#melanin adorned

[melaninadorned]

Winter is Here, part 2 | Melanin Adorned

[candylandphotos]

Dark skinned Sudanese African American beauty fashion jewelry model ❤️

"Elegance Personified: Celebrating the Timeless Beauty of a Dark-Skinned Sudanese African American Model Adorned with Fashion and Jewelry ❤️✨"

[nattynaturalgal]

Waistbeads, anklets, bracelets, chokers available at my online botanica.

www.sankofamedicine.com

[strawberrymochin]

The Dick Analysis

A slight analysis on jjk men's dick would look and feel like....| Gojo satoru; Geto suguru; Kento nanami; Ryomen sukuna; Toji fushiguro |

Gojo satoru

Pretty pink tip. Gojo's body lacks melanin, so his huge dick will be the prettiest colour of pink you've ever seen. When not aroused it would soft and jiggly making you want to play with it as a stress reliever, however the moment your hand comes in contact with his dick, it would spring back to life in an instant. Rock hard I mean (What do you expect you tell gojo you wanna play with his dingle dangle and he won't be horny to get a boner). The moment he gets hard he will get all whiney wanting to fuck you right now. You will have to give in anyway.

His glans(head) meets your dripping cut at first, coating his tip with your slick as his precum mixes with yours. It's his most sensitive part and he loves it when you lick it or your clitoris comes in contact with it. His dick would be pretty big, about six inches which when gets aroused can gain an extra length of 2 inches which is too big for you and it's always too big for you to fit. Thus there are many sex positions gojo refuses to try since it might hurt you. No matter what position every single thrust gets your eye rollin' till ya see infinite void. Lmao.

Geto suguru

Huge and thick. His cock would have an amazing girth that would strech you so well till you're sure that it's gonna be the death of you. His cock would be slight tanned as of his honey skin tone (before kenjaku took his body lol). His shaft would be more thick than its tip. Giving him a blowjob would be really hard because of how thick he is and no matter how carefully you take him totally avoiding teeth would be impossible. He would let out a soft gasp and creasing his brows as his head falls back whenever your teeth grazes his shaft accidentally. You would pull back immediately and mutter apologies which he shuts immediately tangling his fingers into your hair shoving it back into your warm mouth. He wouldn't say it directly but he loves it when you do so, the sudden strike of pain along with the gush of pleasure as you suck him gets him high and his balls tight.

Normally geto's dick would be of good 5 inches and when hard it might elongated to 6.5 inches. You love when he lets you ride his big fat cock and rest your head on his tiddies. He stretches you so good that once he pulls out you get overwhelmed with emptiness and beg him to stuff it in for the rest of the night.

Kento nanami

Talking about the dilf his baby corn would be the biggest and fattest thing you've ever taken. Bruh his cock his the perfect combination of length and width. Every thrust would drive you to the edge only for you to want more. You feel so full when he drowns himself into you. Kento's hardness can last upto hours even after cumming multiple times thus forget you're getting any sleep the entire night. Something he absolutely loves is to slap his dick on your face while cumming. At first it was your idea since you wanted to try out something new (basically you were horny) and how can nanami come to refuse you his (not so) innocent pretty angel. This became his new kink and slapping your face, messing your flushed cheeks with his cum drove him over the edge to go one more round. Normally he doesn't like overtime but if it's you then he can go over hours.

His cock would be of 6 inches and can elongate upto 7 when hard. His width is similar to geto's. He's such a sweetheart that he would let you stack doughnuts, tie a ribbon, dip it in chocolate, add sprinkles to the top and suck it. He would let you do anything (bruh's whipped for you).

Ryomen sukuna

Hail to sukuna sama and his dick sama. First thing's first sukuna (true form) has two dicks— adorned with similar twin striped tattoos along with a set of huge balls. His dick is huge— fucking huge. He would double penetrate you, use you like a cum dump whore without any care. He's the type to make it fit even if it won't. Every sex session with him will continue till hours and such a tease he is, he would deprive you of your high, not letting you cum till your cunt and asshole reaches the bottom of his shaft. Your legs would feel like jelly as you would be drooling while he pounds into you. Honestly I think you would pass out due to the sheer intensity of his thrusts as he fucks your cunt and asshole at the same time. I can also imagine him having anal with you while he grinds his upper dick on your pussy, sometimes sliding the tip inside only to see you whine with pleasure and withdraw it immediately to stop you from cumming. He loves to edge you.

Sukuna's dick samas would be huge as mentioned before. His balls would be so pretty and he would make you lick it after you squirt on it. Forget about the aroused size....aroused or not his length and size is enough to make you see death's doors. Have fun pretty concubine.

Toji fushiguro

Yeah dilfushiguro is it? Veins. The prettiest and the sluttiest thing about his dick would be the veins throbbing twitching and pulsating at the sight of you naked under him as his tip smears his hot precum slopping your entrance. His dick would be big and fat and the moment it would enter you, you would see black dots covering your vision till your eyes rolls with warm pleasure of him fucking you. He would go either feral or super gentle and teasingly slow, making love to you. What you love the most about his dick is you could trace his throbbing veins and twitching tip gushing his sperm into you making your hole sloppy and creamy with friction.

His dick would be 5 to 6 inches long and might gain half an inch when aroused. His dick would be slight tanned like geto's and the head would be thick with a long shaft. Toji loves pressing the bulge on your lower stomach when he's fucking you so his glans rubs your g-spot making you squirt. Later he eats your pussy out while he makes you lick the mess you did on the floor.

Other parts- The moan analysis | The cum analysis

a/n- the amount of sanity i lost while writing this is insane | © strawberrymochin 24 | plagiarism won't be tolerated

[mysteria157]

Undone

nanami kento x black fem reader

wc- 2.8k

warnings- angst, heavy themes, mental health and healing, the fluff that nanami brings.

a/n: I have been feeling like poo these past few days and trying to find my voice in writing. So I created a little drabble that helped me feel better. hopefully, it does for others as well. happy reading

divider: @saradika | JJK Masterlist

He hasn’t heard from you in days.

Granted, that first date was 12 weeks ago, but Nanami is used to the string of texts between you that is consistently pinging—a feat that Nanami never thought to reach. He’s used to the late night phone calls, the FaceTimes that are meaningless because he just wants to look at you. But for the first time, you turned him down.

Three days ago, on the morning of a nice dinner he had planned, you called with a scratchy voice, “I’m just really tired today, but I’ll be shipshape in no time!” You had insisted.

With vigilance sewn into his body since the day he could remember, Nanami notices right away something is wrong. Maybe it was the distant crack of your words. Maybe it was the fact that you cleared your throat once, no—two times to make yourself sound as professional as possible. As if Nanami is an employer and not the man you’ve decided to let into his life.

Regardless, he was as polite as always. Content to change the subject and send you well wishes before hanging up. The meme texted to his phone five minutes later, sweetening whatever sour concoction had manifested in his belly from your phone call. But still…Nanami knows. So he waits.

He waits three days of agonizing silence before a maelstrom of worry finally claws its way to the surface of his pool of impassivity. He stops by the market first and grabs ingredients. There’s a soup recipe you love—a recipe he soaked up like a sponge as he hovered near you in your kitchen during your first date. He’ll make that.

On his way out of the market, his eyes catch a bouquet of Asian lilies. Sunset orange petals adorned with long dark stamen. He picks up a modest bouquet—something large enough to make you smile every time you see them, but not too much to make you sneeze from your allergies.

It’s 6:47 PM when Nanami’s shoes touch your welcome mat. Even as his eyes trace the tawny ‘Welcome!’ made of coir, he can feel the unease wafting from behind your closed door. Your spare key rests in his closed hand, the metal digging into his palm in a silent question. You insisted that it wasn’t too soon in the relationship for this, to have access to each other in this way. After all, finally opening his heart to love after keeping it locked behind the demands of work, Nanami wanted to take things slowly. But you had other plans—you always do. And now, Nanami is glad to have relented so quickly when you gave him the spare key two weeks ago.

You’re a tidy person, meticulous to a fault. So it’s easy for him to spot the littering of disarray. The curtains are drawn tight, casting your home into darkness. A trail of clothes starts from the door and trails to your room. There are dirty dishes in your sink—you hate going to bed with a messy kitchen. The air is permeable—a physical being that Nanami can see the particles as they float and scurry with his movements through your home.

He finds you in your room, a tornado of dirty clothes and empty takeout containers, three blankets deep, with only the top of your hair visible. The air is just as stale in here—heavy with the kind of silence that comes to life from too many hours alone with dark thoughts. Your phone lies on your nightstand, face-down, notifications from others probably neglected along with Nanami’s. He hates the sight, angry at whatever malevolent force that’s decided to torment you, and now he fights it.

The rustle of Nanami setting his things down makes you stir, the lump of covers oscillating with your movements as a flash of your melanin-rich skin pokes from the dark hole where you reside. Your eyes meet his—surprised, alarmed, and immediately angry.

“Get out,” you snap, your voice gravelly from disuse. Through the curtain of your textured hair, Nanami catches a sliver of your icy gaze, foggy with the heaviness he can smell in the room. He takes a step closer, and it’s a step too far. Your tired eyes widen with a simmering fury that makes Nanami think twice.

“Why can’t you listen?! You can’t be here…” you stop short, squeezing the covers around your already decaying form like a lifeline. “Not when I’m—like this.”

He takes another cautious step—your eyes narrow, a weak challenge—then another until he sits at the edge of your bed. The dip from his weight causes your feet to curve into the cavern, toes touching his thighs from beneath your covers.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

The still air seems to vibrate from your fury, dust motes zipping haphazardly as if being pulled back and forth by an invisible force.

“Call you? Call you?? So you could see this? So you could see how I can’t even—“A lump of confusion and rage dies in your throat, the sound gurgling like a sewage pipe. His hands clasp the blanket that covers your shoulders, pulling you up gently with no resistance. You want to smack his hands away, to yell at him to leave and never come back. Because you’re not ready for him to see you like this. Not yet.

But despite the bark of your bite, you’re exhausted—mentally and physically.

“I wanted to wait a few weeks,” you ramble, eyes turned away from him as you shiver from the cold air on your exposed upper half. You’re still wearing the same shirt from three days ago when you called Nanami to cancel; your eyes had already been filled with tears, your throat suffocating beneath torrential thoughts and negativity that springs to life when you least expect it.

“No one wants to see this so soon.”

“From that statement alone, I’m going to assume the men you dated before were below average in all respects.”

“Everyone expects some grandiose gesture to make all of…this go away. And it’s not that fucking simple.” You don’t acknowledge his assessment. Still rambling, still trying to push him away even as he stands. He pulls you up with him with a firm grip still on your shoulders, his care poking at your defenses with inquisitive fingers.

Your knees buckle, threatening to give out without the reassurance of his hold. Your rambling falls to the wayside, fading into the air around you as you finally comprehend your new position in front of him. Standing for the first time in days, the strength of his hands radiates warmth down to your toes. The room falls quiet, opening its ears to your uneven breathing and the smell of tears.

One beat. Two beats. Three.

“It seems you’re standing now,” he says simply, the low crooning timbre of his voice wafting over your face. You heave in a stuttering breath, suck down his air, and let it fill you from the inside with care you’ve neglected. Nanami doesn’t leave his words open for discussion. There is no question hidden in his matter-of-face statement. There is no undercurrent of judgment.

“A bath.”

“What? Kento—no. I don’t need—I don’t deserve—“ His hand slides from your shoulder to cup your cheek, silencing you with its warmth. You resist leaning into his touch, too embarrassed that he can see you like this—stinky, tired, so utterly crestfallen that you can barely function.

“I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll make you dinner. And once I’m sure you’re at least full and clean, then I’ll go. Until you’re ready for me again.”

Steam rises around you in the bathroom, carrying eucalyptus and lavender from the bath oils you like to indulge in on a terrible day like this one. You draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your limbs to bury your head in the gap it creates. Your eyes catch the water droplets on your skin, hydrophobic and suspended in time before sliding into the bath water.

When you turn your head to the side, you catch your living room from the open door. He’s cleaned up—opened the curtains, picked up the laundry, and vacuumed the floors. One of your candles burns bright, the low whir of your washing machine sashaying through the apartment. All things you just haven’t had the energy to do.

It started off small, it always does. One thought—fleeting and infinitesimal—but still heavy with a nervousness that plants in your mind like a maggot, burrowing its way through the meat. Your symptoms are more anxious thoughts, more poor remarks of yourself, more he’s successful who are you kidding? More maybe they don’t like you, why can’t you see that? More once Kento sees this side of you, he’ll never want you again.

More, more, more even though those thoughts hold little evidence to prove true. But for you, those maggots burrow until there is nothing left of you but a hollow shell, a husk that has no choice and no energy but to lay down in bed and sleep the days away until the meat heals again.

Beneath the steam, you can spell the mix of thyme, peeled tomatoes, and garlic. The tomato soup you showed him how to make on your first date. He was inquisitive, watching silently, his eyes falling on yours too often to take good notes. Now, it’s another show of this man you’re growing to love, crafting something for you with his own hands, affection beneath the veil of reservation that he shows everyone else.

It’s too much for you. The tears come quietly, spilling down your cheeks and into the bath water, polluting the love that was used to create it.

You hear his footsteps, padded feet on your now clean floor as he walks into the bathroom and takes in the sight of you. You blink against the rush of embarrassment, too tired to wipe the tears away, too tired to hide a vulnerability you wanted to keep a lid on for awhile longer.

He walks to your sink, gathering product, a hair bottle, and a wide-toothed comb before coming back to you. He kneels beside the tub and rolls up his navy sleeves without ceremony, pinching off his glasses before he sets them on the floor. He’s soft but efficient in the way he rubs your bar soap on your loofah, getting it nice and sudsy. He’s relaxed but observant—his tie loosened but not completely off, his forearms flexing with quelled strength as he washes your back and shoulders, the slight furrow of concentration in his brows as he measures his next words.

“Strawberry and cream cheese danishes.”

“Hm?”

“If I eat one, I’ll want more. So I try to stay away when I can.” Nanami continues, washing the soap off your shoulders before he hands you the loofah. You take it without question, watching him disappear to sit behind you as you wash your limbs.

“After Yu…I would bury my sorrow in work. I worked and worked and worked until my boss forced me to take time off. It’s a sneaky sickness. It likes to watch over you and strike the very moment your guard is down.”

You hear the squeeze of your hair bottle behind you, your snarled strands soaking with rosemary-scented mist in his gentle fingers.

“It’s been years. But when it does hit, that darkness that seems to strangle me and tell me that I should have tried harder, that I should have protected him….I like to go across the street from my home and get a strawberry and cream cheese danish.”

You know Nanami has a sweet tooth. You’ve seen the way his eyes light up from the pies that you like to make, always bringing him a slice to work. You’ve seen the sidelong glance he gives strudel that steams behind glass display cases at the bakery he takes you to. But to imagine him leaving his apartment in the dead of night, wrinkled clothes and bags beneath his eyes, not showered in days—paying for a danish…you hitch a breath, a chuckle squeaking and dying in your throat with a painful lurch.

“Why are you laughing?” He admonishes. You can practically feel the lifted brow and gentle smile on your back. Your skin tingles with the movement of his fingers as he works them through your hair, detangling with rosemary and leave-in conditioner

“Do you buy the three-pack?”

Silence. A pause in your hair before baby hairs flutter from the puff of air he shoots out. You bite your lip to keep the dry smile from forming.

“No,” he lies, playfully.

The heaviness in the air gives way to a light current of brightness from your fleeting smile, from the smell of the tub, and your hair now detangled and loose before shrinkage claims it.

“I’m not sure what’s compelled you to think there’s a proper time to tell me that your thoughts grow dark at random moments in your life. Now, two months from now, it doesn’t matter. I love you.”

The declaration wraps around you, sliding down your ajar mouth and curdling in your lungs with certainty, taking root in the muscle for the foreseeable future.

“And if it is alright,” he continues, carding his fingers through your hair to plait it into a single braid. “I would like to love every part of you. Even the parts you try to hide. The parts that make you think that you’re not good enough—for me, or your friends, or anyone else. If anything, being able to be here, right now, is a privilege I’ll cherish.”

When the fresh tears spill over again, they no longer taint the water you soak in. They cleanse, collecting and filtering away the depression and anxiety that claims so much of your life when you least expect it.

After, when you’re clean and smelling of Shea butter that Nanami slathered you in, you sink into your now clutter-free sofa. The exhaustion settles on your bones in a different way. Well earned after a long battle instead of invasive and unasked for.

Your eyes rest on the lovely bouquet of Asian lilies on your coffee table, fresh with stems cut, curling toward you with open petals so you can see the beauty inside. The gesture fills you with more of that feeling, of love that you never imagined to come so soon with a man like him.

Nanami walks around the sofa, a tray that he sets in front of you carrying his own rendition of your tomato soup, toasted sourdough grilled cheese, and a tall glass of water.

“Extra basil?” You ask, lips wobbly around a smile as you take in another form of his adoration that you’ll have forever if he allows it.

“Extra basil.”

When he returns with his own tray, his hair falling over his eyes in a heap of hard work, he offers you a look. A measured look that’s filled with everything he wants to give, an excitement in his warm brown eyes that you can’t wait to see more of. But it’s shrouded in a gentle reservation with gaps only visible to you. Soft smiles for you. Loving touches for you. A beacon in storms that brew seemingly out of nowhere just for you.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your forehead, a safe place where he can take some part of you while you heal. But you’d like more. So you tilt your head for him, soaking the warmth from his lips that press against yours softly.

Suddenly, your worries, your dark thoughts, your misery that you let keep you beneath your blankets for days all smoothed over from his touch. Satiated until those maggots in your mind wiggle to life again when they’re hungry.

“Marcus didn’t give a rose to Janine.” He says casually as he draws back to his side and turns on the TV, nonchalant as if he didn’t just spend the evening putting you back together with gentle hands and quiet love.

You relax into his side, looking at his arm with teary eyes as he rests it on the couch behind you, offering a blanket of comfort and safety that you haven’t had in a long time.

“Gojo spoiled it,” Nanami continues, grumbling and annoyed at the two syllables of Gojo’s name touching his tongue. He blows at his spoon of soup, eyes locked on the screen, his sharp features colored with flickering blues and reds.

He notices your stillness—of course, he notices—and offers you another kiss on your cheek before turning back to the show.

“I’ll steal his kikufuku as punishment,” you offer, arm shaking with the gentle chuckle he gives in response.

The soup steams in your hands, your hair soft and braided, your body worshiped and clean, Nanami’s heartbeat permeable beneath his clothes as you sink into him and sip your delicious soup.

For the first time in years, you know when the world feels heavy, he’ll be able to lift that weight off of you before it buries you away.

[notapradagurl7]

Take All Of Me.

Pairing: VAMPIRE!Unique x BLACK FEM!WITCH! READER.

Word Count: 4,629k

♡(Requested @naj-ay444 )♡

Summary: You were a young witch working with your aunt at an antique store in a small town where nothing strange happen, until your mom works late, you felt a presence. After arriving home safe and sound at night, you were all alone and he arrived unexpectedly.

Taglist: @keyera-jackson @satoruya @xblackreader @beenathembo @henneseyhoe @justhornyyme @sageispunk @roeroe-world @planetblaque @harmshake

A/N: I wish there were more fics about black vampires and dark-skinned women as the protagonist, however I will decide to write it myself, forget to like, comment and reblog. (comment if you want to be added to the taglist, 18+ only)

Warnings: praise, bondage, dirty talk, orgasm control, rough sex, mention of witchcraft, slight degradation, overstimulation, mention of blood, mention of d*ath, safe word, spanking, blood drinking, pet names, choking/breathplay, biting, nipple play, sadism/masochism, temperature play.

————————

The scent of rosemary and peppermint incense wafted through the air with the chime of a small brass bell ringing through the antique store, indicating that someone was coming into the store. You lifted your head to see your mother step into the store. You stood behind the desk in front of the cash register with your eyes roaming around the store, the brown shelves rested at the corner of the spacious room, the shelves were filled with small ancient vases and sage green coffee mugs. The four walls were painted in a light green hue.

It was a slow day in here when it was fewer people coming in, to be honest, you preferred it that way since your aunt owned the place, it meant you went home early and slept in all week or weekend long. Hell, you still got paid either way.

Your aunt Nicole was the owner of the antique store where you have been employed since your teenage years, and now you have reached adulthood.

You lived in a small town filled with a few black witches, you were a descendant of hoodoo culture that stemmed from your grandmother.

“Hey Mama, how are you?” you asked her, giving a warm smile as you carefully arranged a stack of books on the coffee table.

She greeted you with a warm smile and her eyes roamed the store and shifted back on you, “I’m good my sweet child, I see you've been hard at work again," she sang, her voice filled with pride.

"Yes, mom. Aunt Nicole needed some extra help today, so I offered to stay until I leave." you mused, yawning and strenched your limbs.

Nicole, your aunt and mentor, was a powerful witch herself. She had taught you everything you knew about magic and the mystical arts. The antique store was a place of business, but where they could share their knowledge and artifacts with those who sought them.

On the other hand, you've been feeling a presence specifically during the night, regardless of whoever or whatever it may be. Consequently, you had to approach your mom and inquire if she had any knowledge regarding the situation.

Your black locs were styled up in a bun, with two locs cascading gracefully over your shoulder. Your complexion was a rich, deeply melanin-enriched dark brown tone. You sported a black tee shirt paired with khaki dust-colored mini pants, plain white sneakers, and matching socks adorned your feet.

You moved around the desk, took your coat off the coat rack, and smoothly put it on your back, readying yourself to depart and lock up the store.

“Mom, I've been feeling a presence lately and I'm not sure who is it but it's calling out to me..” You admitted, your eyes fixed on her.

For one week, you feel a constant presence throughout the day, but the night arrives unexpectedly, like a clandestine intruder, an alluring and overpowering aura beckoned you.

Your mother responded to your confession by softly humming, causing her powers to awaken. She placed her hand gently on your forehead and closed her eyes, emitting a vibrant deep purple light from her palm. This light sent soothing vibrations throughout your body. After opening her eyes, she took a deep breath.

Your mom faced you with concern, she removed her hand away from your forehead. She knew exactly who you were talking about. You had to be warned.

"There is a presence trailing behind you Y/N, and I am well aware of his identity. He is none other than Unique, a powerful ruler of the vampire realm," she cautioned, her chin delicately cradled by her thumb and index finger.

"Mom, what do you mean he's coming for my blood?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly. "Why would he be interested in me?"

You've been told about Unique and the tales surrounding him, and although you've crossed paths multiple times, you've exchanged a few words. This moment was finally your opportunity to overcome him.

After she explained everything to you, you couldn't help but be a little worried. The words hung heavy in the air as your mother spoke. A vampire king? Unique?

The name sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and curiosity. You had heard stories of vampires, but you never thought you would encounter one, let alone have one come specifically for you.

You've read books, and seen movies but do they really exist? What was the rivalry between witches and vampires?

“My dear, you possess a power unlike any other. Your blood holds the key to unlocking immense magical abilities. It is said that a vampire who drinks the blood of a powerful witch can gain even greater strength and control over their own powers."

"So, Unique wants to...drink my blood?" you took a step back, still trying to process everything.

"Yes, but it's not just about bloodlust, for centuries, witches and vampires have been sworn enemies..” your mother explained, crossing her arms.

"There was a connection between vampires and witches, until it became a bond that goes beyond mere sustenance. If you allow him to drink from you willingly, it can be a mutually beneficial exchange. He will gain power and you will gain power as well."

The idea both intrigued and frightened you. You couldn't be with a vampire, but gaining power, was both alluring and dangerous. But you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that coursed through your veins.

"What should I do, Mom?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"Protect yourself with your powers Y/N..” she reminded you, Your mother's expression softened, and she placed a hand on your cheek.

You nodded, taking in her words. This was a decision that would alter the course of your life forever. But deep down, you knew that you had to be ready, and the pull was becoming harder to resist. With a heavy heart, you bid your mother goodbye and closed the antique store for the night.

You knew that whatever choice you made, your mom would always be there for you.

"I'll protect myself, Mom," you said finally. "But for now, I need to focus on closing up the store."

However, the following night, your mother is working late and won't return home until the next day. Meanwhile, you are left on your own in the cozy house that you share with her. At this moment, you find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed in your personal bedroom.

You were wearing a simple gray tee shirt along with matching shorts, your locs pulled up in a bun while your eyes were glued to the television. However, you eventually sensed something, a recognizable presence.

A tingling sensation danced along your skin, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Your senses heightened, and you knew that something, or someone, extraordinary was about to enter your life.

"Shit! He's here.." you muttered under your breath, your voice trembling a bit.

Despite your efforts to conceal your fear, you relied on your abilities to protect yourself, hoping they would be sufficient to stand against Joey.

The lights and television started to flicker in an unpredictable manner in your bedroom. Your heart pounded fiercely, beads of sweat trickled down from your forehead. Why were you still trembling?

The crimson-red cumulus clouds floated elegantly through the small opening in the ceiling and settled in the corner of your room. As you observed, your attention focused on the crimson clouds slowly separating and revealing Unique standing in between them.

He approached you confidently, his eyes retaining their crimson-red glow as red clouds billowed around him and dispersed into nothingness with a snap of his fingers. A mischievous smile spread across his attractive face, revealing his gleaming white fangs.

"Don't worry, I'm not gon’ hurt you. I just want to talk to you Y/N…” He mused, his tongue ran across his lips.

He stared intensely into your soul with his menacing gaze, piercing through you with those demonic eyes. As his black boots echoed with heavy stomps on your brown hardwood floors, a blend of longing and unease flooded over you.

You felt a chilling sensation down your back as his gaze focused on you, and you were not meant to experience such emotions towards him. He was your adversary, and you were expected to harbor animosity towards him.

You swiftly rose from your bed, watching him as your brown irises transformed into a pale shade of pink while you gesticulated, generating a protective pink barrier surrounding you. “Stay back!” you commanded, your fists clenched tightly.

The sage-green curtains allowed the bright moonlight to filter into the room, casting a gentle glow on his richly pigmented complexion. His dark skin looked stunning, radiating a captivating beauty.

He was incredibly good-looking. How could someone with such a dangerous aura be so irresistibly attractive? Your mom did always said the cute ones can get you into fucked up.

You weren't fully aware that your blood was both rare and exquisite, and he desired much more than just a taste. He yearned for every aspect of your being.

Unique’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. His eyes ablaze with a hungry crimson glow settled on you. The tantalizing scent of your blood filled his senses, causing a subtle twitch in his manhood. With a flicker, his eyes returned to their ordinary deep brown hue.

"Quite impressive, Y/N," he purred, his voice velvety smooth.

"But your weak force field won't last for long against me." His voice, now an octave higher, dripped with confidence.

With a snap of his fingers, the force field surrounding you shimmered and vanished. Instinctively, you lifted your hand towards him, and a radiant burst of sunlight erupted from your palm. His hand gracefully swept over yours, stealing the sunlight as he clenched his fist tightly around it.

The once vibrant light diminished, crumbling to darkness within his grasp. Your eyes widened, a mixture of shock and disbelief coursing through your veins.

Wait? Wasn't the sunlight supposed to kill them? Why wasn't it working on him?

“Sunlight doesn't kill us, garlic doesn't do shit and we don't change into bats, sliver doesn't kill us either Y/N. Every move you have for me, I can stop it before you can even try..” he spat with venom, his step slow and deliberate toward you.

With your hands shining purple, you raised them high over your head and swiftly pushed a massive wave of purple energy in his direction.

Unique effortlessly deflected the wave of purple energy with a flick of his wrist, causing it to dissipate into thin air. His eyes locked onto yours, amusement and hunger within them.

"Is that all you've got, little witch?" he taunted, taking another step closer to you.

"You'll need to do better than that if you want to stand a chance against me."

Fear coursed through your veins, but you refused to let it consume you. You had been trained by your mother and aunt to harness your powers and protect yourself. You took a deep breath, channeling your inner strength.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the energy within you, feeling it surge through your veins like a raging river. You called upon the elements, summoning the power of fire, water, earth, and air to surround you.

The elements swirled around you, The intense heat of flames licked at the air, while water droplets floated gracefully in mid-air. Rocks and leaves danced around you, pushing every single element at him, As he moved his hand swiftly, the rocks grazed against your face, hitting your arm and at the same time, the rocks vanished alongside the water and flames. You winced in agony.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "I may be a little witch, but I'm not to be underestimated," you declared, your voice steady.

Unique's eyes widened in surprise, clearly impressed by your display of power. He circled around the forcefield, studying it with curiosity and admiration.

The elements vanished right before your very eyes, no longer in your clutch.

"Well, well, well," he chuckled, his voice laced with both intrigue and desire.

"You've piqued my interest, Y/N. It seems you're not as defenseless as I thought."

You held your ground, refusing to let his words intimidate you. "I won't let you kill me," you stated firmly.

"I don't want to kill you. I want you to be mine." he whispered, his voice filled with a dangerous edge.

“I know what you’re after, my blood. You want to suck me dry and leave me here to die as I turn to dust right Unique?” you asked, you took a look at your bruised palms.

By now, you were aware of his intentions - he simply craved to suck you dry until you couldn't breathe any longer. Until you were eroding away from existence, You were the vulnerable target, and he was the relentless hunter. You weren't stupid, you knew how this played out.

You plopped on the light green loveseat resting against the wall with your face resting in your hands, You felt blood trickle down your right cheek with the intense heat coursing through your arm, you hissed in pain and touched the bruise on your forearm.

Obviously, he was able to control himself completely

from the divine scent of your blood. He wouldn't bite you or taste you without your permission. Unique wasn't that cruel to mere mortals who roamed this planet.

Were you that powerless? Has all the training and dedication gone to waste in the battle? have you failed your ancestors from the heavens who looked down on you in utter disappointment? Perhaps they were discussing how your powers could've been more adequate. Would they lament at your abilities if they were here on earth?

Perhaps getting the new powers and strength from Unique could have been the solution, as he skillfully countered all of your best moves. So, what prevented you from taking advantage? It was your own pride.

The questions flowed into the depths of your mind, until you looked up at him as you absentmindedly patted the vacant spot beside you on the loveseat, inviting him over to sit with you. He strode across the room and plopped on the seat next to you, his brown eyes studying your saddened face.

“I'm not that cruel Y/N, I'm that way only for those who deserve it. I'm sure your ancestors are very proud of you.” He reassured, gently nudging your shoulder with his elbow.

“How can you be sure? You've blocked all my moves..”

“Come on girl, don't beat yourself up. I was very impressed by your power…”

“Do you truly want a relationship with me?” your eyes locked with his, making sure that there was sincerity in them.

“Of course I do but the choice is yours..” he replied, You pondered deeply on the choice, You took a deep breath, considering his words.

The decision weighed heavily on your shoulders, but deep down, you knew that you were drawn to him for a reason. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was something more.

"Alright, I’ll be yours then. Together, we will possess unimaginable power and we will always have each other," you whispered, resting your head on his strong shoulder.

"May I touch you?" he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

"Yes, you may," you replied, your heart racing with excitement.

"Your every desire is my command, princess," he said, his voice deepened. Gently, he lifted your chin, his eyes locked with yours.

As he held your chin between his thumb and index finger, he noticed a scratch on your face. "You have a mark on your pretty face, my love," he remarked.

Your cheeks flushed at his tender touch. "Can you heal it for me?" you inquired, your brown eyes fixed on his deep brown ones.

"Of course, beautiful. Just relax for me," he reassured you soothingly.

He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the spot where the scratch marred your skin. His tongue delicately gliding across the wound, and a warm, tingling sensation spread throughout your body. A shiver ran down your spine, and a soft moan escaped your lips as he healed you. The yellow sparkles scattered on your rich ebony complexion, and Unique's plump lips savored the taste of your blood. He let out a low groan, intoxicated by the flavor filling his mouth.

A shiver ran down your spine as his touch sent waves of pleasure through your body. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between the two of you, he gently pecked the bruise on your forearm as the dark purple wound faded away.

“Are you sure about this Y/N..”

“I’m sure, I trust you.”

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of warm kisses on your deep ebony skin. The combination of his touch and the taste of your blood sent a rush of desire coursing through your veins.

You let out a gasp of pleasure as his sharp fangs grazed against your skin, teasingly close to piercing your flesh. Fueling your masochism with his bite, plunging his fangs into your neck as the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and yet, you found yourself craving more.

As he drank from you, you could feel your own power merging with his. The connection between you two grew stronger with each passing moment, until it felt as if you were one entity, bound together by an unbreakable bond. Your teeth sharpened quickly with your palm resting on the nape of his neck.

“I want you to tie me up and fuck me…”

Unique delicately released his hold on you, planting two quick kisses on the twin bite marks adorning your neck. He flashed a mischievous grin your way, his eyes sparkling with playful intent.

"Tell me, my sweet, how shall I bind you?" he inquired, his lips curling into a sly smile.

You nibbled on your bottom lip, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "I've always been curious about Shibari," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"But I don't want to be hanging from the ceiling. Instead, I want to be seated on your lap..." You trailed off, a nervous giggle escaping your lips as you bit down on them.

"As you wish, sweetheart. Let's explore this together," he purred, his eyes locking with yours.

Unique skillfully snapped his fingers, causing thin black ropes to appear in his hands while a mischievous smirk adorned his face. In response, both of you swiftly hurled off your clothes, flinging them carelessly onto the floor.

“Let me know if I'm hurtin' you or if it's too rough, I'll stop okay?” he reassured, He gently held your hand while planting a gentle kiss on your palm before kissing your lips.

“Okay..” you spoke softly, nodding your head at him.

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Orange…”

He delicately raised you and placed you on his lap, then flowed to attach the black ropes around your wrists and breasts, binding your hands behind your back. Meanwhile, he tenderly planted two kisses on your lips, all while his hands firmly grasped your hips and lifted you, ensuring you were facing him.

He hoisted you upwards to ensure that you faced him forward. Gradually, he lowered you onto his thick manhood, Unique hissed sharply and his eyes fluttered open, a low ‘fuck’ left his lips as he watched your face contort with pleasure.

“Fuck..Kadeem..” you moaned softly, the words escaping you, You move your hips gently against him, as his hands hold your hips and gradually guide you down to feel every inch. “You’re such a good girl Y/N..” he groaned in your ear, his praise gave you an intense thrill, he utterly filled you up. You started to vigorously bounce on him, feeling alternating waves of pleasure and pain coursing through your body. The ropes around you grew tighter as you let out increasingly inhumane moans.

He gently placed his hand on your hip while his other hand gently moved in circles over your breast, with his index finger and thumb giving a firm pull to your nipple. Meanwhile, his thumb continued to trace circles around your nipple. When he unleashed his powers, the temperature plummeted to its lowest point, coursing through his fingertips and causing your nipple to freeze from his icy caress.

“Ssss…fuck!” you hissed with pleasure, riding him faster and harder. They both desired each other intensely, but there was a newfound exhilaration in the control and satisfaction you felt. His hand delivered a firm smack on your ass while he watched your juices gush all over on his dick. He grunted deeply from your wet walls hugging tightly around his length as he pushed himself harder, Unique carried you to the bed and laid you on your back, sliding himself back into you.

His hand latched around your neck with the ropes around your frame tightening again, eliciting a soft gasp from you. Your moans echoed through the room. “Look at you wettin’ up my dick like a needy lil’ slut.” he whispers, his hips pushed roughly upwards, referring to your wetness flowing smoothly between your thighs while your juices flowed down to his balls. “Y-you’re so big..” you moaned softly, Once more, his grip tightened around your throat as his hand vigorously struck your ass, leaving fresh marks from his nails on your thick thighs and curvaceous hips.

With each rough thrust, the bed groaned in response, echoing the passion that filled the room. "I...I'm cumming." you managed to gasp between breaths, your voice shaking. He pushed his hips harder, driving you closer to the edge, and released his grip on your throat. His lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling your breasts selfishly yet filled with deep, unspoken love.

"Don't you fuckin’ cum until I say so," Unique groaned, his voice rumbling with dominance. His thumb circled your throbbing clit, boosting the pleasure that consumed you. The overwhelming stimulation pushed you to the brink, and you cried out with choked out sobs. The ropes that bound you added a thrilling sense of restraint to Unique's rough yet tender strokes.

"I won't, baby! Fuck!" you managed to slur, your words muffled by the overwhelming ecstasy that enveloped you. You were lost in a sea of pleasure. Drool escaped your lips as he planted his plump lips against yours, showering you with kisses until they were swollen. He hovered over you, his deep ebony skin slick of sweat glistening in the soft glow of the ceiling lights.

"Can you please untie me Nique?" you pleaded, your voice raspy with desire. A wave of pleasure washed over you, causing your body to tremble beneath him. With your new vampire powers, you were able to hold on to your climax. He couldn't get enough of you, he adorned every curve and roll along your body, he kissed every single one lovingly, you couldn't think straight but you wanted to touch him so badly, “Of course I can, beautiful..” he cooed, pecking your lips.

He began to untie the ropes, his touch sending shivers down your spine. each knot was undone and tossed the ropes across the bedroom floor, the tension in your body released, and left a few rope lines around your body.

“Come here…” you whispered, you reached out and pulled Unique towards you, your hands roaming over his muscular chest and down his back. He slid his dick between your wet, swollen folds, you shivered from your lover filling up again, the both of you groaned blissfully, he inhaled sharply, His skin was warm beneath your fingertips as he resumed his rough strokes, earning more of your unholy moans and you reveled in the sensation of his body against yours.

He gripped your arms tightly with his nails digging into the marks left by the thin rope, causing you immense pain, “ouu..shit! Shit!” you hissed with moans of pleasure, You winced in agony, stimulating his sadistic side which prompted a cunning grin and a moan. He planted kisses on your jawline, glancing at your fucked out face as he took pleasure in watching you.

“Your pretty pussy is callin’ out to me..” he grunted deeply, his thick wad of cum splattered into you, combining with your warm essence, creating a pool around his dick on the bed sheets. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room with each rough thrust.

Unique grunted and moaned deeply with intensity as the seamless motion of your slick walls hugging around his dick tightly, his tip kissing your cervix with bridled passion. your hands gripped his back tightly, resulting in crescent-shaped marks from your nails on his skin, while you screamed out in immense pleasure that echoed towards the heavens.

You almost went crazy as you whined softly and broke down in bliss beneath him, feeling knots tighten up in the depths of your gut. “I-i gotta cum! Please!” you begged with a sob, He comforted you by kissing your tears, but his thrusts became jagged. Your lips formed a pout and your eyebrows furrowed slightly, while he wiped your tears with his thumb and kissed your cheek twice. At the same time, his index finger gently rubbed your sensitive nub in circles again.

“You can cum baby girl..i'm right behind you..” he whispered, his voice filled with affection. The words sent a surge of pleasure through your body, and you let go, your juices splattered around his dick completely. Unique followed suit by pouring his thick warm cum into you, "Fuck..." he groaned lowly. he pushed every drop of his seed into you to make sure there wasn't a trickle out of your pussy, your bodies shook together with the heat rising between you.

The waves of pleasure gradually subsided, leaving you both breathless and spent. Unique collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You turned to him, Tears rolled down your cheeks from pleasure and raw emotion as his thumb wiped your tears away. "You okay?" he asked softly, His face softened in concern.

“y-yeah, you wore me out baby..” you panted, nodding at him. snuggling closer to him with your head resting on his chest.

You were aware that your newfound existence as a vampire and witch was quite unusual, yet Unique was there by your side throughout the entire journey. You peacefully drifted into slumber, your eyelids gradually descended. He lovingly planted a tender kiss on your forehead, joining you in a tranquil sleep.

—————

[msbigredmachine]

M.K.A.M. (My Kinda Morning) - Roman Reigns/Plus Size OC)

Who says birthday sex has to end after the birthday? Roman/Plus Size OC

PAIRING: Tribal Chief!Roman Reigns x Plus Size OC

Warnings: SMUT all the way, lol

Word count: 4.6k 

A/N: In honor of our Tribal Chief's 38th birthday and to celebrate his historic 1000-day title reign. Tumblr flagged my story so I had to upload it again🙄 Enjoy!

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Face Claim (Because Tumblr flagged it the last time)

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Birthdays occurred only once a year, so it was usually imperative that it was spent with the people you love. After nearly two months away from you, it was almost hard for Roman to believe that he was actually back in your arms and in your bed, and on his birthday no less. He wished he didn't have to leave you for such long periods of time, but you understood that it was the nature of the beast. You embraced this reality when you made the decision to start a relationship with not just a pro wrestler, but the champion and the face of the biggest wrestling company in the world. Still, he tried to compensate by putting pen to paper on a lighter travel schedule, as well as buying you a new dildo to keep you occupied in his absence. According to you, the dildo had gotten several workouts, and the daily, dirty text messages from him, outlining what he'd like to be doing to you, definitely helped too.

Yesterday was incredible. From the moment he called to inform you that his jet was en route to your city, you were completely beside yourself with the most erotic thoughts on exactly how you would celebrate his birthday. You weren't ashamed to admit that your hands had ventured between your thighs more than once during the day, barely paying attention to any of the meetings you were in, counting down the hours till you finally got to see him. When he showed up at your doorstep, you were naked and waiting. No surface in your loft was safe; the couch, the kitchen counter, your desk in your little office space, the stairs...you name it, Roman fucked you on top of it, only taking a break to eat some of the birthday cake you bought for him before carrying you up to your bedroom, where you spent the night licking buttercream frosting off your bodies and coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of each other.

It was just past six in the morning, meaning you still had some time before you had to get up for work. Through the white sheer curtains of your bedroom window, the beautiful red and orange sunrise kissed the rich melanin of your skin. As the Tribal Chief watched the colors adorn your sleeping face, he felt his heart swell with renewed love and lust for you. He lay behind you, with your body cocooned in his warm and solid frame. You fit together perfectly.

He rested his hand on your hip, admiring the streaks of wavy stretch marks there. His sexy little tiger. He definitely had you mewling and purring like one when he put it on you last night. Faint lines of cake frosting smudged your brown skin, and he swiped each one with his finger and put in his mouth. He then let his hand travel along your waist, awed by the mouthwatering curves that belonged to him. Then, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you back into him with a sigh. You seemed to still be asleep, and he really wanted to wake you up.

So, he started rotating his hips, pressing his morning erection against your sumptuous backside, nestling the impressive length between your ass cheeks. His hand slid up to your breasts, cupping one gently. As his finger grazed your nipple, you finally stirred. Your body shifted, causing your backside to rub up on his dick, and he grinded against you more purposefully, closing his hand tighter around your breast as he kissed your neck.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, your voice throaty and scratchy from sleep.

Roman nuzzled your shoulder, pressing another kiss to your skin. "I've missed you so much, my love."

He had shown you just how much last night. For hours. Your Samoan stallion possessed the stamina of three stellar athletes and you loved it. But right now... "I've missed you too. But I need to be up for work soon," you reasoned. You rolled onto your belly, which put a bit of distance between you.

"Call in sick. It's still my birthday," he implored.

"You know I can't, babe," you murmured, resting your head atop your crossed forearms, facing him and shutting your eyes. Your thick, sumptuous butt curved enticingly in the air thanks to your new sleeping position, prompting Roman to reach out to massage one of your cheeks, groping and squeezing the supple flesh in his palm.

It didn't surprise you to feel your pussy immediately tingle from his caress. His hands on you never failed to set your pulse racing. But you needed your rest. He already had you up all damn night, rendering your throat hoarse and your limbs like spaghetti. In another attempt to deter him, you rolled onto your back, your breasts and your womanhood on display.

Big mistake.

The Tribal Chief's eyes lit up like Christmas trees. His big hand cupped your breast again, thumbing the puckered nipple, then doing the same with the other. His fingertips made a delicate trail down the plane of your stomach, which spasmed from his touch. His fingers skimmed over your sensitive pussy lips, which were still tender and puffy from last night. He started to stroke you and you tried to squeeze your legs together to stop him, but he wasn't having that shit.

"Open your legs," he growled.

"Babe, I'm sleepy," you whined with a frown on your face, "I won't get up on time if we do this."

"I told you to call in sick. I'll handle your boss. It's my birthday and I want my present. Now spread 'em."

Fuck, you couldn't resist when he got all bossy and domineering with you. Of course, you relented, your legs falling open like they always did. Why did he have to look at you like that? He was so damn fine and he knew that shit. All it took was one look into that smoldering gaze of his and you were putty in his hands.

Your breath caught as he rubbed you faster, his body shifting much closer to you, reoccupying your space. His big beautiful dick pressed your upper thigh, damn near pulsating against your skin. You couldn't help but stare at it. Long and thick, accompanied by a heavy set of balls that made you drool.

Hovering over you, Roman smirked at your famished expression, and moved his fingers in small circles, spreading your wetness all around your folds. Then, he slowly sank them into you, his groan harmonizing with yours. He could feel how swollen you were from the pounding you took, but you were so wet his fingers slid in effortlessly anyway, your slick, hot flesh enveloping the digits.

"Baby..." you gasped, arching into him.

Your little squirms of protest had dwindled, which was how he knew he was slowly breaking you down. He moved in for the kill.

"I can eat it if you want," he offered, intentionally licking his lips that were a hair's breadth away from yours, and suddenly you wanted that mouth on you more than anything in the world.

"Mmm, yes please."

Bullseye. Roman sat up and kneeled before you, spreading your legs far apart and inspecting you down there. "That's the definition of a pretty pussy right here. All beat up and swole. Did I pound you good last night, baby girl?" he asked.

God, his voice. Deep and dripping with arrogance and sex as he talked dirty to you. It made your knees weak and your pussy moisten. "Yes, Daddy, it was so good."

His thumb stroked your pussy lips, fascinated by how fat and wet they were. "Gotta taste this sweet cunt again before I give you this dick, right?"

Before you could open your mouth to reply, Roman descended on you, spreading his mouth over your core. You were wide awake now, your hand on the back of his head while he went to work. You still tasted like cake, making you that much sweeter for his palette. He drooled all over that pretty pussy, causing you to moan and whine for him. Roman slurped on you a little more before bringing his eyes up to meet yours with a lick of his lips. You were breathing deeply with your mouth parted and irises low and lustful.

"Roman..."

Ducking his head again, he feasted heartily on you, not stopping this time around. Delicious, wet ass pussy that belonged in his mouth day and night. His huge hands glided up your torso before cupping your breasts. His tweaking of your nipples caused a flood, making his mouth so watery that with each suck, his saliva made its way down to the crack of your ass. Roman's mouth was hard at work, tonguing you down and French-kissing your meaty outer lips.

You were grinding his face now, your hands grabbing everywhere, the sheets, his head, his shoulders. Your ass clenched and your hips bucked as pleasure lapped at you with the same devastating impact as his tongue.

"Unnnh fuck, I'm comin', Daddy I'm comin'!" you cried and moaned and writhed on the bed. This man was going to be the death of you. You stared at him wide-eyed before your eyes rolled back as something inside you unlocked. Your neighbors could probably hear your scream as you came in his mouth. You pushed at his head, your body craving relief but not getting it, his dark chuckle vibrating against your pussy as he refused to free you from his clutches.

Your moans and screams made his dick so hard. Roman shifted forwards to pin your thighs down to your chest, his tongue still moving like a hurricane. It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, but for him, you would do anything. In your spare time you would practice contorting your legs for minutes on end because you wanted to please him, because you deemed him worthy enough to step out of your comfort zone and take a little pain for. Besides, the pleasure you received in return was out of this world, so it was definitely worth it.

A weak gasp rumbled in your heaving chest as he started sucking on your clit, aiming to make you come once again. All you could hear were the wet, gushy sounds his mouth was making while eating you out, and it was enough to trigger you again. With your fingers digging into his hair, you welcomed your second orgasm of the morning with a pleasured moan. He ate you out so good your eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion.

"Nah, keep your eyes open, sweetheart. I'm 'bout to tear this pussy up...again," he warned.

You could only watch, prone and helpless, as Roman crawled on top of you and made himself comfortable between your legs. He ensured to put all his body weight on top of you, and the feel of his muscles against your belly, chest, and thighs had your stomach doing flips. The softness of his full lips against your collar bone, with a generous helping of tongue, the scruff of his facial hair tickling you, made you exhale shakily. As he brought his kisses upwards, you angled your head to meet his lips. Your tongues twined around the other's for a couple of seconds before your mouths sealed together in sensual, intimate kisses.

Roman shifted his body above you, his hand slipping back down between your thighs, two long, thick fingers teasing your folds before breaching inside. He cupped your entire mound in his palm, massaging, working you until you were squirming and moaning his name. To further torture you, he ducked his head down, generously swirling his tongue around each of your nipples before sucking them one by one between his lips. The Tribal Chief found your titties irresistible. He loved them; couldn't stop touching and playing with them. Grabbing them with both hands, he flicked his tongue over them, getting them nice and wet, switching between sucking your nipples with his mouth and plucking them with his fingers. You could feel your pussy tense from the pleasure surging through your body. But you didn't want Daddy to feel left out, so you reached for his dick and started stroking him. His deep moan in reaction made you feel on top of the world.

"Mmm, that's it, make Daddy rock-hard," he whispered, watching the way you stroked and squeezed and teased him. You loved the weight and feel of him in your hand. A seep of precum made the head slick and elicited another surge of wetness between your legs. You strengthened your stroking motions along his shaft, biting your lip when he thrust briefly against your hand. With a harsh moan, he managed to break free from your intoxicating touch so he could focus on giving you the dick he promised.

Rolling you onto your belly, he maneuvered behind you, pressed your chest and shoulders into the bed, and raised your ass in the air, your knees spread wide with your feet close together and tucked under him. Perfect. He palmed each of your rounded cheeks, molding the flesh greedily in his hands. His cock strained against your pussy, and involuntarily, you moved your hips, desperate for contact. He took his dick and lined it along your slit, spreading your wetness around as he slowly worked the bell-shaped head inside you. Your bodies trembled seemingly as one as he filled you to the hilt, savoring the quivering of your pussy around his length.

"Daddy..." you moaned.

"Shhh, I gotchu," he hushed you with a low chuckle, caressing your body, making you feel good. His hands stopped at your hips and he started to move in and out of you, stretching your opening, holding back on you just a bit. He bent close to your ear, his lips ghosting along your jawline. "Talk to me, baby girl. Tell me you want it."

"I want it. Fuck me, Daddy."

"I know you do. Shit, you stay so damn tight. Good god, babe."

His breathing sped up and his grip tightened on your hips, letting out a deep, visceral groan as he thrust a little faster inside you. You fought the urge to scream as he went deep, burying himself in you. "Fuck, Daddy, yeah!"

With his fingers digging into the meat of your hips, he drilled your pussy, hard, his balls slapping against your clit. As much as you whimpered and moaned, you remained on your knees and took every inch like a champ. You could feel the head of his cock meet the bottom of your pussy with every thrust. It was a shock to your system, how deep he was in you, yet you could still feel him trying to go deeper, straining to be closer to you. Your pussy gripped him again and again and you had to bite into the pillow to contain your loud moans, your hands fisting the satin sheets. The mix of his spit with your cum caused your pussy to make the wettest, filthiest sounds as he fucked you. Eager to hear more, Roman circled his hips, pushing his dick right up against your g-spot, slapping your ass in time with his grinding strokes. Another groan escaped him at the sight of his glistening cock, covered in your juices, sending shivers down his spine. One last flick of his hips finished you off. It was an experience watching you release all over his cock, your pussy squeezing around him, your booty cheeks quivering from how hard you were coming.

"Shit." Your mouth fell open, your beautiful face twisted in blissful agony as you struggled to catch your breath.

Smiling proudly at his handiwork, the Tribal Chief squeezed and smacked your backside one last time before lying down on his back. "C'mere. Put that pretty mouth on my cock."

Managing to unravel your body from the position he twisted you in, you moved over to him and grabbed up his throbbing shaft, spreading the cream you left all over the intimidating length. You released a wad of spit on the tip of his cock and used it to lather him up nice and good. You licked along the side of his dick before taking him halfway into your mouth. Your man tasted so good, his flesh hard and smooth against the flat of your tongue.

"Mmmmm. Nasty ass mouth taking all that big dick. So hot. Suck that shit, baby, taste your pussy on it," he goaded.

You moaned at his words with your mouth full of his cock. Such a nasty shit talker, and it never failed to get your pussy Ieaking. Your hands rested on his thighs now, only working your neck and your wet, juicy lips up and down his length. You moaned on him again and it delivered a vibrating sensation to his dick, causing it to harden even more in your mouth. Easing up on him, you traced circles around his head with your tongue, drawing out pleasured gasps from him as he watched your every move with blown pupils. You took note of every little sound and moan of pleasure he made during sex...It meant you were doing him right, and you were learning to be even better to please both you and your sexy man.

"This my dick, Daddy?" you asked him.

"Yes, baby girl, it is, it's all yours." Roman hummed with satisfaction. You looked so fucking hot, slobbering all over his dick and giving it your undivided attention. His muscled hips bucked upwards to thrust in and out of your mouth. Pulling off your bonnet, he grabbed your hair and held you down on his cock, fucking your mouth over and over, at one point pushing himself so far down your throat that you made a startled sound of protest and popped him out of your mouth to glare at him.

"Hey! You tryna make me gag?" you warned.

Roman merely shrugged. "Damn right. I ain't apologizing, neither. Don't stop. Keep sucking me off."

"Asshole. You lucky I love you." You shifted your focus to his balls and used your lips to tug and pull each one while stroking his flesh pole at the same time. You could hear his gasps, feel him fidgeting, his fingers in your scalp, thanks to your ministrations. You were driving him crazy and you both knew it.

"Fuck, shit, your mouth feels so good on me, girl...you gon' make me come...Damn..."

Roman grunted deep and his big hand yanked you by your neck, shoving his dick back in your mouth where it belonged. With a firm push of your head, you swallowed him up again with a moan. Done with the games, your head bobbed up and down, dragging your lips along his cock in a tight seal, pumping him in your fist, working him into a frenzy.

"Baby, baby," Roman called for you, his balls growing tighter and tighter. Heat bloomed in his belly and his toes twisted. His fingers trembled in your hair as he erupted in your inviting mouth, emptying inside you for the umpteenth time in several hours. You caught every drop of his warm seed without making a mess. Releasing him, you opened your mouth to show him his morning nut.

"Damn, you got all of it," he moaned, taking your chin in his hand and inspecting your mouth. "Good girl. Swallow it and let Daddy see."

Obediently, you swallowed down his load, opening your empty mouth again as proof. Roman growled and crashed your lips together, savoring the tastes of you and him on your tongues. "My baby is such a good girl. Lay back down for me."

"Yes, Daddy." His dazed expression had you giggling while you moved around the bed for him, wiping the excess spit from your mouth. As soon as you were on your back, he pushed your legs up and out of the way. Grabbing the base of his dick, he wasted little time entering you again, holding himself up so that he could drop all this dick down in your pussy. You stared up at him, your lips parted almost in shock; he was so hard and so deep. You looked from his dick to his face again in a euphoric daze. He was rock-hard and digging into your wetness, the lewd sounds echoing around the bedroom. You went to rub your clit but he smacked your hand away.

"Uh-uh, hands off my pussy. I warned you last night about touching this pussy without my consent." As punishment, he picked up the pace.

"Oh my god," you gasped.

His grin was wicked as he watched you push at his abs to no avail. "Haha, I ain't going nowhere, baby. Take this dick like you took it last night. I ain't pulling out neither, you know Daddy don't like to pull out. Now hold your legs up for me."

Before you knew it, you found yourself clasping your calves and rearing your legs further back, allowing him to have his wicked way with you. You were trapped beneath him with nowhere to run, just how he liked it. He rocked that big ol' dick into you, grinding his hips in the most artful way, his body rolling, ebbing, flowing, plunging, making you feel every inch and making you fall in love with him all over again.

And to think, people called missionary boring. The man you were fucking made sure no position was boring. Not many women were as lucky as you were, to have a passionate, attentive partner who knew exactly how to please you.

"You fuck me so good, baby," you praised him, your voice a high-pitched, breathless mewl. “Fuck, you’re making me so wet.”

"Uh huh, you’re making a mess on my cock. I love it. You know I love taking care of my girl and my pussy," he answered, leaning down for a tender kiss.

"You always take good care of me, Daddy. I love you so much."

"I love you too, my sweet girl." Your affirmations seemed to turn him into an animal, as his thrusts became harder, deeper, rougher, the big bed rocking from his forceful movements. He could see your grip on your legs slipping so he grabbed them for you, pinning them down to the bed by the back of your knees. Your toes curled in the air as he kept up his electrifying strokes. The heat you felt creeping up was so strong that you shut your eyes tightly in anticipation. A flood of warm liquid gushed out of you and all over his already creamy dick, making you both moan out loud. When he slipped out of you, you shivered, and then just about fainted when he crept downwards and put his mouth back over you.

"Unnnhhh shiiiit..." you breathed, as he slowly worked his tongue in and around that sweet spot he had since mastered, slurping up your cum juice. You squirmed and squealed helplessly, tears springing to your eyes as another delicious climax built up inside you. Your head fell back onto the bed, incapable of doing any other thing except moan and cry. Too spent to scream, you could only make strangled sobs as another orgasm wracked your body yet again.

When he glided his dick back inside your now sensitive cunt, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Roman groaned as you tightened around him, your walls suckling him inch by inch. Bracing himself up with his powerful arms, he nudged your legs up onto his broad shoulders, giving you the perfect view of your pussy taking all his big dick. You turned your head every which way, your weakened body bouncing from the moderate pace of his thrusts. Roman chuckled in amusement at your reaction, his deep, raspy laugh almost taunting.

"Aww, you don't wanna look at me, beautiful? Can't handle how good this dick is?" he teased, kissing away the tears on your cheeks before swiveling his hips around and around, burying himself inside you. "Mmm, you like this, don’t ya? I can tell you like it. You're squeezin' the shit outta my dick. Bet you're feeling real good right now..."

More than good. You were as wet as a waterfall and floating high as a kite right now. Your head arched back into the pillows as he kept putting that dick in your stomach, your voice now hoarse from all your moans and cries. Roman brought his face closer and reacquainted his tongue with yours, absorbing your moan as you tasted yourself in his mouth. In turn, you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Through the haze of passion, you honed in on the sounds of pleasure he was making, the relentless steadiness of his strokes, driving into you with enough momentum to sink you into the sheets.

"God, your pussy is incredible, baby," he murmured under his breath between heated kisses. "Goddamn...I'm 'bout to fill that pussy up, put a damn baby in you."

The waves of searing pleasure rolled outward from where your bodies connected. Roman felt the pull as his balls tightened, inducing him to fuck you harder, faster. You could feel it too, and you reached behind him to rake your nails down his lower back, desperate to end this before you lost control of all your senses and capacities. That small slice of pain was enough to push the Tribal Chief over the edge, your name grinding past his lips as he spasmed inside you. He forced himself as deep as he could down your pussy, emptying his cum in you. Your muscles clenched around him, milking every drop, pulse after pulse of almost painful pleasure mixing with the roaring in his ears. The twitching of his dick ignited another shockwave through your whole body, making you tremble one last time in his arms in a spine-tingling, bone-melting orgasm of your own. 

When it was all over, you crawled away from him, lying spread-eagled, gasping for air, your hair a mess. He lay sprawled beside you, gently tracing the love marks he left on your backside and hips. You were too tired to even turn your head, so you missed the victorious smile on his face as he surveyed the 'damage' he caused.

"You good, baby?" he asked you, his fingers massaging your waist in small soothing circles.

There was a faraway look in your eyes. You felt woozy, your body weak and sore from pleasure. You did not mince your words when delivering your assessment. "You a damn demon."

The twinkle in his eye was just as devilish. "And you love it," he replied with a confident smile, "Am I right, sweetheart?"

Fuck. This man was indeed going to be the death of you. "You know you are," you said softly. Craning your head to check the time on your phone charging on the nightstand, you kissed your teeth tiredly. "I'm gonna be so late."

"I thought I said you should call in sick. Here, let me do it for you." He picked up his phone and searched for a contact. You spied the name he was calling and had to fight back a smile.

"I should never have given you my boss' number," you griped, albeit good-naturedly.

"Come on. He loves ya boy," he chortled. He was right, your boss George was a huge wrestling fan and worshipped the ground Roman walked on. You half-listened to their conversation, holding back a giggle at the serious professional tone your man was using. Severe food poisoning, he said grimly, that it did not look good, and he was taking you to the hospital shortly. He put his phone away with aplomb. "See? Done. I told you Daddy always takes care of his baby girl," he said proudly. "Now we can stay in bed all day and eat more cake, among...other things."

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you would have laughed if you weren't so exhausted. Thank God you didn't have to get up anymore. You allowed him to wrap his big arms around you, and you snuggled into him, letting him envelop you in the loving protective way he always did. A happy sigh left your lips as you felt his own press against your temple, whispering words of love to you, permitting you to fade back to sleep, completely and utterly satisfied.

THE END

--------------

Thoughts?  The Bloodline may be falling apart but our smut will never die, lol.

Please leave comments. I love comments!

Banner made by me. Roman gif by @harmshake​. Credit to owners of the other pics and gifs.

[dilftaroooo]

a lil something for my black gorls bc apparently every reader in this fandom is fair skinned </3

oh lord ghost turns into holy spirit bc of how much he worships u and yo body goodness gracious (i am so sorry father god 💀🧎🏽‍♀️). got carried away. p.s. yall i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so this small thirst might be raggedy as hell (my coochie was doin the thinking)

tags: smut + afab reader + ghost loves you sm + just as much as u love him + finger lickin good pussy eatin + body worship + slight dumbification + i was planning on making him rough with u but then i went soft :) + p power + piv sex + barely proofread + im so sleepy i’ll probably edit the format later + forgot how much i fucking hate tumblr’s editing antics.

You had lost count already. How many times you came to be exact. Has it gone up to Two? Three? Yeah—three. At least that’s what you think. Well—you suppose thinking is starting to become more and more of a rare luxury considering the state you were in—dazed and stupid. Eyes decorated with a red glow from the tears that spilled from them along with a glossy sheen that finished the look.

Subtle hints of wet mascara slid down the apples of your cheeks as Ghost’s fingers delve deep within your wet entrance. His digits were more than acquainted to the slimy ridges that lived inside of you. He graciously pets your most sensitive spots with the utmost care, making your pussy scream as his moist lips kisses your bothered clit as though he’s cooing it to sleep. His tender nature juxtaposes the foreboding gleam of his skull mask and dark eyes drowning in war paint.

It’s those eyes. The ones that made you shiver and whine whenever they catch sight of you. The ones that glare under dim, yellow lights when you inevitably made him jealous. Enough to make them turn green. The ones that form crescent moons whenever he reminds you how much he loves you (the mild appearance of crow’s feet adorning the outer corners). Those eyes—

God, those big fucking eyes.

Sweat makes your melanin coated skin glisten, emitting a warm glow that send tingles up Ghost’s spine. He can feel the goosebumps covering his body as you inadvertently arch your back, pushing your warm sex up against his upper lip, making him groan into your sensitive nub. Your core tighten once more, your pedicured toes stretched across the apex of his back, polish chipped and damaged from irritation, the power of your orgasm jolting you with a hot flash.

Now it's your fourth time.

Brown areolas raise up and down from your big breaths, in the process of coming down from that high you’ve encountered just a second ago. But Ghost doesn’t know rest as he gorges your nipple in his mouth, adoring the quick yelp escaping your lips.

“Ah, Ghost…” You say with kind fragility. Your palms lightly tap his shoulder. Not telling him to stop but telling him to slow down. It was too much. His hands caressed your naked curves. He loved admiring your body. Taking the time to relish just how gorgeous you really are—from head to toe:

Your cornrows styled in intricate parts, freshly layered with the tropical smell of coconuts. Skin gleaming with the overly used shea butter that rarely missed a day off your body. Lips full and plump and coated with that cherry chapstick he loves to taste. Your breast were round and soft to the touch. And your pussy—Fuck, that pussy shined with your juices. Juices he created from fucking you silly with his fingers.

Ghost wasn’t a religious man. He never was. But of all the possible religions out there, your pussy was the one he worshiped the most.

He loved this pussy. Kneeled for this pussy. Prayed for this pussy.

Your being was his shrine and your name was his mantra. He couldn’t get enough of you and your light touches and gentle praises. Ghost couldn’t find more ways to thank you for your existence.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop and utters a voice lower than you’ve ever heard him use, “I need you, love.” You don’t take long to nod with evident fervor. Languidly aiding him in unbuckling his pants and releasing him from those tight restraints.

“I need you,” He repeats. “need that soaking wet cunt.” His Mancunian accent is thick and laced with desire when his mouth spewed that last word. You let go of a wanting mewl before spreading the dark, puffy lips that lead to your sopping wet hole. Just what he wanted.

You both moan in unison as you both get what you want. His hand engulfed yours and you’re quickly reminded of how big he is. His fingers are long and thick. Your legs twitch as you remember how they feel rubbing inside you. He leisurely finds his way deep in your sex. Your tightness pains him in the way that he likes. Leaning down to grunt into your ear, nose filled with that familiar coconut scent, you clench around him when his teeth bites down at the shell of your ear.

He loves you. He loves you so much—your hair, your eyes, your lips, your smile, your voice, your taste, your scent. You’re wonderful. Breathtaking. Beautiful. So so beautiful. He’s so glad he has you. That you’re in his arm moaning so prettily for him. And its almost unbelievable to him that you think of him the same way he thinks of you.

Once your breathing gets heavier and his thrusts gets sloppier and your eye starts twitching, you both finally succumb to the hot rush of pleasure. You don’t object to his heavy weight toppling over you after he fills you up (you encourage it with a hug despite how heavy he is). It feels good—laying like this. So intimate. You pet the back of his head taking in his warmth. Time passes before he slowly looks up at you, his eyes the same temperature as both of your bodies meshed together, and he suddenly states,

“That’s your fifth one, doll.” And you can’t help the quiet snicker that leaves you before giving him a playful slap to his arm, telling him to shut up. You somehow manage to catch a small glimpse of him rolling his eyes beneath that inky mask of his. This was intimate indeed. You finish off the night with a kiss to his forehead and you felt your heart flutter when he answered with a subdued hum.

[judyprincess]

Too Pink For me - Logan Howlett

01: The eyes of paradyse

Mutant.

It was the only word I remembered when I woke up on a hospital gurney. I was a girl of barely seven years old. The memory is as distant and blurry as a blind man without his glasses.

I couldn't even recall anything about my family or what had happened. How did I end up there? Who had said that word to me? All I saw was a man, his hand warm, his body wrapped in an expensive, elegant suit. The man who had chosen to save me from the wreckage-where the sea that drowned me was inside my own head, a storm of thoughts that made no sense, waves without memories.

"Ross"

That's what the man called me, addressing me by that name. But... was that really my name?

"Her mutation is strange. It deeply affects her body."

"It alters the melanin in her hair and eyes."

"Her eyes... they're the greenest I've ever seen."

"She's changing... her..."

Voices... the voices faded away. The white coats became nothing more than blotches dissolving into darkness as I closed my eyes once again.

_______________________________________

In a corner of Venice, the beautiful Italian city, the sun shone radiantly in the sky, signaling yet another warm day in ancient Europe.

In a small, colorful building facing the shoreline that encircled Venice, murals could be seen painted across its walls. Every house was vibrant, but this one in particular was painted white, adorned with intricate artwork that formed a cohesive mural, much like a tattoo on a person.

If you were a visitor, you might think the house belonged to an artist, or at the very least that an artist lived there-and you would be right. In this small Venetian town, there was an artist beloved by the local people. A girl who occasionally strolled through the village, and whenever she did, she was showered with compliments and kindness. Many spoke of her to visitors, as her house had become a sort of tourist attraction-a house filled with paintings reminiscent of the old art that once flourished during the reigns of kings and queens across Europe.

People came to see the house, took photos, and if they were lucky, they might even catch a glimpse of the artist herself, painting on her property. And in the whispers of the crowd, you could hear them say that this girl was as surreal and otherworldly as the very paintings she created-a vision plucked straight from fantasy.

And those were the words that Ororo and Jean-both women from the X-Men team-heard as they wandered through the lively town in search of the girl whom the locals seemed to know so well, yet not at all.

"Eh ciao..." Ororo attempted to speak a bit of Italian to get the attention of the flower stall vendor. "La casa della fantasia?"

Ororo cursed her foreign accent, hoping the man understood her, while Jean let out a small laugh at her attempt with the local language.

"Oh... Vuoi vedere la casa della Rosellina." The man smiled, realizing they were tourists eager to see the town's main attraction-the house of the artist. "Ah, la bella Rosellina. You need to follow this path and at the end, turn right."

The man gestured to Jean and Storm, his Italian accent thick but still understandable. Ororo thanked the man for his kindness in pointing them toward the artist's house.

"Grazie mille."

Jean expressed her gratitude as she and Ororo headed down the street.

Rosellina.

That's what the locals called the artist who lived in the house that resembled a living canvas. The name meant "Little Rose," a name that both mutants found intriguing-just as intriguing as the way the townspeople spoke of the girl with such affection, despite the rumors that she wasn't someone who roamed the town often.

When they reached the end of the street, they were greeted by the sight of the sea-though that wasn't difficult to find in Venice. The shore was adorned with beautiful flowers, a well-kept dock, and small canoes. Ororo thought to herself that she would love to live in a town like this, a place untouched by danger, where no one seemed to care about appearances-a place straight out of a fairy tale, where people came to escape from it all. Jean, on the other hand, couldn't imagine living anywhere other than the mansion with the rest of the team.

"The professor seems to have been right; this is a place far removed from everything. No one here seems to mind having her around. In fact, they adore her," Ororo remarked, taking a moment to appreciate the sea.

"Yes, I also found it curious how much affection they have when they speak of her. Mutants don't usually get that kind of reaction, whether you're in China or America," Jean responded, voicing her own curiosity.

What was it about this girl that made the townspeople cherish her as Rome was cherished for its magnificent ruins?

Following the vendor's directions, Ororo and Jean turned right and soon spotted, at the end of the short street, a white house decorated with beautiful hand-painted artwork. As if the house itself were a canvas, the paintings came together in perfect harmony, despite each one telling a different story. Somehow, they made sense together.

"I can see why tourists are amazed by this house," Ororo murmured, her eyes following each painting, captivated by what she saw. Was this the Casa della Fantasia?

It was a stunning sight, and for both women, it made perfect sense why so many people came to this little Venetian town just to see this enchanting house-an art piece not housed in a museum.

Rosellina must possess extraordinary talent. Could her mutation be connected to it? Ororo wondered. The fact that the house drew so many people and brought money to the town could be one of the reasons why the mutant was so beloved, but something told the silver-haired mutant that it went beyond that. The people adored her for something else.

But what was it?

"She's incredibly talented..." Jean commented with admiration, her eyes tracing the paintings that grew clearer as they approached the house.

As if the heavens wanted to answer Ororo's unspoken questions, a voice called out from the balcony.

"Do you like it?..."

A soft voice, like a melody. Ororo and Jean looked up, both surprised to see the girl standing on the balcony.

Now, Ororo could understand why the people adored this mutant, why she was the source of such admiration and the whispers of tourists who had caught a glimpse of her. Standing on the balcony was a young woman, certainly no older than 25, watching them. She had pastel pink hair, soft and delicate like silk, cascading down to her lower back. Her skin was pale as milk, her face beautifully doll-like, but what stood out the most-what fascinated both Ororo and Jean-were her eyes. They were large and the most stunning shade of green, brighter than any emerald Ororo had ever seen, glowing like the gem itself.

It was as if she were an illusion, not quite real. She looked as though she was part of the paintings themselves.

Was this the beloved Rosellina?

It took Ororo a moment, as it did for Jean, to break free from the spell of her gaze.

"My name is Ororo, and this is my colleague Jean," she introduced herself with a warm smile, looking at the girl. "Are you Rosellina?"

The girl smiled softly, kindly.

"That's right, signorina," she replied, nodding her head.

"We came to talk to you, if that's alright?" Jean stepped forward, getting to the point of their visit.

The girl observed them and laughed, as if she knew that Ororo and Jean weren't ordinary.

"Of course. Come in, the door is open," she gestured toward the door below.

The door was painted in such a way that it looked like the entrance to a forest, creating the illusion of stepping into a magical realm. What kind of mutant was this girl? Both women could only confirm more and more the words Charles had told them before their journey to Italy.

She is special.

Once inside the house, Ororo and Jean admired their surroundings. The interior had a farmhouse decor, adorned with plenty of plants and flowers. It was just as cozy and beautiful inside as it was outside. As they entered the living room where the girl was already waiting for them with cups of tea on the table, they noticed the stunning paintings in various well-known artistic styles. There was also an unfinished canvas on the open balcony, waiting to be completed. The scent of fresh oil paint mixed with a strawberry fragrance from one of the nearby tables, meant to keep the smell of the paint from overwhelming the space.

"I apologize for the smell of paint," Rosellina said with a small, embarrassed smile as she sat down on one of the sofas in her living room. "I hope you enjoy the tea-it's apple, a specialty of our little town."

Ororo and Jean thanked her for her hospitality. She was as gentle as her appearance suggested.

"Don't worry about it, and please excuse us for the intrusion," Jean said as she took a small sniff of the tea. The aroma was wonderful, and the taste did not disappoint its presentation.

"To what do I owe the honor? Are you looking for a painting?" Rosellina asked, taking a sip of her tea as she crossed her legs. Both women could see paint stains on her arms, evidence of the unfinished piece waiting for her on the balcony.

"No, well-let me say, you have extraordinary talent, hard to miss-but our visit actually concerns your mutation," Ororo quickly clarified their purpose.

Rosellina paused, lifting her gaze to look at them both.

"Mi scusi?" She raised an eyebrow in their direction, wondering if she had heard correctly.

"Your father, Mr. Wilson, is a friend of our mentor, Charles Xavier. Does that name sound familiar?" Jean joined in, gently guiding the conversation into sensitive territory.

"No, I didn't know... I'm not very aware of my father's friendships," she responded softly, with a smile.

Ororo didn't need Charles' or Jean's powers to know that behind that smile was a sea of melancholy, like the sea that embraced Venice itself.

"I believe you've noticed that neither of us are normal-we're mutants, like you," Ororo said, to which the girl nodded and smiled, as if pleased to have guessed it.

"Your father reached out to Charles. He told him about you," Ororo continued.

Rosellina looked more interested now, clearly surprised. Her father, Jackson Wilson, was a politician who worked for the Pentagon-the constant hotbed of mutant hunters.

"He mentioned that you were here alone in Venice and that he would like you to attend the school Charles runs, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Jean added, noticing the girl's silence.

"A school?" Rosellina's emerald eyes gleamed at the mention of her father's message to his friend. "With other mutants?"

They both sensed the excitement in her voice, and Ororo, for what she thought was just her imagination, saw her eyes grow even more vibrant in color.

"Yes, that's right. There are other mutants-Jean and I are teachers at the school," Ororo responded. "Though, of course, you wouldn't be a typical student."

Rosellina tilted her head in confusion, like a lost kitten. Ororo couldn't help but chuckle at this girl who seemed plucked right out of a fantasy book. She had never met anyone like her.

"You're quite a bit older-you probably know most of the things we teach the younger students at our school. Our oldest students are around 18 at most, before they can join the X-Men team," Ororo explained further as she took a sip of her tea.

"Charles envisions you staying at the mansion, learning a few things and honing your abilities," Ororo concluded.

Rosellina felt a flutter in her heart. Could she really train her abilities and be surrounded by more people? Was she ready for that after so many years alone in her small home, isolated from everything?

"Recruit me as an X-Men?" was her response after processing all the information.

"Essentially. But we'd also like to see what your abilities are. Would you mind giving us a small demonstration?" Jean asked.

Rosellina smiled and gazed intently into both their eyes. They were both mesmerized by the brilliance of her green eyes.

"Do you enjoy the view?" she said.

Ororo and Jean were momentarily puzzled until suddenly, as if reality itself had warped, they found themselves surrounded by a beautiful forest. Ororo recognized the scene-it was the forest she had seen painted on the door before entering. They were inside the forest. But how? Jean looked around, hearing the clear sounds of the woods; everything seemed and felt so real.

"What...?" Ororo moved and her foot collided with something, causing her to wince slightly in pain. She knew what it was-the table that had been in front of her. Was this all an illusion? When had she created it, and how? The illusion was so realistic, she could even feel the sun's rays warming her dark skin.

"An illusion," Jean said.

The view around them shifted back to the living room of the house, as Rosellina watched them with a small smile, her eyes glowing faintly.

"Your eyes... it's your eyes that hold your power," Ororo realized. It had been when they had looked into Rosellina's eyes that they were transported to that forest.

Neither woman had ever seen anything like it-not on this level. But something told them this wasn't all the girl could do.

"That's right. My eyes are where the mutation is most present," she confirmed Ororo's observation.

"But you don't just create illusions, do you?" Jean asked cautiously.

That level of control over the mind required an incredible amount of power, which, if misused, could cause extreme mental damage to the person experiencing the hallucinations that Rosellina could create.

"No." She clarified, "My powers continue to evolve over time-or at least that's how I think it works."

She laughed softly, slightly embarrassed at not being able to give a clear explanation.

"My eyes give me excellent vision-sometimes I feel like I can see through walls, and other times I can't, probably because I'm not fully aware of my range. In general, I can see from quite a distance. Also, they're very quick-sometimes I can anticipate small actions before they happen. They allow me to read books quickly, and I have a photographic memory. I could say that if I see something I've never done but observe how it's done, I could replicate it."

Rosellina explained her powers in part, and Jean understood that this was because the mutant wasn't even fully aware of the extent of her abilities or what they could do. This made it more difficult to classify her, and what worried Jean even more was the potential danger she could pose.

Mutants with mental control abilities were always dangerous to some degree. And the fact that Rosellina herself said her powers were still developing only gave Jean more reason to believe she urgently needed to attend the school so that Charles could help her, as he had helped her.

Ororo, on the other hand, took on a more protective stance toward the girl. After hearing a bit of what she was capable of, she better understood certain things-like how her paintings seemed to be created by some renowned artist from another era. They were perfect. Furthermore, she was a girl living alone in this house for who knows how long, rarely leaving to visit the town, living isolated in her own home. In a world of her own fantasies.

Compassion. That's what Ororo felt.

Even her father, a man with resources and influence, didn't seem to visit her. Rosellina wasn't even aware of what her father did or didn't do, aside from what little she might catch in the news. Ororo thought that meeting new people, living among other mutants, and making friends would do her a world of good. Rosellina was so kind that she was sure people would adore her at the mansion just as much as the villagers did.

"Come with us to the school. You'll be able to learn more about your abilities and put them to good use. The Professor can help you," Ororo offered warmly.

Rosellina looked at Ororo-the dark-skinned woman was offering her the chance to learn more about herself and her abilities. Her heart pounded with such intensity, like a drum at a carnival.

Leaving her small town embraced by the sea, leaving Venice, leaving her home... Going with these two women who offered the cure to her loneliness and the mystery of her powers.

All those thoughts flooded Rosellina's mind.

"Really?"

There was nothing but excitement in her voice as she uttered those words, as if her very appearance became even more vibrant.

"Of course," Ororo said with a smile towards her, seeing the excitement in her eyes.

Rosellina rose from her seat, her face lighting up with a vibrant smile as she looked at them.

"I'll go get my things."

She announced before leaving them, almost running. She didn't ask questions or anything; she simply went to gather her things, thrilled at the thought of leaving with the two mutants.

Jean and Ororo glanced at each other before bursting into laughter at the young woman's enthusiasm.

"She's so adorable," Ororo let slip with a grin.

As they waited, Jean and Ororo strolled around the place, eager to explore before departing for America. Naturally, the girl needed some time to pack. Jean wandered to the balcony, where Rosellina's unfinished painting awaited her.

I guess Rosellina won't be able to finish you, Jean thought as she gazed at the painting, still half-done. Only a path could be seen-a trail through a forest, a path without a visible end.

Where did Rosellina intend for that path to lead?

It seemed they would never know, as Rosellina would leave with them, and that path would remain unfinished.

Ororo wandered past the walls, smiling with each painting she saw. The canvases were so beautiful-dancing muses, lively meals, places that seemed too incredible to exist. She was sure Charles would love it if Rosellina could contribute some of her works to the mansion. He was a man who appreciated art and history.

As Ororo turned, she noticed a slightly ajar door up a small staircase. Through the crack, she could see more paintings. An attic? Ororo thought. It felt improper to indulge her curiosity, but curiosity won over common sense.

Ororo climbed the stairs cautiously and pushed the door open a bit more, just enough for a small peek. A little look wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?

Her eyes widened at what she saw. She had expected old or unfinished paintings similar to those that adorned the house. But no. These paintings were... eerie. The magical, fairy-tale-like forests that seemed to be the hallmark of her work had turned into a living nightmare.

Creatures born of nightmares, people fleeing from visible horrors. Red, fire, terror, blackness.

In an instant, pink had shifted to black.

Ororo scanned the paintings quickly. Why were these paintings hidden away in the attic? The darkness hidden within the pink that decorated the rest of the house, an unseen shadow that seemed absent from Rosellina's bright eyes.

She felt slightly uncomfortable but impressed. The style reminded her of that romanticism movement, of how Charles had once shown her the paintings of the Spanish painter Goya, who lost his mind over the years. After the war, and with his hearing gone, his art had changed as he became exiled to France in the 19th century. That memory led Ororo to think that artists often had their hearts tied to their hands, painting what dwelled in their minds, letting those thoughts spill out.

Could this be a representation of Rosellina's loneliness?

She wasn't sure, unable to draw solid conclusions. Perhaps a visit to Goya's works had inspired her to create her own collection of dark art, copying them with her gifted eyes. Perhaps she had hidden these paintings for herself, knowing they were not the type of art most people would enjoy. But these paintings must have meant something. Still, Ororo decided not to ask Rosellina about them. It was private, after all, and she shouldn't be here. She wouldn't give the girl the bitter taste of knowing she had snooped into something she kept hidden.

But it was something small that she would definitely mention to Charles upon their return.

Once Rosellina had everything packed, the three women stood outside the house. Rosellina turned to look at her home one last time, her gaze lingering on the balcony where her unfinished canvas still rested. She closed her eyes as if saying goodbye to her sanctuary. She looked around at the sea that had always surrounded her, the same sea that sang lullabies to her during the night.

I'm ready.

She thought, smiling one last time at her beloved town. At least she knew that the house would remain, bringing happiness to tourists who visited. Her contribution would remain as a treasure to the town that cherished it. She would miss her golden Venice, though she knew she would return one day.

"Shall we?" Rosellina heard Jean's voice behind her.

She turned her back to her house and looked at both women, nodding confidently. Ready to take that path into the unknown.

"Yes."

______________________________________

Paradise was granted to the innocent soul, free from greed, sinless, endowed with wonders.

But when does the blessing turn into a curse?

When does the paradise shown become the depths of hell?

[naomiarai]

It was a warm autumn night in 1987

The mission: Storm the Masquerade

Mob boss Beomgyu, and his crazy wife, to go on a mission to hunt, kill, and steal, all while wearing a mask that hides everyone’s identities

Not only are they arriving with masks to cover it, they’re going under a whole different identity, as they weren’t invited to this party, and decided to kidnap and impersonate the couple that was supposed to be in their place

As they sat down in the limousine, the chauffeur drove them to the location. They embraced the lavender air fresher, watching the city buildings pass by, and listened to the radio, who was drowning the car with the tunes of Michael Jackson’s new album, Bad.

As the scene occurred, Beomgyu couldn’t help but appreciate his wife. Her glimmering dress, her faux fur shawl, the makeup she wore, her melanin skin just blooming under the cars lights. She looked so good

She looked too good…

And the mood was indeed not helping, as it only got sexier, the radio playing track 4 of Michael’s album, Liberian Girl.

And closing the window shut between them and the chauffeur, Beomgyu then got closer to his wife, so close to where their lips almost touched…

“Why don’t we have some fun before the real party begins?”

(⊙_⊙)(⊙_⊙) anon!!!!!! u need to go write a book!

mob boss beomgyu and his equally crazy wife on one of their more interesting missions~ on their way to a exquisite masquerade, all to demolish it. but they couldn't possibly get entry in if they came in like that, could they?

so they locked up an arriving couple and took their spot. getting into the car, that was supposed to drive the actual couple, they acted distinct. inhaling the warm sent of lavender, eyeing the passing cars, listening to listed intriguing music as beomgyu decides to fixate his eyes on his wife's pretty self.

oh, how alluring she looked, pretty glimmering dress, the makeup she wore, how she adorned a white faux fur shawl. she looked too good for the purpose she was wearing it.~

he closes the window between them and the chauffeur offering complete privacy, a knowing grin on his face,

“why don't we have some fun before the real party begins?”

[melaninadorned]

Winter is Here, part 1 | Melanin Adorned

[candylandphotos]

Dark skinned Sudanese African American beauty fashion jewelry model ❤️

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[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Brendan O'Neill

Published: Nov 11, 2023

One of the weirdest things about identitarian activists is that they hate being asked where they’re from but they love telling you where they’re from. Politely inquire about their ethnic or cultural origins and they’ll damn you as a racist. ‘How dare you, I’m as British as you!’, they’ll yell, either to your face or in a column in the Guardian in which they’ll document at great, yawn-inducing length the horror of having some dim pleb ask about their family origins.

Then, in the next breath, before you’ve even had a chance to splutter your apology, they’ll tell you their entire ancestral history. You’ll know where their great grandmother was born, the exact quantity of melanin grandad had in his skin, which maternal haplogroup they belong to, as revealed by 23andMe. Just don’t say ‘Oh, that’s where you’re from’, because they’ll call you racist again.

This political schizophrenia of taking offence at the question ‘Where are you from?’ while simultaneously feeling a burning urge to tell the entire world where you are from was best captured in the Ngozi Fulani controversy. You remember Ms Fulani: she’s the black charity worker from Hackney in London whose ‘racist’ run-in with long-serving royal aide Lady Susan Hussey hit the headlines last year. Lady Hussey’s crime? At a Buckingham Palace do, she asked Ms Fulani where she is from. Call the cops! What a bigoted old bat.

Not so fast. Ms Fulani was adorned in African threads at the palace. She frequently decks herself out in the Pan-African colours and Africa-shaped earrings. To constantly suggest to the world that you are from somewhere else and then reach for the smelling salts when someone asks ‘Where, exactly?’ is a bit much, no?

Now, in literary form, Afua Hirsch has done the same thing. Ms Hirsch is an author, broadcaster and writer for the Guardian. Her first book, Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging, was all about the horror, the sheer indignity, of ‘The Question’. The question, of course, is ‘Where are you from?’. I am asked this ‘every single day, often multiple times’, said Hirsch. Really? Where’s she hanging out? It feels like a ‘daily ritual of unsettling’, she wrote. Oh, please. If I penned a sad book every time someone asked me, on account of my very un-British name, ‘What part of Ireland are you from?’, or ‘Where were your parents born?’, I’d be the most prolific author in Christendom.

Now, we have Ms Hirsch’s second book, Decolonising My Body. And you’ll never believe it: it is an eye-wateringly detailed answer to… The Question! Here’s my question: if Hirsch hates being asked where she is from, why has she written a whole tome on where she is ‘from’?

I now know more about Ms Hirsch’s ethnic and cultural origins than I do about my own. To her credit, she admits that this is because she comes from a staggeringly privileged background. I ‘know quite a lot about my ancestors’ and ‘there’s a privilege attached to this’, she says. Her African ancestors were not the ‘enslaved’, but rather were ‘antecedents about whom written records were kept’. Fancy. As someone who knows next to nothing about his colonised forebears – largely thanks to the Potato Famine of the 1840s and the catastrophic fire at the Public Records Office in Dublin in 1922 – I confess to feeling envy while reading Ms Hirsch’s comprehensive tale of her origins. How the other half live, eh?

When I say her new book is detailed, I mean it is detailed. In her first book, she told us off for being nosey about her family origins; in her new book, she’s telling us about the time she got her butthole lasered. She finds herself in ‘the undignified position of spreading my butt cheeks under the chill of a laser clinician’s hosepipe-like nozzle, as atoms are excised, electrons rise and fall, and light beams are making their way into my crack’. The whole thing cost her £1,000. They must be paying well at the Guardian if contributors can splash out a grand on having their anal fluff zapped.

Surely we need to talk about how easily the identitarian elites can shift from exasperation at being asked ‘Where are you from?’ to absolute blaséness about telling the world what their ringpieces look like. Don’t you dare ask where my family is from but please listen to me describe the hair follicles on my arsehole. Excuse me, what?

As its title suggests, Hirsch’s book is a somewhat narcissistic endeavour. It’s all about her body. More specifically, it’s about how empire and colonialism interrupted the mystical traditions through which Hirsch’s African ancestors marked and celebrated their bodies – with tribal tattoos, menstrual festivals and whatnot – and how Hirsch now wants to rediscover all that stuff.

She says she wants to ‘decolonise’ her body of its ‘Western’ expectations – thinness, hairlessness, white-defined attractiveness – and let it become more African. Imagine how time-rich, and literally rich, you would need to be to spend so much energy obsessing over your own flesh and skin. To publish a book about decolonising the body of a privately educated Guardianista while everyone else is wondering if they have enough cash to keep the lights on speaks to the pathological self-regard of the new elites. In this era of economic, military and moral crises, Hirsch is going to have to work a lot harder to convince me that the fact that her period ‘still often takes me by surprise’ is something we need to know.

Hirsch’s argument is that she has been violently ripped from the ‘magical’ traditions of her African history by colonialism and capitalism. So where her historical forebears held menstruation ceremonies and celebrated women for having hairy legs and insisted upon the tattooing of female flesh, our new era heaps shame on women for bleeding, discourages female hair growth, and idolises ‘pure’ over ‘marked’ flesh. None of this is quite right though, is it? Period chatter is everywhere these days. You can’t so much as click on Instagram without seeing some feted female influencer showing off hair-covered shins that would make Peter Sellers wonder if he should reach for some Veet. As for tats – not having a tattoo is the great shame in the 21st-century West. What, you haven’t had a tribal slogan pasted on your pasty flesh by a needle-wielder in Camden? What’s wrong with you?

And yet our body-decolonising Ms Hirsch perseveres, regardless. To counter the evil West’s disdain for old African tribes’ celebration of menstruation, she takes her poor daughter to a tribal period shindig in south London. They have to traverse the South Circular, ‘one of the most congested roads not just in London, but in the world’, and Hirsch, under instruction from the London-based tribal priestess, must wear all-white clothing, which in this case means a ‘floor-length summer robe, made from soft sheets of cotton’. Still, at least it connects Hirsch to her tribal lineage, even if her daughter, by Hirsch’s own admission, would rather be anywhere else.

Hirsch’s favourite word is ‘conditioning’. She thinks women like her – women of non-British origins – have been ‘conditioned’ to discard the tribal rituals their elders engaged in. Perhaps. Or perhaps black women and all women in London in 2023 would just rather buy some tampons for their pubescent daughters than subject them to an old-world menstrual ritual in a posh garden in south London. Who can tell?

Hirsch says ‘the forces of globalisation’ lead to a situation where ‘people like me’ – people of colour – have been ‘conditioned’ to behave and think in a particular way. That is, in a Western way. There’s a darkly ironic twist here. Hirsch’s obsession with the idea of ‘conditioning’ means she ends up viewing African-origin people in a similar way to how old colonialists viewed them – as vacant-brained entities swayed this way and that by the messaging of their superiors under capitalism. It smells like neo-colonialism disguised as anti-colonialism.

Hirsch thinks that even she – an expensively educated, successful writer – has been ‘conditioned’. She wonders if her submission to laser hair-removal is a craven acceptance of Western culture’s white-supremacist loathing of female hair. ‘Why do I keep on coming back’, she wonders, ‘to uncomfortable and expensive appointments, just to squash the capillaries which nature, in its wisdom, wanted us to have in our nether regions’? Again with the nether regions. She ends up staring at her vagina and reminiscing about her lost hair. She beholds the ‘pathetic little tuft of hair clinging to my bikini area, with a forlorn sense of having banished something that may have loved me’. I cannot imagine ever having a deep thought about my pubes – is that only me?

Who is responsible for the fact that even Hirsch, with all her education, has done things to her body that she later thinks she shouldn’t have done? It’s Charles Darwin. It’s always Charles Darwin. On the thousands of pounds she’s spent on ‘pink-packaged razors’ and ‘painful, expensive waxing’, Hirsch says, ‘The person I do blame… is Charles Darwin’. You might think of Darwin as the most important scientific figure of the period of Enlightenment, the brilliant man who revealed to us the truth of both nature and humanity, but to Ms Hirsch he’s the bloke whose ‘paradigm-shifting work on evolution’ led to the inexorable destruction of ‘attitudes to body hair [that] were as diverse as the cultures [they were] rooted in’.

In short, Darwin’s exploration of the origins of species, of the origins of man, helped to nurture a colonial discomfort with tribal culture. Imagine witnessing the epoch-shaping discoveries of a man like Darwin and thinking: ‘He’s the reason I feel compelled to get my butthole lasered.’ The narcissism of it, the anti-Enlightenment of it.

Anti-Enlightenment is the right phrase for where Hirsch ends up. Throughout the book she dabbles not only with tribal cultures – which, in my view, declined and fell for good reason – but also with astrology and even witchcraft. She quotes authors who bemoan the disdaining by ‘intelligent persons’ of ‘witchcraft, magical healing, divination, ancient prophecies, ghosts and fairies’. It falls to her sensible-sounding parents to keep a check on her descent into pre-modern hysteria. Her father, the esteemed geophysicist Peter Hirsch, responds to her pleas that a planetary ‘conjunction’ in the sky must be a sign that she should change her life by saying: ‘It’s just from our arbitrary viewpoint that the planets appear close together… It doesn’t mean anything deeper.’ Yes, dad!

Her mum is even better. Asked by Afua why women of African origin don’t wear ‘waist beads’ anymore, her mum essentially says: ‘Because we have nice knickers now.’ Hirsch discovers, alongside the wonder of menstrual rituals and tribal tats, that wearing beads across one’s belly is a great African way to demonstrate a) that you are fertile and b) you have a chunky ass. Why don’t you wear them, she asks her Ghanaian-British mum? To which comes the glorious reply: ‘As soon as we heard about Marks & Spencer’s underwear, we stopped wearing beads…’ Exactly. All those desperately poor African ladies who hold up their sanitary / undergarment equipment with beads around their bellies would love a pair of comfy high-street knickers, even if wealthy writers like Afua Hirsch frown upon such basic desires. Give me good underwear over tribal realness any day of the week.

Fundamentally, this is a daft book. It bemoans Western capitalism while singing the praises of billionaires like Oprah Winfrey and Rihanna. (And the people, black and white, whose labour is exploited by Oprah’s media machine and Rihanna’s make-up machine? Shush! Don’t mention them.) It attacks cultural appropriation while telling the tale of this hyper-privileged Londoner who gets ‘adorned’ in the fashions of ancient Africans.

I hate to be the one to ask this, but how is it any different for a privately educated woman of colour from Wimbledon to experiment in the cultures and jewelleries of African nations than it is for a right-on white ‘appropriator’ to do the same? It would be like me donning the animal skins my ancestors wore as they searched high and low for grub in the wilds of pre-modern Ireland. ‘Wanker’ would be the cry of friends and family if I were to put on the rough uniform of my tragic, regressive forebears.

Hirsch’s retreat from modernity into the witchy traditions of old is some rich lady shit. Anyone who can traipse through London to attend menstrual rituals and traverse Africa to examine beads and pants is clearly someone with too much time on their hands. And that’s the rub. Identity politics is a fundamentally privileged pursuit. Indeed, it is the means through which the well-off launder their class privilege and turn it into oppression. There is nothing in Ms Hirsch’s plush, lovely life that can be described as oppression – apart from being asked The Question, of course… – and so she plunders ancient communities for little pieces of victimhood she might claim as her own. And thus is her cultural power in the here and now fortified, with more of that hottest currency of all: ethnic suffering.

Hirsch’s book confirms that the new elites have retreated from reason, fleeing from Enlightenment into the tattooed arms of fashionable tribalism. ‘Educated people, and people like me, [were] brought up to learn about, understand and respect science’, she writes, but now many of us are ‘following our curiosity’ and embracing ‘systems of ancestral knowledge’. Yes you are. From ‘decolonise the curriculum’ to the upper-middle-class fads for everything from African jewellery to Tibetan spiritualism, the right-on and rich are turning their backs on modernity and its gains and knowledge. Knock yourselves out. The rest of us, however, who have no cultural clout to gain from dabbling in magic and other ancient bullshit, prefer science, civilisation and comfortable undergarments.

==

These people are fucking bonkers. They think they're the most fascinating and enlightened people on the planet, when they're just the most mediocre, narcissistic people, using big, empty, academic, jargony words to hide the fact they're completely fucking insane.

For the record, Hirsch's ancestors are Norwegian, German-Jewish, British and Ghanaian. So her appropriation of African aesthetics isn't actually any more meaningful than espousing her Norwegian viking ancestry.

We have to stop giving these lunatics oxygen.

[meowstergreenmage]

the pull chapter 1

Such a bright sunny day… and such a bright sunny scene. 

  Dust’s eyes flickered down onto the two blue-uniformed humans he had been observing for a while, he was currently perched on top of an apartment building, his boss sent him to survey the area of this town in the Underfell Au, see how well protected it was and to plan out how to eradicate some pests for LV, and oh boy… was he mesmerized by how these law enforcers worked. 

  Eh… Work would have been putting it lightly. 

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at the men as they kept falling over, stumbling about on the concrete road, yelling at the top of their lungs. They were chasing after a guy who stole some food from the local convenience store, a quick dude.

  He tsked in disapproval. 

  “disgusting…” Don’t humans know that when someone is that desperate to steal food, they need help more than anything? It was clear these ‘things’ were incapable of empathy, apparently even for their own kind. He sighed and kept enjoying the fumbling policemen, they really did make his job easier, he’ll give them that.

  After leaving his timeline, when the human decided to never show up again after they won (which made him dust all of the Underground for nothing, might he add), he started working for Nightmare, who somehow found him due to his negative feelings.

  Night was a weird boss, wanting him to cause chaos and emotional pain, and occasionally letting him go on his murder rampages against humans, but hey, he got food and shelter at his dumb castle at least, so he has no right to judge him.

  Not like he can return to his now-empty universe. His boney palm rested beneath his chin, and he fiddled with the strings of his hoodie. Either way, this first part of the job was easy, the fun part came later when he got to have some fun… 

  “BROTHER… LOOK!” His ghostly brother Paps cut him off from his internal monologue, pointing a gloved finger at the men from earlier. Dust’s head followed, and he recentered his attention at the scene. There were now five more policemen, and two cars, the humans armed to the brim with weaponry. His face recoiled at the excessive use of force. 

  “ALL THAT FOR ONE MEASLY FUGITIVE?! ASGORE, HUMANS ARE SO INADEQUATE.” His brother commented, crossing his arms as he floated beside him. Dust nodded in agreement.

                BAM!

  Gunshots were heard, surprising the brothers, as well as the locals, even the birds perched on top of the electrical wires, had vanished.

  The fugitive had been caught. His body limps on the ground beneath him, blood draining from his bullet wounds. The sounds of police sirens and scared civilians permeated the air, turning the nice sunny day into a hot and suffocating hellscape.

  Dust was stunned, never had he thought humans could be worse than he imagined, but they kept surprising him. He decided to shortcut closer to the scene out of pure curiosity, he had time to spare while he waited for Nightmare to arrive anyway. He overhears the first two policemen he spotted talking to each other. 

  “Serves him right… dumb pest.” The short and fat one said, while wiping the sweat off his brow, his taller and balder partner chuckled and let out a bemused sigh.

  “Fuckin’ hell, he was fast, I knew those damn Africans ran, but shit!” His partner quickly shut him up. 

  “Shut it!” He looked mad for a second, then his smile got wider. “If the media gets wind of this, we’ll be put on paid leave!” He sarcastically said, chuckling and laughing at his sick joke. 

  “the fuck?” Dust couldn’t keep those words inside, a frown now adorning his features and his brows furrowed in anger. These sick bastards killed one of their kind just ‘cause of their melanin levels and blamed it on some petty crime. And now they're laughing at the lack of consequences?!

   Oh … when he came back to deal with this town with his crew, he’ll take these two to his personal torture chambers and let them get a taste of their own medicine. He let a snicker escape him and he tugged on the brim of his black baseball cap pulling it down to hide his face a bit better, being in the middle of the populous wasn’t a very bright idea, especially considering Red might be nearby. What is he doing, he had just to wait for Nightmare to come back, not impose himself on some dumb situation.

  “Sorry!” Something or someone knocked the wind out of Dust’s non-existent lungs as they slammed head-first into him. “Woah, sir! You’re so scary! Is that why the police are fighting?” A dumb snotty human kid looked up at him, giving him a toothy grin, before he could reply the human adult female yanked her son closer to her. “Stay away from that thing, son! We have to leave, this area is dangerous!” She blocked her kid with her body and eyed Dust with a look of pure disgust, but a hint of fear still permeated her gaze.

  Ah… the common human experience he was so used to, guess it was rather ironic that he called humans ‘things’, and now that word had come back to bite him. He let out a low growl, prompting the woman to squeak, and slap him across his sternum with her fashion-provocative, probably overpriced, purse. 

  “DEFINITELY AN ADDITION TO THE TORTURE ROOM, BROTHER.” His brother giggled, knowing he couldn’t be heard by anyone else but him, Dust silently agreed with his bro.

  “Stay away from my child, monster!” The woman pestered, while still slamming her purse against the much taller skeleton, still, he didn’t move an inch, something had shaken him instantly.

  Dust’s soul tugged and pulled. But not at the woman’s insult, but at someone… He ignored the woman’s constant berating and yelling and focused on this feeling.

         Warm… comfortable? 

  The hell? That feeling kept growing, and his soul was filled with an unnatural emotion, fondness. He hadn’t felt that in so long, not after the human had shown up in his life. Dust kept searching for the meaning of this sudden sensation and didn’t notice someone coming.

  “Hey, your kid was the one to bump into him and ask offensive questions, maybe teach him some manners!” A brave voice, amidst the chaos, caught his attention and his eyes flickered down, to the female human that was now standing beside the woman.

  “Not that you could really, you have none yourself. This is a monster-friendly town, so you can either learn to live with it or fuck off!” Dust’s eyes turned into pinpricks as he saw this new person defend him, never had he thought that humans were capable of such acts… yet here she was.

  A small, frail-looking human, he internally grinned at the look of her bawled fists, the small hands betraying her bravery and resolve. The look of anger on her face, and how that woman was now extremely offended that one of her kind decided to defend a monster made him genuinely smile.

   Cute.

  The woman gasped and took her son with her as they began to leave, muttering more insults towards the two of them. Dust couldn’t hear them, he was too enamored to speak or look anywhere else, but her. The short female visibly relaxed and sighed, then looked at him, meeting his mismatched eyelights.

  And she smiled… at him?

                 Why?

                     Such a dumb bitch, ignorant of what he was about to do to her town later.

  He snickered at the dark thought. That’s right. That was his job anyway. So why was he so stuck on her? Why did he notice the small details, like how her hair graced her features, her eyes carefully studying him, or how her face was still red, fuming over that other woman’s actions. Her lips… curved upwards, Dust felt his own cheekbones rocking a blue tinge, that smile was of pure kindness, it was for him.

     Meant for him. 

  “-so that’s why she probably acted like that, we humans have an innate fear of the unknown and she’s probably new in town, but I’m sure she’ll warm up to monsters!” Her voice finally became clear, she had probably started rambling, excusing that woman’s actions. He hummed in response, taken aback by everything that was going on, luckily the human girl didn’t seem offended and continued to talk to him.

   Yes, talk to me… 

  “Oh, uh, sorry if I talked too much, didn’t mean to bug ya or anything, heh.” She laughed nervously and her eyes fell on the ground for a second before returning to look at him. He was used to humans turning their gazes away from him out of fear, but he couldn’t smell an ounce of that on her. Was she… just shy? “Are you lost?” She asked him, offering that kind smile again, and with a crook of her neck, she let out a small giggle and gave him her name. “You just seem new! And I’m familiar with this town, I’d hate for that woman to be your first impression of this place-”

  “no.” Dust couldn’t take it, why was this person being nice to him? He liked it, even though he shouldn’t have. She’s just a stupid flesh bag, she’s trying to gain something out of this, something… anything. But he… knew… his soul was pulling towards her, she wasn’t scared of him, her body was shivering and her shyness… it all pointed to...

   How fucked up can the world be, that they give me a human soulmate?!

  “Oh, sorry…” Her smile faded instantly at his harsh and cold tone. His soul hurt at that, at the pain he had inflicted on her, this human was making him weak and vulnerable… and he hated it, he had to leave… now.

  “kindness like that, gets you killed. don’t do that again.” 

  Or else you’ll get hurt… he knew that better than anyone…

                                   I don’t want to see you hurt.

  And just like that, he vanished, back to the same rooftop he was before. His palm made its way to his sternum. 

   Breathe in.

  His soul was still hammering in his chest, yearning for her, wanting to apologize for his harsh demeanor, wanting to start over, be friendly, be nice… 

  “hey dude, ya good? you're not looking very knife there.” The irritating chuckling of Killer broke in, as the other skeleton still clenched the fabric of his hoodie. “fuck, killer, told you not to bother me.” The shorter skeleton giggled and poked Dust’s cheek with his knife. 

  “relaaax, buddy! i’m done with my part of town, just waiting for nighty to collect us.” He groaned at his extroverted friend's actions, and nodded, not wanting to waste his time with small talk. 

  “THEN WHY DID YOU WASTE TIME GIVING THAT HUMAN ADVICE? HUH, BROTHER?” He rolled his eyelights at his brother’s teasing. Papyrus probably already knew what was going on, anyway, considering he’s haunting his body and mind now. Killer had sat down and was playing with his knife, Dust joined him, sitting down far enough away and picking at the pieces of cotton of his red scarf. 

  “YOU KNOW, BROTHER. IF YOU ARE HER SOULMATE, WOULDN’T THAT MAKE HER ACTUALLY RED’S SOULMATE, SINCE YOU KNOW, HE’S THE ORIGINAL FROM THIS TIMELINE-

  “shut it paps.” He spoke, loudly enough for his brother and colleague to jump a little at it. 

  “huh, I mean, I’m used to you speaking to yourself like a lil weirdo, but that loud? somethin’ made ya mad?~” Killer teased, pointing his knife at him like it was an accusing finger.

  Fortunately, Dust was saved by the bell, the infamous sound of Nightmare’s goo teleporting in making both skeletons stand still and proper. 

  “Have you two done the perimeter check? How is the law enforcement in this place?” His boss's baritone voice resonated as he demanded an answer, they both replied, almost in sync in a low grumble.

  “buncha shit.” 

  Lunch break. Fuckin’ hell, finally! Red grumbled to himself, making his way out of the convenience store he worked at. Nothing fancy but hey, Boss told him to get a job even though they were practically rich from all that gold that got converted into this country’s currency, so he wouldn’t get lazy. But it was just part-time which gave him time to work on his lil’ gadgets and machines back home. He had just invested his money in a brand new telescope and had spent these past weeks upgrading it and making adjustments.

  Red sighed happily to himself, glad that he was finally on the surface, able to see the sky and the stars, even though it’s been a couple of years he still looked up from time to time just to cherish it, hoping it wouldn’t reset.

  A shiver crawled up his spine, great he ruined his own fuckin’ mood.

  I’m such a disgrace.

  He ran a palm across his skull while his other hand’s grip tightened against his lunch bag, a nice burger, and some fries from Grillby's II that he had picked up earlier this morning. 

  “reheated, but still the meanest burger ever.” He muttered, sure there were plenty of choices in terms of restaurants and food, but none had compared to his usual bar. Red pondered over it and looked all over the bars, restaurants, and establishments that were in this part of town, and his red eyelights landed on a family-run bakery. 

  Nah, that place was pretty good too. He was thankful for that one time that Boss had commanded him to get a cake there for Mettaton’s birthday, the service was good, even though it was run by humans, he even splurged on some chocolate cookies that were sweet as all hell. “Not as sweet as that human cashier chick, tho.” He grinned, his golden tooth gleaming on this sunny day. He stopped, his eyelights focusing on the scene before him. 

  “fuckin’ pigs up to now?” A sour taste graced his tongue, blood. Someone had been killed, a human. Red groaned and decided to ignore it, he knew humans were pretty shitty but holy Asgore did they hire the worse cops, thankfully Edge worked with them now and could probably set a few of them straight. He snickered at the thought of his tall brother vetting competent humans for the job. As he was making his way over to the usual park he ate at, the sound of bickering alerted him, he turned towards the alleyway the voices were coming from. 

  Two humans, a man, and a woman were slamming a shorter person against a wall. Fucking imbeciles, he swore humans got stupider the more he lived here, well, not his business, he shrugged and moved on but what came out of the man’s mouth caught his attention.

  “You think we are racists, you little shit?! We’re teaching you a lesson! Don’t be nice to those things!” 

  Now that got his attention.

  He did a U-turn and decided that yes, this was his business! He curiously stepped forward to get a better glimpse at the person being harassed. And his soul pulled and tugged. He gulped, the small girl… was the cashier from the bakery. Fuck, he knew it was weird for him to crush on a human and that his soul was just pulling tricks on him considering he’s been kinda lonely recently, but maybe it wasn’t. Now that the chick was in danger, his soul cried and begged him to move, to help her.

  I thought I wasn’t one of the lucky ones to get a soulmate.

  Fuck! It ain’t the right time! He wasn’t ready for the commitment, especially with a human who was probably not even in tune with their own soul. He groaned and resigned himself to his soul’s wishes and focused on what was happening in the dark alleyway.

  “They’re not things! They are sentient beings like you and I! And I have many monster friends!”

  Red was so astonished he froze, his eye sockets turning into a dark abyss. Did she just stand up to two much taller and stronger humans just for monsterkind's sake? His soul clutched in happiness. Though that was very short-lived as a slap struck the cashier’s face, making her knees buckle as she slid down the wall landing on the floor in a soft ‘thump’.

  “Shut it!” The woman who had hit her spoke, Red’s nonexistent blood boiled at the audacity of that fucking bitch, so he decided to intervene.

  “nah, ya shut it.” He sucker punched the woman, hard enough for her to cough up blood and fall to the ground squirming, the man who was on his way to kick the shorter female looked up at the skeleton in fear, visibly shaking. “ya voice kinda sounds like nails on a chalkboard, bitch.” He spits on the woman who trembled beneath him. His grin grew wider. “makin’ my non-existent ears bleed. so howz about you and your lil’ buddy kindly fuck off?” He summoned a bone that was sharpened at the tip and stalked closer earning blood-curdling squeaks from both perpetrators.

  The man seemed to gather enough courage even after pissing himself.  He grabbed his pocket knife to aim at the intimidating monster. He gathered enough momentum and lunged at him. Red simply shortcutted behind him, landing a foot on the woman's hand with his feet, crushing her bones. The man fell to the ground head-first. “already fallin’ for me? sorry man, not into your lil piss kinks.” He chuckled and kicked him to emphasize his words, the woman got up and dragged herself out of the alleyway muttering apologies, the man soon followed her out crying out for mercy and that he’d never do it again. 

  Finally, Red relaxes and lets out a sigh, he turns to face the cashier and offered her his boney hand to help her up. “ya good, doll?” The look she gave him was enough to steal a monster’s soul. A small smile adorned her face, even though he could see some bruises starting to form on her arms and legs.

  'Course my soulmate would be tough as nails.

  He offered her a kind smile in return, one that no other person got to see. The moment he helped her get up felt like ages, and he memorized every second of it. She simply nodded and studied him. He hoped she remembered him. “Oh! You were that client that asked for the biggest fanciest cake we made for a birthday party, right? Uh… Mettaton was it?” Her hold on his hand lingered like she had no intention to let go, did she maybe feel the connection as well? Nah, stop trying to kid yourself, Red. He cackled at her attempts, he never did give her his name. 

  “nah doll, that cake was for a friend, ya dig? name’s red, i come by sometimes to get some cookies, they are really nice ones too.” She giggled, the noise resonating deep within him as if it was pain medication. She shook his hand in greeting and offered her name.

  “Of course! I’m really glad you like them since I make them personally!” Oh wow, she was also a baker? She seemed to notice the look on his skull, and she continued. “Ah, but those are the only ones I make, I’m still new to the whole magical food business, my dad makes the rest, and he has a monster chef who helps him out.” She looked at her hand and slipped it away slowly, a blush crawled on her cheeks. “Sorry about that, heh. Maybe I’m still in shock?” He grins deviously at that.

  “i mean, who wouldn’t, i’m a pretty big deal~” He winked playfully and shrugged as if it was common knowledge.

  “Damn, pretty sweet that such a big deal enjoys my baking!” She sarcastically added, before bucking down and catching herself, wincing in pain. Red’s body involuntarily caught her, and he let her lean against him. The drumming of his soul was constant now, and he could smell her from here, dusty and bloody… but with a twinge of peach and mint. He stopped himself from salivating at how good her soul smelled before making a damn fool out of himself.

  “hey, i got some grub here i was plannin’ on eatin’ foh lunch, ya can have it doll.” His voice got lower, making his raspy timber and accent heard. She shook her head to signal that she wasn’t okay with his kindness. He used his thumb to rub across a narrow cut on her cheek that was bleeding. “c’mon, ya hurt.” He felt the smaller human shiver, trying her best not to clutch too hard on his clothes. He offered her his lunch bag, and helped her sit down against the wall, he sat beside her. She gingerly accepted and started to munch on the burger and fries. Her cuts and bruises were visibly healing now. “monster food is pretty neat, ain’t it?” He commented, helping to ease the tension, before getting a glimpse of how she was going ham on the food. She nodded vigorously and continued to chow down. “Shu guud!” She muttered excitedly, mouth still half full. Red let out a roar of laughter at the eagerness this little human was showing. Then he heard it.

   Hic!

  His soul stressed, scared of the sounds coming out of the human. “heya kid, ya okay? what the fuck are those sounds?” A few sweatdrops formed on his skull and he tried his best to understand what was going on. 

  “I’m goo-Hic! Good. It’s just hiccups!” She seemed amused at the panic that Red showed. He eyed her as she dug a water bottle out of her pocket, and drank it. “See, all better? Just had some fries stuck, hehe. Damn those were good…” Red went back to leaning against the wall, glad this was just another weird human quirk, one that he found quite adorable actually.

  "right. now that ya done, howzabouit ya tell me what exactly happened here?”

  You told to Red what happened, going all the way to explaining what the police did, and how you saw a woman yelling at an innocent monster and that you stepped up to defend him. You let out the fact that the monster seemed to reject your act of solidarity and just ended up vanishing on you. 

Better keep that to myself, the poor guy was probably just frustrated with humans.

  “And then those two cornered me and brought me to this alleyway.::” The skeleton hummed as he took in all of what you said, his sharp phalanges tapped away at his chin while he thought. You were thankful someone heard you, especially because you had forgotten your pepper spray at home. The hero in question was yet another skeleton, but his teeth were sharp and one of them was glistening in its golden color. You appreciated the cool edgy look he gave off, he had baggy black shorts and wore a black hoodie with a furry hood and a red turtleneck beneath. 

  Are these guys heat-resistant?

 A funny situation, meeting two of them in a day, from the information you gathered from your other monster friends, the skeleton sub-class was almost extinct, and you felt bad sort of bad about that. A funnier feeling ached in your chest, you had been feeling sort of drowsy and heavy today for some reason, is it a skeleton magic thing? Nah, it’s probably the heat today. “pretty sure they overhead ya lil’ altercation, doll. and decided to intervene. fuckin’ cowards.”

  Damn, he has a really nice voice.

  You gave him a giggle at his comment and accepted the napkin Red offered you and wiped away the mustard from your lips, this guy sure had put a lot of it in his fries and burger, but you couldn’t really object to free food. “Yeah, sucks too. I saw them at the protest we held last month to allow monster adoption! I swear why do people change their minds so fast?! I’m pretty sure it’s that new ‘activist’ human group in town who’s brainwashing the humans into dumb racists.” You sighed, hanging your head lower before muttering out. “And our little town had just come so far…”  You saw his large figure stand and brushed the dust off his clothes.

  “so ya are part of the monster rights activism group, huh? heh, my friend Undyne also volunteers there, maybe you know her?” You stood up as well, now that you were fully healed, and gave him a snarky grin.

  “No way, Undy?! Of course, I know her! She’s, uh, very expressive. And we do have to get her out of fights sometimes.” He chuckled with you, understanding what you meant. “She means well though.” Red nodded and looked at you, oh. Fuck, it’s nearly 2 pm! Why am I holding up this guy's time?

   I just feel so at ease for some reason…

  “..."

  “So, uh how much was that?” You began to try and fiddle with the wallet in your shorts, you really wanted to repay the monster for his kindness, and you also hated wasting people's time. Red cackled and took a hand out of his hoodie’s pocket and began waving it to dismiss what you were trying to do. “don’ worry about paying, huh… actually ya my break is almost over. howzabouit ya make it up to me by… i don know… having lunch with me tomorrow?” You froze.

  Huh?

  You stared up at him for a moment before gathering up some courage and nodding. “If that’s okay with you Red sure, I’d love to hang out, my break is also around the same time.” You were delighted to make a new friend, especially such a kick-ass one. A little red glow emanated from his cheekbones before his soft smile turned into a smirky grin, showcasing his sharp teeth. A shiver crawled up your spine as he stepped forward tucking a stray hair behind your cheek, before muttering in his low raspy tone. Fuck, was this guy trying to give you a heart attack?

  “it’s a date.”

[theacidjazzguitarist]

All Souls Celebration

In the iridescent glow of a distant world, under skies painted with hues unseen, the All Souls Celebration unfolds—an ethereal symphony of unity and spiritual rejuvenation among a melanin enriched populace, congregating amidst breathtaking landscapes that rival celestial artistry.

Vast gatherings of souls, clothed in garments reflecting the vibrancy of their culture, converge upon sprawling, verdant vistas aglow with bioluminescent flora. Towers of iridescent crystals jut toward the heavens, resonating with an energy that harmonizes with the collective heartbeat of the planet.

At the heart of this celebration, an immense sanctuary carved into the natural rock formations stands as a testament to sacred reverence. Its design embodies the fusion of ancient wisdom and advanced technology, a manifestation of spirituality interwoven with cosmic understanding.

Rhythmic beats reverberate through the air, emanating from celestial drums crafted from the very essence of the planet itself. The melodies, a fusion of ancestral tunes and futuristic harmonies, infuse the atmosphere with an ineffable sense of serenity and belonging.

Amongst the throngs, adorned altars adorned with luminescent offerings stand as tributes to departed ancestors, their presence honored and invoked through rituals that transcend time and space. The whispers of incantations and recitations of cosmic poetry echo across the landscape, invoking a sense of interconnectedness with the universe.

As day merges into night, the skies alight with constellations unseen by distant worlds, casting an enchanting glow upon the gathered masses. Celestial dances ensue, movements choreographed in tandem with the cosmic rhythms, evoking a profound sense of spiritual unity and transcendence.

The All Souls Celebration is a testament to the eternal bond between the living, the departed, and the cosmic energies that bind them together in an unending cosmic dance.

[ortilimew]

Now to tell you about Rathis! Two of my main characters are Rathis Sisters and they're very important to me.

Thiran is the Rathis Homeworld and it's got very few oceans, not a lot of tectonic activity, and fewer species of large flora than most worlds (though plenty of large fauna) meaning big open fields and a bigger advantage to species able to traverse them. Thus Rathis' most iconic and pretty much important trait, their speed and the feet that give it to them. Like many species on earth, Rathis back legs technically walk on their 'toes' and are digitigrade. Their claws are not retractable and are primarily used to dig into the ground like cleats for running. Their calves are short, thick, and some of the strongest muscles ever recorded.

Their tails are prehensile, but are mostly used for balance and as counterweights to increase their turning ability while running. Thus the end being a thick cap bone rather than tapering off.

Rathis are diurnal obligate carnivores, hunting at night as much as day, napping usually for 3-5 hours at somewhat random intervals. This means their sight can adjust to night or day, and lacks some fidelity compared to humans. Lower ability to differentiate colors, but higher ability to detect movement and see in the dark. Their hearing is extremely strong to the point they can rely on it almost as much as humans do sight to detect prey and threats. While their nose is mostly used for ventilation and oxygen intake while running, they have some ability to track by smell when going after smaller, slower prey.

Because of Rathis' ability to naturally traverse long distances, their melanin production is extremely varied depending on the amount of sunlight they've been to exposed to in the last month. The same Rathis can be the entire range of skin tones most humans are by tanning or lack thereof. Like humans they are furless, but they grow hair on top of their heads, the back of their ears, their shoulders, back and sometimes at the end of their tail. The same places you will find their patterns if they have one. This is more common in male Rathis, but it is not natural for them to grow facial hair. While their hair and pattern colors are sometimes the same color, and are from the same sort of keratin production, therefore are only naturally the colors shown, they can differ and contrast from each other.

They are comparable to mammals, and sexually reproduce mostly like humans, but tend to have litters of 3-5 at a time.

Because of their lack of environmental manipulation, (Rathis prefer to migrate when uncomfortable rather than try to force the place they're in to be more comfortable.) and somewhat sparse adornments on their warm world, Rathis were assumed to be non-sapient. This went on for many years, in which time they were a prized hunting trophy due to the danger and their cleverness, until some unfortunate incidents kidnapping and raising Rathis cubs, only to find them quickly picking up their captor's language.

Little is known about indigenous Rathis culture because of their distrust of outside species after being hunted for sport for so long. The world is now considered off limits by larger government bodies. The Rathis that were taken off world for better or worse have mostly been assimilated into other societies, but black market trading for Rathis slaves occurs often because of their minority status and lack of voice in politics for protections.