

Includes; Dazai, Chūya

Tags; Heavily suggestive. Biting, markings, groping, implications of sex wink wink nudge nudge

Notes; Thank you anon for this wonderful idea

Requested !

-

Dazai

His breath was tickling right under your ear, hot puffs of air spurring your desires. It was terribly cramped in his car, your elbow probing at an awkward angle as your lover made you shiver and spilled soft muffled moans from your lips.

Despite the predicament, it really yieled little concern from Dazai, who shamelessly bit and feathered his lips along the bare patches of your skin. His mouth was terribly greedy, leaving a trace of blemishes whilst dripping in mirth and sweet nothings as his senses numbed out to a pulse.

He has you pressed against the door, your head resting on the window- the angle was a little uncomfortable but it very quickly drowned out to pleasure as he continued his actions, body curving to reach new locations as much as the space allowed.

"'Samu-" you breathed out as his teeth took a more harsh approach and bit into your collarbone with little mercy. You could feel your lover smile against your sensitive skin; a mere hum came from him as he suddenly rasped his tongue over the forming bruise.

You craned your neck out, granting him more access as his fingers crept along your thighs and spine coaxing a sputtered sigh from your abused lips. Before you could even mutter a response, Dazai pulled away; his eyes dancing along your figure, taking in the newly added collection of lovebites.

" Can't wait to get home and have you all to myself, 'Bella." He murmured before leaning to peck you on the lips. You felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip, teeth ghosting along the surface - a foreshadowing of what's to come later." Hmm, but as for right now, I'll spoil and kiss you here while I can."

With greedy hands, he pulled you closer and swallowed your breath away with a kiss that left you moaning softly. His hand reached out and pressed flat against the window- the glass in which fogged up with your combined heated breathes- supporting his weight as his lips chased after yours again, again and again, only pulling away for a crude intake of oxygen before repeating the action.

Chūya

He makes you utterly drunk on the feeling of his tongue exploring your wet cavern that you hardly remember that you're in his car. It's wasn't some cheap rental either. The seats were cushioned with expensive leather that in the heat of the moment, you could easily mistake it as the mattress of your shared bed.

As his tongue glided against yours, his gloved fingers traced along your body, maneuvering under your articles of clothing and exploring the bare skin. He smirked against the kiss as you squirmed when the cold texture of his gloves made contact with your sensitive skin.

" Hah... too irresistible. Couldn't wait till later." He huffed out, pulling away with a string of salivia connecting you from your passionate exchange. His face flushed at the sight of you below him, lips glistened and magenta from your exchanges. He leaned down again to press a chaste peck to your cheek before trailing down to the area below your ear. Your body stiffened as you felt him suckle the skin, a purple blemish forming in its place.

Chūya continued to trail hot wet kisses along your neck, the mixture of your hot breaths feeling nearly suffocating within the vehicle. It radiated an aura of pure passion and pleasure as his fingers found the curve of your hips, tracing it out with two fingers as his lips attached to any skin it found.

" Y'know, babe, these windows are tinted. Meaning we could do anything we want right now." His voice was low, husky against your ear as his hands started to dip underneath your shirt once again and trailed up to grope gently as your chest.

" What do ya say, Doll?"

-

[yinemw]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲

context: a new way to celebrate bf Levi’s bday (gender neutral reader)

warnings: none

character: Levi Ackerman from AOT

m.list

Every year Levi complained how he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday. Hange and you of course didn’t listen, celebrating his birthday and Christmas together, having either a small gathering or party for the celebration. Handing him presents, presents he didn’t want nor did he ask for them. So, this year you decided to give him what he always wanted. ‘Nothing’.

No celebration, no gifts, it would be a normal day. Like he’s always said he wanted whenever you asked “Levi what do you want for your birthday?” “Nothing”.

“You’re being unusually quiet” Levi said simply as you and him walk through the streets together. Hand in hand, scarf around your neck as snowflakes decorate your hair. It was already evening, an hour to midnight. Meaning only an hour left of Levi’s birthday.

“Would you like me to be louder?” You ask teasingly, stopping in your tracks as Levi drops your hand. Stepping in front of you and adjusting the scarf around your neck. He adored the way your cheeks had a slight red tint to them due to the cold, the way the snowflakes melted on your warmer skin, especially the way the street lamps made your eyes sparkle as you looked at him.

Levi rolled his eyes at your obvious tease, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he continued to walk. “Loud or not, you’ll be annoying either way”

“What an ungrateful man” you whisper under your breath as Levi continues to walk, slower tough, waiting for you to catch up with him. Crouching down, you pick up some snow and make a snowball between your palms. A mischievous smile on your lips as you stand up and aim straight at your boyfriend.

The clump of snow hits him straight in the back, and he stiffens. Stopping in his tracks as he turns on his heel to face you. For a second you regret it, but the second you see the corners of his lips start to lift, you know you’ve really fucked up. “Mercy, I beg, mercy please Levi I’m already so cold”

But mercy was not given. Levi already had a ball of snow in his slender hands, not hesitating to throw it straight at you. The snow hitting your chest and going into your jacket. Letting out a scream, followed by laughter, an official snowball fight had begun.

It was rare to see Levi be in his playful nature, to hear him laugh and tease. But you never failed to bring out that side of him, and to your surprise it was the happiest you’d seen Levi on his birthday for years.

“Levi! That went down my pants!”

“Sucks brat”

Grabbing a handful of snow, you jump onto Levi’s back and stuff it down his shirt. Feeling his warm skin and toned muscles as you get the snow as far down as you can. A satisfied smile on your lips when you hear the groan escape your boyfriend’s lips. “You deserved that!”

Before you know it, you’re tackled down in the snow. Levi right beside you, slightly breathless from the long snowball fight. “So, who won?” You ask between breaths, turning your head to look at him. “Personally I think me, that last move was pretty hardcore”

“Hardcore?” He raises a brow, turning his head as well. Eyes softening when he looked into yours, his hand reaching out to brush some snow out of your hair, not like it did much. “I will admit I’m cold as shit, if that was your goal, yes you win”

As out of reflex, you reach your hand out and cup his cheek. Always loving how soft his skin felt against your palm, now cold and also rosy due to the snow. Levi followed along, leaning closer as well, the tip of his nose nudging yours. He never liked pda, always opting for more private areas to shower you with affection. But right now seemed too perfect of an opportunity to miss. Your lips meet in a cold and wet kiss caused by the melted snow. Fingers starting to feel numb, but his lips so captivating you couldn’t help but kiss back.

“Mmmmfmf!! Levi!!” followed by laughter, you immediately sit up after Levi had stuffed snow up your jacket. “How dare you! Using a kiss to distract me!”

He continued to laugh, the sound making you melt even through your frustration. At least he helped you up, and despite everything, he still adjusted your scarf.

“Oh yeah, this scarf is helping a lot, thank you so much Levi I feel so much warmer” you say sarcastically as you walk uncomfortably beside him, feeling the snow melt under your shirt.

Levi only rolls his eyes, smacking you across the head softly before taking your hand in his and starting to walk towards your shared home.

It was a couple minutes till midnight, and you couldn’t help but ask “Levi, how was your birthday?”

The corners of his lips tilt upwards, but he doesn’t turn to face you. “Dare I say, best one yet”

“Even with us wet and cold?”

“Even with us wet and cold. At least I don’t have to try one of Hange’s birthday cakes again, if it can even be called a ‘cake’”

“Oh uhm, maybe don’t check the fridge when we get home…”

“Sigh”

[softsoule]

The Wolf and The Rabbit P3.

Warning: This is my first story I'm not a writer never wrote or published anything before but I thought I would make this story so please don't criticize me too much. I hope you all enjoy that do read this!

*Warning: Smut

*Pairing: Cha Hyun-Su x Reader Part One Part Two

Your lips are numb from the rough kissing, and your tongue dances in his mouth, desperately fighting for dominance. You bite his lip, and it sends him into a frenzy.

He growls and lifts you up, his hands planted on your ass. His lips attack yours as he walks to the empty patient room. He roughly throws you on the nearest bed, and a wave of pain overcomes you.

His dick twitches at the sight of your discomfort; he craves to see it again. His blue eyes darken with passion, and his pants stiffen with lust.

You whine out in pain, and that's enough to send him over the edge. He rips off your clothes, leaving you in your tattered underwear. Before you can protest, he crashes his lips into yours, his hand now reaching dangerously close to your sweet spot. Tightly gripping your soaking wet baby pink panties, he destroys the piece of cloth.

You call out his name desperate from the teasing; he chuckles and gives you what you want. His hand leaves a slow, soft circle on your clitoral area while his mouth sucks and nibbles on your neck.

You moan out his name over and over as you grind against his hand. Almost reaching your peak, he pulls away. You whimper at the absence of his hand, but quickly it is replaced by his warm, wet mouth.

The pleasure of his tongue sends shivers through your body, and your toes curl as you cry out. He chuckles against your core at your reaction. He inserts a finger into your canal softly massaging your walls.

You pull and tug on his hair as he deliciously eats your box as if it were his last meal. He gently sucks and tugs on your clit while gently adding another finger.

You feel your clitoris pulsate, and your muscles tighten as if they were about to burst. "You better not" he warns.

His warning falls on deaf ears as his sweet licks hit your spot and you feel your body begin to release.

Almost instantly, Cha Hyun-Su lands a hard smack on your thigh, causing you to cry out. "Did I tell you to cum?" he growls.

His eyes darken, and his face is furious. He gave you a order and you disobeyed it. How bold of you; but every rule you break you must pay for it. He must teach you to obey him. He menacingly grins at the thought of it.

His eerie smile sends a shiver down your spine. "I-I'm S-orry" you stammer over your words, still breathless from your climax.

Your apology means nothing to him, and you know it. He'll be sure to spend the rest of the night teaching you what happens to disobedient girls.

"Let me show you what happens when you don't follow my orders little rabbit." he smirks.

[bohemianblasphemy]

Could you do one where Butcher finds out it’s your birthday and you hadn’t told anyone? He shows up at 11PM and surprises you to give you a little thoughtful present and is shy about giving it to you, but he tells you he didn’t want you to think no one noticed.

omg stop this is so cute 🥺

The clock on the wall rang 11pm as you sat alone in your apartment. Sitting on the end of your couch with your chin in your palm, mindlessly flicking through movie options that just numbed your brain- waiting for the hour to tick by for your birthday to be over.

“happy birthday me…” you whispered to yourself, sighing softly.

You didn’t say anything to the others, not that you didn’t want them to know- just not wanting the fuss over you.

you stared at the tv once more, still scrolling for a movie option before hearing a brisk knock at the door. it was unexpected, but made you wary of who may be behind it. Creeping to the door, you looked through the peep hole and was met with one Billy Butcher… holding a balloon?

The door clicker open and you looked at butcher, illuminated by the yellow LED lights of the apartment building hallway. In one hand, he held a balloon in the shape of a smiley face, in the other a bag containing a wrapped item. You looked at him, confused at the gesture. “Billy, what’re you doing here?”

“heard it was ya birthday…” his voice wasn’t in his usual cocky tone, he sounded… shy?

“how’d you find that out?” he shrugged. “a magic fairy told me.” he smiled. “can i… come in?” you opened the door further, watching him walk in. he turned to you as you closed the door, handing you the balloon and the wrapped gift. you chuckled softly at his kind gesture, placing the gift on the small kitchen bench. “you didn’t have to… you know, do this-“ “i wanted to.” he avoided your eye contact. “now open it will ya? ya makin’ me nervous…” he half joked, nerves clearing appearing in his tone.

you picked up the small rectangular item, unwrapping the delicate paper to reveal a CD. it was blank, but the cover had a label titled ‘Songs for you.’ “i know you love music so… burnt some songs for ya.”

“Butcher… i don’t know what to say.” you looked at him, a grin appearing on your face. “thank you…”

“yeah, don’t mention it. don’t go make a big fuss yeah?” he said, feigning nonchalance but smiled at your reaction.

Your heart swelled and you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle embrace. he stiffened for a moment, before relaxing and wrapping his arms around you.

“this means a lot butcher…” you pulled away and looked at him. “don’t get used to it…” he chuckled again, but that softness is still present in his eyes.

“how’s about we have a night in? get you some food, my treat of course…” he smiled at you, seeing you nodded in agreement.

“i’d love that very much.”

[askinkiskarma]

we need jealous neteyam

say less bestie.

synopsis: When Neteyam sees you talking to a touchy Metkayina man, he feels the need to remind you and the rest of the world who you belong to.

wc: 3k words

warnings: filthy smut (p in v penetration, fingering, oral - f receiving, squirting, edging, creampie, slight praise kink), slightly mean!neteyam, jealous!neteyam, softdom!neteyam, 18+ minors DNI

na'vi words used: Atan - light (also known as my favourite nickname ever - see illicit affairs for more), tewng - loincloth

a/n: thank you anonnie for the request bc fr i've needed jealous!Neteyam in my life and this came at the perfect time. this HAD to be done as part as the cardigan series. i don't make the rules, i just abide by them, but you don't have to have read it to understand any of it, this is just a nod for my OG besties x

Neteyam had impeccable control over his emotions. Everyone thought so. Everyone said so. The best of both Neytiri and Jake, he was a picture-perfect warrior through and through. Calm and collected in the face of danger, able to stop and analyse every move 3 steps in advance, able to gain perspective in every situation, able to think impartially, able to maintain perspective even in the harshest of circumstances. 

That was normally. That was normally, but now, as he was watching you smile at the Metkayina Olo’eyktan’s right hand, as he was watching his hand brush the soft lapis skin only he should ever know the feel of, Neteyam felt like a bull in a ring, and the man was tauntingly dangling a red cloth in front of his face. 

Neteyam assumed the whole damn clan understood you were his… you came to the reef people together, didn’t you? You were holding on to him when you first met the chieftain and the Tsa’hik. He thought it was pretty fucking obvious. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he needed to work harder to make sure people knew who you belonged to, who owned your heart, your soul. Your body. 

His mind was empty as he stalked towards the pair of you, a mission on his mind and a frown on his face. His mouth was tight and his eyes hard as he grabbed you sternly by your arm, and you jumped slightly at the contact, but immediately relaxed as your gaze settled on his beautiful navy body only to again stiffen as you took in his demeanour. He was pissed at you. Neteyam didn’t get pissed often. In fact, you think the last time was almost a year ago, back in your clearing in the forest. Not only was he pissed, there was a darkness about him, so atypical, so different.. so fucking hot. 

You smirked, and you feel butterflies burrowing through your stomach and escaping through the rest of your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He was jealous. Neteyam was jealous. You haven’t seen Neteyam jealous since he thought you fucked his brother, in a time that felt like a different life ago, and heat was quickly spreading in your womb at the memory of that kiss, your first kiss, so intense, so passionate, so raw. The grip he had on your arm was so tight it was restricting blood flow to your fingers, which prickled painfully, slowly going numb. 

Oh, this is going to be fun…

“Atan, who is your new friend? I don’t think we’ve met.” His low voice was serious, deadly, not an ounce of his normal, good-natured tone. 

“This is Azao Te Soaspxaì Kuvay'itan. He is chief Tonowari’s right hand man. A mighty warrior.” Strike one. You knew you were pushing your luck, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. In fact, you knew pushing your luck now meant getting fucked dumb later, and that was enough motivation for you to egg him on. 

“I feel like you two should talk. You might have a lot more in common than you think.” You couldn’t help the slight amused tone in your voice, couldn’t help the small squeal you had to conceal as a cough as Neteyam’s hand was leaving painful purple marks on your now numb arm. His eyes were boring holes in the side of your face, and you also couldn't help yourself from turning around and raising an eyebrow at him. Strike two. A low rumble emanates from deep in his throat, and both your and Azao’s eyes snap to your mate, who is holding it together with barely concealed wrath. 

“That… sounds great." Azao's tone was uncertain as he spoke. "Your dad mentioned you were one of the youngest Omatikaya to pass your Iknimaya and Uniltaron. That’s very impressive. We can definitely talk more, once I am done with your beautiful sister here.” 

Strike three. 

“Ah, Azao. Neteyam is not my brother. He’s my mate.” You moved subtly, so as to put your body in between the poor man and Neteyam’s, and you felt his chest heaving with each deep breath as it stood flush against your back. Azao’s rude awakening would have been hilarious to witness if it wasn’t for the fact you were genuinely worried for his life. You couldn’t blame him for his mistake. You always referred to the rest of the Sully kids as your siblings, and aside from your obvious human features, that you shared with Lo’ak, Kiri and Jake, you and Neteyam had a distinct resemblance to each other, such as your deeply-contrasted stripes covering your face and your whole body, so much more pronounced than most other Na’vi’s, even your siblings'. 

“I -, I- I thought you said the Toruk Makto is your dad.” You pushed a lock of hair that fell in front of your eyes and scratched the top of your head, laughing awkwardly. 

“Yeah. It’s… complicated.” 

“Azao.” Shit. Neteyam’s tone was a blaring warning sign, and you dug your feet more firmly on the ground, using your body as a shield. His hand travelled down onto your own, that he grabbed forcefully. His other hand went to the nape of your neck, that he caressed with barely-there touches, and you shuddered under him. You needed him. Now. 

“If you will excuse us, my mate and I have to talk.” He didn’t wait for the Metkayina man to answer before he ushered you away, and you turned as best as you could, waving your new friend goodbye. 

Neteyam didn’t stop until you reached a portion of the island that was uninhibited and covered in trees and shrubbery, and soft green moss. You didn’t manage to get a single word out before Neteyam’s long, beautiful fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze, knocking the air out of you. Without warning, his lips crash into yours feistily, and his tongue pushes past your lips, hungrily exploring your mouth, and you moan into him, desperate for him to do the same to your needy, sopping cunt. He pushes your head back by the throat, and gives you a warning look, one that should deter you, but instead makes you pant with untamed desire. 

“You like playing with fire, don’t you, Atan?” he squeezes again, until you whimper and the world starts to slowly fade around you, and the whimpers turn into pathetic moans as he releases his grip and the rush of oxygen makes more slick pool in your now already-damp loincloth. 

“I’m your brother now, am I? Is that what people think, is this what this tribe thinks?” 

“Neteyam, who cares what they think?” 

“I obviously haven’t done a good enough job in making sure people understand who you belong to.” his hand takes hold of your jaw, bringing it up to look in his eyes. “Who this face belongs to.” His other hand moves down to trail over your body, from your neck to your collarbones, to the swell of your breasts, to the curve of your waist until it reaches your tewng, that he skilfully unwraps and lets fall to the floor, and you whimper slightly as the breeze hits your now uncovered core. His slips his hand in between your thighs, tracing your folds, thumb circling your clit lazily, and you jerk slightly, but he holds you in place with a firm grip on your hips. “Who this pussy belongs to.” 

He tilts his head slightly and licks his lips, still eyeing you like how a predator eyes his next meal. “Let’s look at all the offences, shall we? First…” he says as he pushes your thighs apart and inserts a slender digit into your drenched core. You gasp at the sudden stretch and try to push your head back, which he prevents with his unrelenting grip on your face. He tsks with a languid shake of his head. “No, Atan. You will look at me.” he starts a slow pace of his finger, continuing to pump in and out of you while his thumb motions draw more insistent, and the pressure in your core builds, enough to make you pant, not enough to feel release, aching for more, more stimulation, more of him in you.

“First, you knowingly let another man flirt with you, and you call him a mighty warrior in front of me, knowing full well what it would do to me.” 

“Second…” he inserts a second finger, scissoring you open, and the mewl you release does nothing to deter him, nothing to stop him. “You raise your eyebrow at me. You know what happens when you raise your pretty little eyebrows at me, Atan.” 

“Neteyam, ple- ah! Please!” 

“No, baby, you don’t get to ask for favours now. I’m not even done yet.” 

“Third,” his last digit sinks into you to the knuckle and his three long, slender fingers stretch you out like a fucking dream, filling you in the way you craved and needed, moving at the pace he knew would get you to fall apart around him. “You allowed him to think that we’re brother and sister. You let him think he had a shot at fucking you. You let him touch your skin, run his fingers down your arm.”

Your breaths were shaky and shallow as you shook your head, as you tried to obey him, tried to focus on keeping your gaze on his, on keeping yourself together, but you couldn’t, not when it felt so good, not when the pressure in your abdomen was so tight it was about to explode all around you and all around him. And he didn’t want you to keep it together. He wanted you to suffer, and suffer you did when he pulled out of you as you were on the edge of coming on his fingers. 

“Argh - fuck!” You felt frustrated, and tears started to prick at your eyes, the emptiness you felt in your womb taking a toll on you. He knew your body better than you did. He’s had so long to learn it, so long to study it, and much like the any other challenge Neteyam tackled, he aced, he became the leading expert in what buttons to push to get you to come, and what buttons to push to drive you to the edge of insanity. 

“Does it feel good? You wanted this, right? Wanted to piss me off? Well, Atan…” he removes his hand from your jaw and moves it to your chest, which he pushes softly until you take the hint and move backwards, and he helps you onto the ground, caressing your body as he does, a gentle reminder that he loves you, that he would never purposefully hurt you, that he knows that there is a fine line between pleasure and pain and that, while he’s walking it, you would give into him like you always did, because in the end, he always made it worth your while. 

“Consider me pissed off.” 

His hands move from your ankles upwards, massaging your thighs with each stroke, with each inch traversed, and you almost relax under his touch, the feeling soothing and reassuring, like the calm before a storm. You allowed yourself the respite of closing your eyes and melting on the ground, with rushes of need overtaking you once more. You let out an inadvertent squeal when his tongue licks your pussy from your entrance to your clit, that he sucks on eagerly, making you entire body convulse under him, making you grind on his face, and he lets you, allowing you to coat his lips, chin and nose in your arousal. He continues to do it until you’re ready to come, then stops, once, twice, three times. You have tears running down your face and small, pathetic sobs escaping your lips. 

“Why’re you crying, baby? Hmm?” You just whine in response, shaking your head spastically. His mouth closes over your hips and abdomen in several spots, leaving marks and hickeys that you knew everyone will be able to see, including his family. “Neteyam… we share a tent with your family, fuck!” 

“Atan, I don’t care. It’s obvious I haven’t made it clear to the people of this clan that you’re mine. Mine. It’s time I rectified that. I won’t apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.”

He continued his endless, slow, torturous onslaught throughout your whole body, until you had bruises everywhere, until they were as prominent as the little bioluminescent stars adorning your body, until they were battle scars that you would wear proudly, that you would show off enthusiastically, because fuck, you were his. You have been his since the moment you were both born just a couple months apart and you’ll be his your whole lives. You loved nothing more than being his. 

When he reaches you neck, the sucking turns into soft, peppering kisses, and you melt into his touch, cooing slightly as your hands reach over to stroke his hair and push it back behind his ears, that twitch backwards in response. 

“You’re mean. But I love you anyway.” 

“You were mean first, Atan. And I love you more. Don’t forget that.” You let out a breathy scream as his canines sink into your neck, and you can almost taste the metallic tang of the blood as it makes its way out of your body, as it coats your mate’s tongue when he laps at it like a starved man. 

“You’re mine.” He kisses you, roughly and you moan into his mouth as the mixture of your slick and blood on his tongue, in your mouth, makes you dizzy, tightens the coil in your womb once more. 

“I’m yours. All yours.” 

“Every curve, every moan, and every quiver belong to me, and only me.”

He makes quick work of his loincloth that he tosses carelessly by your side, and you can’t help the breathless moans that escape you once his tip prods at your soaked entrance, your cunt throbbing in anticipation, praying that this time, he’ll let you finish. Once. At least once. You push into him impatiently, making his length slip into you more and he growls lowly at your mishap. 

“Move another inch and you won’t be coming tonight.” 

Incoherent whimpers are all you are able to contribute in response, and he starts slowly sinking into your needy cunt, the stretch almost unbearable, but oh, so necessary. You can feel his tip grazing your cervix as he bottoms out and his breath hitches in his throat, a frown on his beautiful face as the pleasure takes over him. It takes a while, but eventually his eyes open and you are overwhelmed at their beauty, at the glimmers of light and forest green in the expressive, golden orbs, the one you knew by heart, the one that you dreamt of at night, that were the lights that guided your life, just like you were the light that guided his. 

“You drive me crazy, Atan. I can already feel you squeezing me. You always take me so well, don’t you, baby? This pretty pussy was made for my cock. Mine.” 

You nod enthusiastically, hoping that by doing so he’ll forgive you and fuck you until you passed out, the way he always did back in the forest. You missed falling asleep with him still deep in you, his cum dripping down your ass, hidden from view in your favourite cave or your clearing, where no one else could find you, where it was just you and him, forever and for always. 

“Do you want it, baby? Want me to give it to you?” 

“Yes! Yes please, oh my God, please!” 

He smirks and tilts his head, a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

You whimper, frustration taking over you once more. His smirk widens into a full devilish smile and he pulls out slowly, only to ram back into you so hard you get knocked back from the sheer force. 

“Beg.” 

“Please, Neteyam. Fucking hell, please, I’m begging you, move! I need you to fuck me, I need your cock so badly, please!” 

You felt his groan deep in your soul, electricity running down your spine, pooling in your abdomen, sending sparks everywhere in your body and when he started a rough pace, slamming into you ruthlessly while his balls continued to slap against your folds, while his pelvis put pressure on your clit, it didn’t take long for the pleasure to become overwhelming, didn’t take long for all the orgasms you were denied to catch up with you. He didn’t stop once you came all over his cock, but maintained the same pace until you were shaking and feeling the desire build up yet again, even stronger than the first time.

“Remember whose dick you’re about to squirt on the next time you think of pulling this shit. Let go, Atan. Come for me.” 

Another testament to how well he knew you, his words immediately drove you to your release, gushes of liquid spilling out of you as you squirted on him, dripping down his balls and your ass and making a mess out of the ground beneath you. 

“Let’s see Azao get near you again when you spend the next week with my cum dripping down your thighs. With my smell all over your perfect body.”

And with that, he comes in you, thick ropes of cum painting your walls, that he fucks back into you, using his cock like a plug to make certain you’re marked, certain it’s not going anywhere for the time being. 

Neteyam had impeccable control over his emotions. But just like with everything else in his life, you would always be the exception to his every rule, the one that had absolute power over him, the one that owned his heart, body and soul. The only one. 

“So… do you like getting fucked by your brother, Atan?” 

taglist: @samiiistarss @fanboyluvr

[deleteddewewted]

Supermarket Romance: Cocoa and Painkillers (Christmas Special) P6.5

Modern! Demetrian Titus x Gn! Reader

MDNI

W: Ableist Language (From Titus), Friends with feelings, NSFW (Masturbation), Imagine this takes place after the event of chapter 6 (You'll see why), Age gap, Doing Holiday Stuff

If you want to buy me a Ko-fi

Taglist: @kingmagnificolover @garlickedbreads @eliferraris @justeverythingnothingelse @absent-still @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lichkingofangmar @hatsubara-8chan @riokunova @sk-3-tch @futtorliya @missmannequin

The colder months wrecked Titus' body. He didn't particularly enjoy the snow or the rain as it made his joints stiffen and his muscles tighten uncomfortably. Steroid injections were a no-go for him as he was on too many different mediations to allow for the use of them so he had to make do with painkillers. During his service he made sure to rub muscle cream on his body as often as he could, hoping that the cream would help ease the pain in his body, and then take 2 to 3 painkillers to truly numb himself. It made working bearable when based up north in a country that knew only snow and cold weather but when he had the opportunity, he would clamor at the chance to be sent somewhere with nothing but desert and dust storms, at least there he knew his body wouldn't complain.

The cold was not the only thing he disliked either. The holidays, especially Christmas, were hard on him too. He had to make plans to avoid people in his apartment complex or to minimize interactions with coworkers when he had to come into the office. Christmas was a loud affair. He knew that it would mean crowded drive-thru's, crowded streets, and stores. It would mean that his senses would be bombarded with all the lights and decorations that would be put out. He would avoid it as much as possible when deployed but indulged some of his men if they had the time to even set up a tree or make a meal.

Guilliman had called him, asking him if he had already put up his tree, and when he revealed he hadn't, Guilliman sent him his own tree and forced him to decorate it. He did put up lights and some charms but he refused to plug it in so that it lit up. Titus sometimes found himself staring at the unlit tree thinking about how many Christmases he had with his parents and the pile of presents he used to get from Santa Claus. There was a joy in the memory but it began to grow clouded by the ones where he spent them alone in his office filling paperwork detailing brothers who were killed in action. To say that this was his least favorite time of the year was an understatement.

He shook the memory away and instead looked down at his phone. Calgar and he had been texting all day, happy wishes and promises to meet for the New Year's were exchanged. Calgar and he did exchange gifts, even if neither one of them was a big fan of the holiday. His former superior sent him a gift card with a new notebook and pen from a brand he barely knew how to pronounce. It looked expensive and when questioned why he would spend so much money on a book and pen, Calgar responded with, "You're terrible at making notes for yourself but you were always great at documenting." It was a true enough statement but it still made Titus nauseous at the idea of how much money was spent. Titus in exchange got Calgar a bottle of his favorite alcoholic drink and a gift card for a store the man frequented. It wasn't anything big but it did make it so Titus' guilt for being avoidant dissipated. His parents had also sent him gifts but he didn't dare open them. There was usually a letter attached to them and he was scared to see what it said.

He didnt know what to do with the rest of his night. He didn't feel like cooking and the heated pad he had placed on his knee felt too nice to remove. He was planning on ordering takeout but he got a call from you as he was looking at the menu from a restaurant he frequented. He answered your call, wondering why you would be calling him so late, but also because your were calling him instead of texting him.

"Hello?" He asked tentatively.

"Hi, Titus! Merry Christmas!" You greeted him.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Y/n." Your enthusiasm was contagious. A fluttering feeling in his stomach came back and so did a smile that he hadn’t taken notice of.

"I was calling to ask if you felt comfortable with me dropping your gift by your house or if you wanted to meet up some other day so I can give it to you?"

"Gift?" He questioned.

"Yeah, i got you something.”

"That's very considerate of you, but you didn't have to-" He tried explaining himself but you cut him off before he could finish.

"Nonsense. We're friends and everyone deserves a little something for the holidays." You exclaimed.

"I-" he didn’t know what to say. He was actually left without words. It was considerate of you but he hadn’t gotten you anything for the holiday as he didn't know this was something you were planning on doing.

"Oh shit, were you busy? I'm sorry.” You apologized.

"No, not at all. I was just- I'm at home wondering what to do for the day and I was doing nothing of importance." He tried reassuring.

"In that case, we should go to the city's downtown area! There's so much going on over here. They even installed an ice skating rink in the main plaza!"

"Oh, uh... sure. Do you want to meet there?" He asked, his heart started beating faster in his chest at the suggestion of spending time alone with you.

"I'm already here! I'll see you when you get here then!" You bid him goodbye before hanging up.

Titus groaned as he got up from his bed. His leg felt better but he still made sure to put more weight on his uninjured leg. He began getting dressed and put on as many layers of clothes as he could. He wore a thick turtle neck with a coat on top and a scarf around his neck to keep warm. He grabbed his wallet and keys from his coffee table and was about to open his front door before he stopped himself. His cane sat laying by the front door and he contemplated leaving it before just grabbing it and leaving in a hurry.

Ice and snow covered everything, making it a nerve-racking drive to the city center. When he finally reached the location you had sent him and made sure to give himself to decompress and relax in his car. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the assault on his senses as the lights of the gaudy decorated homes and plaza assaulted his senses. He took deep breaths in before he got out of the car. He walked over to the center of the plaza where an ice rink had been erected and spotted you standing by the wall watching the skaters.

"Y/n, it's good to see you." He looked at you from head to toe. You looekd adorable bundled up in later of clothing.

"Titus! Im glad you could make it. Do you want to look around the stalls, do a little bit of window shopping to pass the time before i give you your gift?" You asked.

"Why not give me the gift now?" He jokingly asked, a smile already making its way on his face.

"It'll ruin the magic of it." You teased. You smiled back at him, and grabbed his hand before leading him towards the stalls.

These mini stores had a variety of items. Some of them containing trinkets to fill out space, others having food, and others specialized gifts. Titus and you looked at items, some of them being more interesting than others. You caught him looking at a stall selling knifes and old military memorabilia. He picked up what looked like an old knife with a leather sheath. He inspected it for a moment before putting it down again, looking away from the stall entirely. You waited for him to walk towards the next stall before grabbing the knife and buying it. You placed it in your pocket and followed Titus again.

This continued, eventually, the two of you ended up with Santa hats that he had bought for the both of you. He had handed it over, a slight blush on his face as he admitted he felt a little silly buying the hats but it was in the spirit of the holiday. You grabbed it from him and placed it on your own head before walking over to a stall selling food and placing an order. You paid for the meals as well as hot cocoa for the two of you but Titus' had a sugar substitute. Whip cream decorated the surface of the drink and as you both sipped on them while you waited for the food, you noticed some of the whipped cream made itself home on the tip of Titus's nose.

"You got a little something there." You pointed at your own nose hoping he would understand. Titus's eyes widened a little before he passed the back of his hand against his nose hoping to remove the cream. You watched him struggle to remove a splotch of whipped cream and took matters into your own hands. You took your thumb and removed the remaining cream before smiling up at him, telling him that he missed a spot.

"Oh... thank you." His eyes couldn't meet your own. He was grateful that the Santa har covered his ears as he knew that they were burning red and you would know that he was flustered. Your orders were called out and handed over. You led the way toward a row of benches that the event organizers had set out. You sat across from Titus and started discussing everything you had seen. You did most of the talking as Titus focused on eating his meal, the anxiety of being surrounded by so many people creeping in.

"If you don't mind me asking, why were you so interested in the knife at that one stall?" You asked. You took a bite out of your food as Titus directed his eyes at you, surprise evident on his face.

"The military knife?" He said, covering his mouth as he finished chewing his food.

"Yeah."

"It looked like an old military knife." This was new information to you. He never spoke about his family or he rarely referenced them in passing, "My father had one in his collection when i was growing up. It just looked familiar." This spiked your interest.

"Was he a collector?"

"He still is, though I do not know if to the same extent. He believed preserving items of the sort was useful and taught us something of value." He explained. You must have looked surprised as he let out a chuckle before taking a sip of his drink.

"He sounds like an interesting type." You joked.

"I will have to agree with your statement. He was a Sergeant in the military, devoted to his work, very much a mentor and a leader. He inspired me to enlist." You couldn’t see it but there was a melancholy feeling in his words.

"Oooh, that explains a lot." There was a pregnant pause in the conversation. Neither you or him wanted to continue speaking though you tried to find an opening to start it again.

"Thats how i got my leg injury." He blurts out. You look at him and then at his cane.

"Did he know about the injury? Or..." Your voice trailed off as you redirected your eyes to him. A sadness that wasn’t there finally appeared in his features.

"He knew. My mother knew. A few colleagues and friends as well. They visited when i was recovering." His leg began to bounce under the table, anxiety beginning to creep in as he explained himself.

"I hope you dont mind me asking but, are you not... close to your parents?"

"We had some differences that we couldn't over come. We havent spoken since i was discharged." All of sudden, Titus feels like he’s out of breath. He shoves food into his mouth to try and hide it before speaking again.

"What were the differences?" Titus paused at your question. He looked up at you, ignoring his food a moment to inspect you.

"They wanted me to not re-sign my military contract back when I was 20. They wanted we to quit and go to school instead, settle down. I got offered a 7 year contract, signed it, I eventually ended up staying for over 20 years in service. Became a Captain, felt fullfilled. Then i.." He paused, taking a sip of water before sighing and looking back at you again, "Then i was hurt in an explosion and i was medically discharged. Now my biggest struggle in life is climbing stairs and socializing instead of paperwork." He tried to joke but you could hear the sadness in his words.

"How come you didn't... why not let your friends help you when you knew you needed help?" You didn't want to come off judgemental, but you questioned him anyway. It sounded like he had a support system like there were people, including his parents who wanted to help him but you didn't have the full story.

"I spent my life helping others. I knew I wasn't invisible but I didn't think I would ever become... this." Titus explained. "I didn't know that being crippled would come with all of these new conditions and routines. I thought I would find my end in the heat of war." His tone grew bitter as he spoke. Anger, sadness, resentment evident in his face as he tried to not lethis emotions get ahold of him.

"How did you come to terms with all of this?" You redirected.

"I didn't. I still struggle. I sometimes refuse to use my cane or my leg brace even though I know I need them. I'm stubborn, Y/n." Titus lamented. You looked at him, waiting to see if he would say anything else before reaching out and holding is fisted hand. You looked for his eyes, finally meeting those the pretty blue eyes you couldn't stop thinking about even after you would leave his presence.

"Well, i hope you know that you can reach out to me. No questions asked, you don't even have to explain. I'll be there." You offered, squeezing his hand in the process.

"No questions asked?" Titus questioned.

"None." You reiterated. You both cleared out the bench and began walking over to his car. He offered you a ride but you turned it down in favor of walking, you still thanked him for the offer. You pulled out a box from from your bag, tape keeping the lid closed.

"Merry Christmas, Titus." You handed the gift box over to him, telling him to open it when he got home. He smiled down at the box before thank you.

As he drove away he snuck short glances at the gift box you had given him which was sitting in the passenger seat. The red-striped box had a green ribbon sitting on top of it with a small card reading, ‘From: Y/N, To: Demetrian Titus’ followed by a drawing of a blueberry. He couldn’t stop the smile that grew on his face. A gift from you meant so much and yet he didn’t know what was in it. What could it be? Maybe you had gotten his another leg sleeve. Maybe it was an attachment for his cane. It was big enough to fit large items like a tablet or even folded clothing, so whatever its contents were, they were still a mystery to him.

As he arrived to his apartment he made sure to park carefully before putting on his breaks and turning his engine off. He hesitated for a moment before grabbing the box, irrational thoughts of possible horrors that the box may contain flashed in his mind. He slowly opened the box, prying the tape off one by one before removing the lid to look inside. Decorative paper filled the box but in the very center was not what he was expecting. A small glass object, frame, contained what he couldn’t only say was a true piece of art. One of your drawings laid flat in a glass frame, his likeness captured and placed on paper by your talented hands once again blessed his eyes. There he was, wrinkled and scarred, his face in a joyful expression looked back at him with an addition of yourself including. He assumed you used the pencil to make this as the texture looked grainy and the paper wasn’t thick enough to use paint on. He loved it. It set his heart ablaze and the fluttering in his stomach into override. You captured his likeness and your own in what he could describe as tasteful. You made sure to get all of his facial scarring perfectly, even the smaller scars that have fainted with time were still there. The faint scars of an explosion that pushed shrapnel into the left side of his forehead were there, shaded in lightly to show the raised skin left behind, even the one on his cheek that he got from a bullet that had also took a chunk out of his ear was present in the drawing. His eyes began to water as he analyzed the gift further. You did such a good job at capturing him. He was about to put the drawing back into the box but he noticed something else sitting inside. The knife he had been looking at was there, wrapped in gift paper, almost like you’d hidden it on purpose.

He pressed the back of his head against his seat head cushion. He didn’t know what to do with you. You paid attention to him, to his likes and dislikes. You were considerate when many would simply just ignore him. He grabbed the box with his gifts and took it with him into his home. He placed the box on his kitchen table and made his way to his bathroom to wash up. His clothes came off in layers, all of them now feeling like too much fabric as his shower heated up the room. He cleaned himself, hoping that the fluttering feeling would go away but it didn't. It only grew worse and worse as he showered and eventually stepped out of it. He made it back to his bedroom, boxers intact as he adjusted and readjusted himself in his underwear. Once in the privacy of his own bedroom, Titus began pressing the palm of his hand against his crotch hoping that the friction he was creating was enough to relieve him. It wasn't but he enjoyed the feeling nonetheless.

His soft moans became whimpers, and his hard dick became more than that. Titus couldn't help himself, for the first time in a long time he took off his underwear and started palming at himself. He began to slowly stroke himself, his free hand finding a place on his abdomen as he pleasured himself. It was electric. He couldn't remember the last time he masturbated or felt this much pleasure in the past year. Depression having consumed him made it hard to stay erect but to also find interest in such basic pleasure.

He pumped himself slow at first and picked up speed when he imagined you being the one to stroke him. The thought at first made him jump. He shouldnt think of you in such a way, you in his bed telling him that he's being good and that he deserves this. He bucketed his hips as he thought of you pressing your mouth against he tip of his cock, leaving kisses and licking the head like it wouldn't get a reaction out of him.

He panted into the cool air of his apartment as he seemed his climax at the chant of your name. He repeated it like a prayer almost hoping that it would help get him to cum quicker. With shallow breath he jolted as he felt the once righting knot in his stomach release itself violently as his balls clenched. His cum coated his hand and abdomen as he continued to stroke himself through his orgasm, not stopping until he felt like he had been fully drained and had nothing left to give.

As he laid on his bed panting, his hand still on himself, he said your name one last time before closing his eyes and groaning. No, this wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this to the thought of you, to the sound of your name. How was he going to face you when he’d see you next? How was he going to look at you and carry on a conversation like the image of you praising him and helping him relieve himself hadn’t happened.

Titus breathing was erratic as he thought about what would happen if you found out. Would you abandon him? Think he was disgusting? Would you rescind the offer you had made him about being there if he needed you? Tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes but he was too tired. His orgasm left him feeling like a loose sack of bones that he didn’t have the energy to cry. He instead wiped his hand on is discarded boxers and fell asleep. It could all wait in the morning when he had a clearer head.