#out there for all the leer at. ⌜ promos ⌟

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK 23&24

His forces gathered, Zant plots his next move. The Triforce of Power is within reach now, and he will need little more than a Blade to retrieve it.

hiiii everyone. since i've added the prologue (which will be getting its own promo image.. eventually...) the chapter counts are a bit out of wack so this update is both. the update has been up on ao3 for a bit but artfight season made me a little slow on the visual art side! but no longer! SOOO excited to bring you all this update!

once again thank you to the lovely @bulgariansumo and @orfeolookback for betareading!!!

CW this chapter for body horror, graphic violence, mutilation

ao3 mirror

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17

As the days at the Bulblin settlement went on, so did their army grow. Those who stayed at the encampment as visitors spread the word home, and as perilous as it was to spread the information of the deceptively alive lieutenants, Zant had permitted it gladly. After all, Hyrule was much too busy celebrating victory to pay any mind to those fractured tribes, now without a cause to unite under. Oh, what little did they know!

Very much united under a cause, Zant had gathered commanders from their haphazard bands in the new Chief’s tent – Earl Eydra, second daughter of the late Hallra, also accompanied by Lord Banayu, spokesman of the Bokoblin tribes. His very own Ghirahim, of course, stood right beside him, etching away at a map that Zant gingerly brushed his fingertips along. 

The Valley of Seers. Zant had never seen it, but Ghirahim had twice over. Being meticulous as ever, he had of course committed every second of footage to memory, and translated every measurement and possible point of interest onto paper. 

Negotiations followed as usual. Instead of being a silent bystander who offered his knowledge only when an interruption was permitted, Zant took an active role. He stood at the front of the map, all his pegs and baubles at his disposal, and commandeered it as though his movements would shift the fabric of reality itself. Intel was exchanged for commands ‘round the strategy table. One bokoblin stood by the side of one particularly dull-looking, flat-faced hound man, relaying information through a different tongue in hushed whispers. The dimwitted lug nodded hard, his floppy ears wiggling with the effort. Ghirahim wondered if brute strength among dolts like those would be enough to win them this battle.

But he supposed that’s what he and Zant were for.

Ghirahim quickly returned to sketching his map. Zant was catching up to him, his brow increasingly furrowed by what he saw. “Is it not possible that, at this point, Sorceress Lana is instead taking residence in the Temple of Souls?” asked Zant, seeming perturbed by the inhospitable sights of the Valley. 

“We find it unlikely, Sire,” hissed a Hyrulean soldier from across the tent, bearing a voice far slimier than a human would suggest. 

This out-of-place figure soon turned out to be perfectly where he should be. He grimaced, his hands tightening in claws. The metal on his gauntlets melted to black, then to skin, then to dark brown fur over clawed, spindly paws. Helmet and pauldrons similarly fused to his flesh, until it became his flesh itself. The plumed feather on his helmet ripped into two, twitching to each side of his head to form ears. Finally, his cloak unfurled into a pair of ink-black bat wings, quivering and flapping with relief of freedom. Now revealed, the Ache perched its hands on the edge of the table and leered at his General with great anticipation.

Only to have the gloved hand of his Lieutenant smashed indignantly in his face.

“You will not speak unless permitted,” snarled Ghirahim, baring his teeth at this defiance. “Now you may continue.”

The lesser demon whined, rubbing its wrinkled snout. It gulped down any other sniffles and spoke. “Egh… Th-... The Temple is currently being used as a jail. Lieutenants Yuga and Wizzro are held prisoner there, awaiting prosecution, Sire.”

Zant perked up almost pleasantly. “Is that so? I expected them to have been executed by now. Well, that saves me some time and effort.”

Before Ghirahim could frown too hard at his statement, Zant disturbed him even further. “Perhaps Hyrule noticed that right now, for Yuga, being alive is enough of a punishment. But that will have to wait until later. Tell me of our battlefield.”

The team of scouts relayed their findings. Having eyes in the skies once again worked thoroughly in their favor; the whole of the Valley had been surveyed in practically no time at all. On a dark, cloudy night, the hides of their demon forces would be noticed by none. And to their luck, as Zant expected, their target was scarcely guarded. A handful of outposts, at most, with hardly five hundred men huddled about in total. A disaster to encounter in formation, but pathetic when spread thin across the entire territory. Even better, with Ganon’s defeat, Hyrule had sent its guests across time home in a teary goodbye. Left in this realm were only the Princess, her Knight, her General, and the Sorceress. In other words, Lana was thoroughly unprepared for any sort of siege.

“How awfully convenient,” said Ghirahim, bringing a hand skeptically to his face. “I’d almost think this is a trap.”

Zant snickered under his breath, arranging pawns wherever the little tippy-taps of batty fingers told him where outposts sat. “On the contrary, Ghirahim. It makes perfect sense. What enemies does Hyrule expect to have left, that they cannot confidently tackle in isolated groups?”

Pawns thwacked decisively in place. “It’s clear to me. Tell me, Lord Eydra, have you heard anything, at all, from our neighbors further out into the sands?”

Eydra shook her head, her horns clacking and bangles jingling. “None at all, Sir. Not a peep from ‘em since ‘ey’ve gone and blown up a couple weeks ago.”

Ah, that whole incident. So he was not suspected of having caused the moon crash in the desert. At least, not by these people. Ghirahim restrained his expression and turned to him. “So they’re leaving the Gerudo alone. That means…”

“The ones who birthed their nemesis? Who conspired against Hyrule’s throne? That ought to have been their first order to persecute. Yet they are not. Most definitely, Hyrule is laying low. Staying out of trouble as it rebuilds, I’ll wager,” Zant smiled, flicking Ghirahim’s finger as he pointed it at the map. “Oh, my blade. Taking the Valley will be a breeze. And the Triforce with it.”

That was when a slight snort caught their attention. Lord Banayu stuck his snout over the table and made himself heard. “Respectfully, Sire. If it will be such a ‘breeze’, as you say… I don’t see why our starting numbers are to be so small,” he asked, tapping a thick-nailed finger at a group of pawns on the map. “We ought to clear them out as quickly as possible.”

“On the contrary. I intend to deceive her.”

Brows raised around the room.

Their collective confusion only served to make Zant grin more. “If we go all out from the start as you suggest, Lord Banayu, the Sorceress will cry to the Palace before we can even reach her dwelling. If we give her the idea she can win on her own… She will spell her own doom, and we will decimate her at the last second.”

As his fellow conspirator stood there, palms upturned in an inviting gesture and his ego swelling to burst, Ghirahim clicked his tongue. “A bit of a cowardly move.”

Earl Eydra, once hesitant, now nodded along to Ghirahim’s words. “Aye. Your old boss never would have bothered with such mind games.”

“And that’s precisely why he is dead and I remain standing,” Zant stated bluntly, unflinchingly, his hands folded behind his back. “Any further questions?”

–

Their march would be a long one, rife with delays and detours. They simply could not risk their procession being spotted by any opposing force; tension in Eldin, in particular, ran wild, with clades once squashed now once again vying for territory. But the Valley was right around the corner. Zant’s forces had set up their camp (the one he was in, at least), just past the hills that separated the rain-shadowed grasslands of the south with the green hills of the north. Beyond the tallest of those hills, the Valley was in sight.

That was where Ghirahim and Zant then stood, overlooking that promised land. It was strange seeing the place free from Cia’s influence. Where the sky was once swirling and ominously crimson, it was no different from the dark blue veil of the horizon now. They would gather no intel just standing there, watching from afar. Zant likely just wanted to brood.

Speak of the devil, there he went, and said, “just between us, Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim perked up, not looking at him just yet. “My. I’m privy to your secrets, now?”

Zant frowned a little. “I’ve none more to keep from you. Either way… We will be the only ones to face Lana tomorrow. I’ve played up our strengths to our men, but they will only be taking care of her fodder. That being said, we cannot underestimate the Sorceress whatsoever.”

“Oh? We’ve taken care of her just fine before,” Ghirahim noted, idly turning a dagger in his hand to check it for nicks.

Shaking his head, Zant looked down the hills. “And yet I believe she’s stronger than she lets on. In fact, I think she might be older than this land itself.”

“Impossible,” Ghirahim frowned, dismissing the dagger with a snap of his fingers. “I’ve never heard of her until I arrived here, and I’ve lived eons before Hyrule came to be.”

Zant stepped up to loom over him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not listening. I meant this land.”

Whenever Zant was being vague like this, he’d usually think he caught onto some mystery or other. Ghirahim saw no point in delaying the inevitable and sighed. “This again… Fine, prattle away.”

At once, the shadow over his eyes faded, replaced by a manic glint. Ghirahim almost spotted a smile when Zant turned away from him. “I was doing some digging before we entered this phase of the assault,” because naturally, he had. “Of course, I wasn't the first to be curious about the nature of this world. I stumbled upon it in the Sorceress’ library – the bizarre ways of timekeeping in this area, the oddities in the landscape; it did not escape the notice of scholars in this time.”

Ghirahim put his hands on his sides, fully prepared to stand there for another hour or two. “And, I take it, they came to a similar conclusion?”

“Indeed. At some point, the different branches of time must have converged, and their landscapes with it. We saw it in Faron Woods, and the Master Sword’s pedestal, deep within,” he said, his gestures leaving light trails behind his hands. Odd runes shaped into approximate images of the locations he named, but could hardly take shape before he clawed them to smoke and turned insistently to Ghirahim. “Which, in and of itself, was a duplicate! An empty husk!”

When he thought on it, he recalled that the Master Sword of this era had been stored in a different temple, right in the middle of Lake Dumoria, southwest of Faron Woods. Yet, a pedestal remained in Faron, the one they saw for themselves. Did the sealing place change? Ghirahim realized any question he asked might leak into another hour, so he simply nodded. “As you say.”

“Think about it, Ghirahim. For Lana – for me, to have command over allies and monsters of the past, all of these worlds must have once existed. Otherwise, we would have to reach across realities, a power befitting only a God. And I, not yet, have recognized such power, neither in her or in myself.”

Suddenly, Zant turned around, giving himself room to pace about frantically. “But for them to merge in the first place… This would explain why the magicks she uses are unknown to us both. They must have been born from divine force, to be uniquely wielded by Cialana, with the Triforce of Power as its conduit. It must have been her to merge these worlds.”

Ghirahim frowned, cocking his head. “... Right. And, you don’t suppose this god-like power could have perished with Cia?”

Turning back to look at the Valley, Zant’s expression lightened by an uncharacteristic degree. “I wholeheartedly admit I haven’t the slightest clue. Let us not risk finding out.”

Bemused by his attitude, Ghirahim sidled up next to him, deciding to give him attitude by bending at the hip and leaned into his field of vision. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

Zant grinned. “I’ve combed a fair share through this magic. It requires vocal commands first and foremost. When we come to face her, silence her,” he said, reaching to cup Ghirahim’s chin in his fingers. He tilted him back upright, guiding their eyes to meet. “Cut her tongue out if you must.”

Ghirahim returned a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Zant seemed content with this exchange, though the thumb stroking across the Sword Spirit’s chin and the eyes latching onto him for a moment made it seem like he’d wished for more. But the open air always made Zant uneasy, and Ghirahim knew this. So when the former did indeed step away, the latter was only mildly disappointed. “If all that is clear to you,” Zant said, “I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago. When my usurpation comes to fruition, I’ll be far too busy for it.”

The allure of bloodshed putting him in a bit of a mood, Ghirahim turned to him with a croon. “And what might that be?”

With thorough nonchalance, Zant then proceeded to kick off his shoes. Toes wriggling in the grass, he promptly set off almost gleefully, as if mere seconds prior they hadn’t discussed a violent coup.

“You’re a looney,” Ghirahim said, watching him wade through the plains. “You’re sick in the head.”

“And you are functionally immortal,” Zant quipped back. He climbed up on the roots of a gnarled cedar nearby, his hand resting on its bark. “Confident as I am in our victory, I’m grabbing my little shreds of joy where I can get them. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Ears piqued at the sound of some insect, Zant’s eyes scanned the green expanse before him. When spotting what he was looking for, he didn’t so much as prowl for it as he hopped down from his vantage point, shambled towards it, and launched himself into the grass with a slapdash vault. 

“As I thought,” he exclaimed, struggling to keep the object of his interest trapped in his cupped hands. “I haven’t seen this species yet!”

It was a miracle he’d even caught the damned thing. How could he think about such frivolous things now? Ghirahim stood and shook his head in sheer disbelief, but felt compelled to follow him either way. Just in case, (and it was likely), Zant’s lack of self-preservation had remained even as his plans were unfolding successfully, and he somehow managed to slip and crack his head on a rock, or some such nonsense. A little nest of grass denting below him, Zant sat in the meadows, the brittle strands of his hair waving along in the wind with the sea of green. He cradled a bottle with the cricket carefully in one hand and consulted his field journal in the other, a smile on his face as he noticed Ghirahim beside him.

So calm he was, the night before a crucial, all-deciding siege. Normally, mortals would pace before a war, even the mightiest of generals anxious in the face of death. Lacking sleep, decreased appetites, heart rates skyrocketing, and pleasantries ‘round the camp dwindling to an all-consuming air of dread. Consuming all but Ghirahim, at least. Battle was his purpose, his joy. Nerves were just about the last thing on his mind.

And now, beside him, there was a man studying wildflowers like it was just another day. Ghirahim found himself jarred by just how much he understood him, then. So, an odd, tickling weight rolling about in his core, he kneeled beside him and watched along.

—

The night of their assault arrived quietly. A deep black sky, with stars shimmering like the facets of an onyx, served as the hiding blanket for hundreds of demons. On foot, the first wave of their army marched to the hills circling the Valley. Without Cia’s influence, the Valley appeared that much more tranquil. Heather grasses and saplings reared their heads timidly above healing soil, not knowing they’d have been better off staying below. In the epicenter of the Valley, hovering above a fog-stained cliff, was the Sorceress’ altar. Like swarms of ants, the alerted soldiers rushed their way to their posts, all eyes aimed at the hills where they would meet their match. Down the dozens of staircases, they ran, clinging themselves to every corner they could think to fortify, and then, lay in wait.

Beside Ghirahim, Zant was calm. He was without helmet, and would remain that way, it seemed. When Lana broke it back in the Gerudo Desert, it must have been gone for good. They had been spotted by a band of Hyrulean scouts much earlier, whose horses kicked up a concealing cloud of dust as they galloped to warn their commander of the impending ambush. But they would not know all – beyond the hills, many more Blins were waiting, and their aerial troops remained undetected. 

How eerily this first stretch of the battle resembled Zant’s exact plans.

In this initial quiet, before Zant could raise his hand and release the floodgates on their troops, Ghirahim pondered just how strange a situation he was in. Once again, he was at war, taking commands from a man other than his Master. For Cia, it had been the promise of Demise that had strung him along sufficiently enough to tolerate it. But Zant… By all means, he should hate this man. And he did, in a way, but the anger he felt no longer needed a vengeful release. 

They had shared a bed again. Hands wrapped lovingly, yet fiercely around his waist, his wrists, his throat, as if grasping onto his hilt. Ever since Zant had used part of him to behead the late Bulblin Earl, he’d been drunk on the feeling of being wielded. So he didn’t care anymore, how treacherous it felt to have a part of him presently thrumming in Zant’s zealous grip. He sensed death in the eyes of the man who wielded his so-precious shard, and like the starved hunting dog he was, he wanted to chase after it. There was blood to be spilled, power to be taken. As any legendary blade, Ghirahim lusted for his name to be chronicled. In the past, he had scarcely been remembered. This changed today.

Zant marched onward, and onward, and onward. Eyes set on nothing but his goal, he waded his way through the crowd as if it hadn't existed at all. Any soldiers that dared close in on him were repelled instantly by an unseen force, and those that did manage to push past, met their end by the instinctive lash of Ghirahim’s blades. The Demon trailed his false king like a shadow, as thoroughly under his dominion as all of darkness had ever been. His scimitar swung over his shoulder, he hadn’t drawn it even once, depending instead on his Blade to guard him differently. Their passage left a scar on the battlefield, of dead meat and soil. That was how they combed through the Valley, cleaving the crowd as they traversed the scattered islands that would lead them to their prize.

The only thing to shake Zant out of his enduring resolve was the first display of the Sorceress’ magic. A pale blue light appeared ‘round the corner of the Altar’s gates. From it, swinging its pincers fiercely, came a towering Gohma, scuttling its way directly to the pair of commanders.

Zant instantly zipped himself behind his lieutenant. A light, encouraging tap on his shoulder and a whisper, caught Ghirahim’s attention.

“Buy me some time.”

So he did. Ghirahim swerved around to the raging creature’s legs, jabbing his swords into its joints, to little more avail than slowing it down. Out of earshot, Zant had hissed an incantation, and though he hadn’t followed its words, Ghirahim knew the spell had been cast from the eerie chill that traveled to his every extremity. Piercing past the droning arcane hum from earlier, a screech and the flapping of wings prompted Ghirahim to get out of dodge as soon as he could. Once he had joined Zant’s side again, he could see a King Helmaroc, pecking the Gohma to bits.

They intended to slip past this distraction, but Lana wouldn't let them. Cyan lights broke past nearly every corner of the battlefield, massive shadows raining down from pillars of light. More and more monsters poured forth, pulled from corners of the past even Ghirahim could recognize. And though Zant made his best efforts by summoning beasts to their defense, Ghirahim yanked him out of focus before he could rip open his fourth portal. When he pulled back, the glove he’d covered Zant’s mouth with was smeared with blood.

Panting, wiping the thin streams of crimson that poured from his eyes and nostrils, Zant never took his eyes off the altar.

“This… This is incredible, Ghirahim,” he stammered, a mad grin on his face. “I can’t keep up.”

Ghirahim ducked behind him with a grin and ran through the first soldier who dared to approach. “Singing praises of our enemy now?”

Now, Zant drew his scimitar, hacking it into an ambushing Hyrulean in one clean swing. As Ghirahim faintly shivered with delight, Zant berated him. “Fool! Of course I do! That is the power I covet, that I deserve,” Zant snarled through his teeth, fending off soldiers by the dozen. His speech, his violence, equal in cold execution. “I was unflinchingly loyal to his cause, to him, and yet, Ganon kept everything to himself. Now that I have it all within my grasp… How can I not fawn over it?”

“You can save your fawning for when it’s actually within your hands, you lunatic,” pulled from his basking, Ghirahim bit back, spying trouble as the pair guarded each other's flanks. The monsters Zant couldn't keep up with were catching up. “And, for when we are not under the threat of these beasts! Collect yourself, and go!”

“No… No, not yet,” Zant yelled, flinching when an enemy blade bounced off his wards. “We are to mask ourselves in the chaos of these giants, and when we’ve kicked up enough dust… We will go straight to her.”

As if hearing of this plan, a last-ditch effort exploded from the north. The stone bridge connecting the Altar to the rest of the valley had collapsed.

Zant saw this and hardly batted an eye. Their troops, however, seemed far more alarmed. Bridge after bridge crumbled into the depths, some with their men still traversing, plummeting right along. The setback left their army with fewer and fewer routes to advance. Hyrulean and Blin numbers were almost even now, Ghirahim reckoned from their vantage point. And as their side was funneled back out through the remaining bridges, Ghirahim looked behind him.

Zant nodded. Taking a page out of the Hyruleans’ book, Ghirahim raised his fingers to the sky, and set loose a trail of diamond sparks. Strings of light whistled and twisted high, high up above, red and flashy among Lana’s still-bleeding portals. The reaction was almost immediate. Rushing forth from the hills, Blins cascaded onto the battlefield and rushed through the bridges still left intact. What was once intended for the escape of the invading forces, now simply funneled in more. Men were pushed off the bridges and trampled in the footfall, while a select few managed to die a dignified death amidst the senseless crowd.

Above them, the stars in the night sky seemed to flicker. A deluge of airborne demons rushed by them, undetected until crossing the threshold of the altar’s pale moonlit stone. Hyrulean soldiers were lifted off the ground, others eviscerated on the spot, all while a desperate few hacked and slashed with wild abandon in an attempt to defend themselves.

Chaos. Exactly what they were looking for. Another Gohma, almost fallen into the abyss, clambered back onto the cliff’s edge and made for the pair of commanders. Just as its pincer was about to bore into them, Zant grabbed onto Ghirahim’s wrist and pulled him into the shadows.

When they reappeared, Ghirahim looked around to find himself in the altar’s inner room, strewn with bookcases of which the contents were largely toppled. But before anything else caught his eye, there stood the Sorceress, hunched desperately before a scrying orb. She whipped around the second Zant’s transportation magic rustled behind her.

“Hello, Lana,” Zant said pleasantly. Lana glared back, placing one hand back on the crystal ball. The sight made Zant smile. “Oh, please. Do you think your precious Hyrule will be here in time? Who do you think they’ll send? A few little platoons? Clearly, they’ve already given you what they could afford. And those men are not holding out very well out there.”

His words were emphasized by the sounds of clashing outside. Soldiers yelling, screaming, the sound of arms hitting armor and lifeless bodies hitting the ground.

“This will take a minute, at most. Hold still, if you’d please.”

For a moment, Lana looked afraid, deathly so. But her courage gathered itself remarkably quickly, giving her the strength to turn around and shield her crystal ball behind herself. “ ‘Hold still’? Who do you think you are, you creep!?” she yelled. “How dare you come into this sanctuary and defile it, just as we worked so hard to recover it!”

Zant grinned at her, squinting his eyes the slightest bit. “That’s a funny thing to accuse me of, considering the dynamic here. Either way… Ghirahim, if you will.”

At once, Ghirahim launched himself at the Sorceress. The first slice of his sword she just barely managed to step back from, but not without drawing the slightest bit of blood from her collar. In response, Lana strengthened her wards – a shimmering layer of pale, iridescent blue flashed in view to cover her body. 

But the barrier would not save her from what was to come. As Lana became duly occupied with defending herself against the Sword Spirit’s merciless attacks, Zant began weaving his spell.

The first sentence was enough to make her flinch, but the second sent her into full-blown alarm. In her urgency, she ceased simply defending and instead attempted to push back against Ghirahim. She intended to break past him at all costs, and put an end to the words pouring from the Twilight King. Try as she might, though the whacks of thunder from her spellbook jittered Ghirahim down to the teeth, he would not let her gain even an inch on him. They were at a thorough standstill – one incapable of drawing blood, the other, finding a weakness but finding her enemy’s will too strong to overpower. All the while Zant kept chanting, and chanting, and chanting, the world around them not silenced, but rather, the three of them cast in a muffling cloak of darkness. But soon, Ghirahim would lose. Annihilation, his most precious weapon, failed him when he needed it most, and wouldn’t reward his wicked strikes with more than a nick past his opponent’s clothing. She truly was strong. Just a few more thundershocks and he would be brought to his knees, and with his Blade out of commission, Zant would not be able to defend himself against her.

He had to knock that grimoire out of her hand. The makeshift wards on her body protected her from the cutting edge of his sword, but the impact of his swings could still knock her off balance. 

Ghirahim didn't get the chance to just yet, though. Their sprawling army of demons found her little hideout. The lot of them crawled along the windows, claws dragging and fists pounding on the barriers. Were they to break through, the enemy commander would be overtaken in seconds.

Lana realized this too. She withdrew instantly, her grimoire snapped shut, and made for the only spot in the wall unoccupied by bookcases. She, of course, ran straight through. Had Ghirahim’s intuition not stopped him, he would have smacked face-first into it. One hand bracing against the stone barrier, he realized it would need a key phrase to grant him passage.

Or, as per Zant’s stroke of simple genius, simply blow the wall to smithereens. Powder-turned stone and pebbles blasting outward around him, Ghirahim burst through the rubble and sprinted after the first sight of cyan he could catch. Bouncing against the walls, masking her every direction in this endless maze, Lana recited her counter-incantation.

Behind him, Zant laughed at the challenge, weaving his spell longer and longer. Ahead of him, Lana’s rapid footsteps kept his prey drive red-hot. 

Run, run, but there’s no hiding from me. Along the floor, the thrum of Ghirahim’s core showed him the path the Sorceress had taken. He remembered these hallways perhaps better than she was aware of and, wagering a lucky guess at her meandering trajectory, he cut a few corners. He rammed solidly into her at the intersection. Just as he wanted, the grimoire went flying, and he placed himself between her and its landing spot.

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t render her powerless. But she did become weaker. The lightning she flung behind her as they resumed her chase was enough to hurt him, but not to slow him down. The little drops of blood he’d drawn that disappointed him before now worked as an irresistible lure, second to his expert dowsing. He could hear her breath, her heartbeat, and almost, every panicked thought as she tried to stall for enough time to think of a better plan than simply running and chanting with her heaving breath. Such was the power of that delectable fear! He had to have it. Closer, and closer, and closer he drew, his once graceful run now turning into a desperate, bestial sprint. She, the poor thing, was slowing, immortal in soul but human in guise. When even her last ditch effort, the casting of a lightning bolt point blank at his core, didn’t work, her desperation buckled her. Hands clawed, Ghirahim swiped for her.

At long last, he’d grabbed her, her arms locked in his elbows. Lana struggled fiercely, but no matter the power she borrowed, she couldn’t break free from steel of this caliber. How lucky she was, that his daggers couldn’t pierce her! Grappling fresh blood like this made him feel positively starved. 

Even then, he wouldn’t have been able to play for very long. Zant had carefully followed his blade, his every step haunted by the all-consuming echo of his voice. As that voice grew closer, the world became still around them. Colder. Twin breaths turned to foggy clouds as the pair of locked combatants panted, their eyes each glued on the hallway before them. Shadows poured around the corner, only to be drowned out by a pale blue light, hovering around the Twilight King like an aura. His eyes, normally golden, now carried that same ethereal hue. When he extended his hand, there was a cavity in his palm, the void of which made Ghirahim’s core spin just looking at it.

Lana struggled again, until she steeled herself. The incantations she’d failed to recite in their scuffle came back to the forefront of her mind, the first words passing her lips. Just one glance from Zant, and Ghirahim moved instinctually. He rushed his hand to her face, and stuck the point of his dagger against her tongue. Of course, none would think to place wards there. The Sorceress shrieked, but every movement of her head sliced deeper into her cheek, her lips, the inside of her mouth. Ghirahim shushing in her ear, she froze wide-eyed, her chest heaving up and down rapidly in breathing. Like a rabbit on a butchery table.

One more sentence and Lana began to writhe, groaning in pain. Zant stood before them, palm upturned. It was almost done – Ghirahim could feel it. It was practically in their hands. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the face hovering above them. All else disappeared. Not even the blood, that precious ambrosia that trickled from his dagger down his glove, could shake him from his mesmerization.

With those last words, the skies went dark. The rim of light once encircling Zant burst outward into shards, leaving only an endless dark that splattered across the walls like paint. It left them in a void; cold, and deafened, and unfeeling, just the three of them locked inside. Just the three of them, and the little golden triangle hovering between them. Lana wept in terror, in regret, in pain, while her two adversaries made no sound at all. For just a moment, childlike wonder sparkled in Zant’s eyes, before that little bit of innocent hope was throttled by an overwhelming flame of greed and vengeance. From having their treasure dance above his palm, he suddenly seized it, snatching it out of the air. 

With a deafening roar, like the sound of a mighty river rushing by overhead, the shadowy expanse around them imploded in on itself. Every inch of its fabric tore rapidly to one point: below Zant’s feet, sucked into his shadow. When the light returned to the hall again, there stood Zant, the same man as before.

The triforce now glowed on his palm.

But past that gently humming light, another sound caught their attention, now that the veil was lifted. War horns, far unlike theirs. Lana had stalled for enough time.

The second the both of them turned to the sound, Lana wrenched herself free. Though claws tore into her arms, and the dagger sliced through the corner of her mouth, she stumbled from Ghirahim’s grip and made for the light at the end of the hallway.

“Ghirahim-ili, how unlike you… Ah, well. I say let her run. She will be useless without this, anyhow,” he giggled, admiring the back of his hand.

But Ghirahim knew better. Eyes set on the desperately shambling woman, he aimed for her, hand outstretched, and snapped his fingers. A trio of daggers glistened in the light as they soared through the hallway, and thwacked into her back. Then he ripped back around, bound for his general in a steadfast march before the man could praise him – and it was a look of praise that colored his face – and snatched him by the wrist.

Yet Zant shook himself loose. His eyes blazed with unparalleled drive and fury. He glared down the still-stumbling Sorceress from afar, before clenching his fists. A throat-rending cackle ripped loose from him as his head was encased in shadows. Shrouded he was, then he was not, as particles of blackness burst outward to reveal a new sight.

Zant’s helmet. Once again perched on his shoulders, but entirely different. A wicked snarl was encased in the metal, and a finned collar encircled the reptilian face. At the peak of it all, a crown of horns declared him king. Now, Zant accepted Ghirahim’s so-hastily offered hand, and blinked the both of them outside the altar.

After just that split second, Ghirahim was jarred to find himself floating, high, high above the Valley, Zant’s fingers still lacing around his’. With a raise of his hand, and his triumphant, wet giggling still holding, he forced Lana’s portals to a close. One more wiggle of his fingers… that was all it took, and one by one, their troops disappeared from the battlefield.

Before Lana’s body could hit the ground, the two invaders were gone. Her efforts had been for naught. When the Hyrulean reinforcements finally crossed the foothills, the Valley was empty. 

[raayllum]

inspired by this promo art

Callum doesn’t know what comes over him.

Only that they’re all tired, sprawled out on the deck, bruised and bloodied in various places, and the pirates are awful, sick, twisted—and one of them is holding Rayla’s blades up to her own throat with a threatening smile, and he can’t— 

He can’t lose her again. 

The pirate Captain, Tina, leers, about to deliver the final blow, and-

Callum screams.

Lightning arcs down through the sky, amplified by the brewing storm and the staff clutched in his hand, but without a trigger word, and through the haze of heat and rage he wonders if this is how Archdragons feel. The lightning splits through the deck, ripping it to shreds. Crewmates scream and leap away from the fire. Somewhere, Nyx whistles. Other pirates fall into the gaping max in the middle of their ship, down to the flames or—

Callum doesn’t care.

Tina lets go of Rayla, cursing. “You human brat—”

Callum lifts his staff and yells out an aspiro, blowing the Tidebound captain off the ship and into the water below, if waves don’t catch her first. Then he meets Rayla, thankfully on this side of the divide, painfully colliding with elbows and unsteady legs, but he won’t let go.

“Callum,” she gasps, hair plastered from rain. “What are we—”

It’s then he realizes the boat is sinking, and will sink, their previous vessel likewise destroyed by the crew that took them captive. He gulps; he didn’t think that far.

“There has to be a dinghy, or something,” he considers, casting a look around so they won’t be castaways, or worse.

Glowing red orbs break through the rising dark water, followed by glittering scales. They inhale, everyone stopping and staring as the ocean parts around the massive creature, the red orbs—eyes—blinking serenely through the chaos.

An ancient archdragon of the Ocean.

He grips Rayla’s hand, finds Soren keeping Ezran close. Callum can’t tell whether he or Rayla are trembling more.

He swallows and lifts his staff.

He won’t let any of them die this way.

[goldom]

HI3 day 5 (part 1)

Okay fine I'll pay some attention to the reading guide and go see the first manga chapters.

...mhy sure loves girls being impaled from behind and collapsing onto their gfs huh

having her horrifically spraying out blood while the panel also leers up her skirt is certainly A Choice. I mean, so do all the other panels, but come on, then? So glad someone took a cold shower before making HSR.

Himeko is straight lol

And now the guide is directing me to some side chapter in the game I've never seen offered, implying there are more menus I still haven't found. That's for later after work.

So uh, there sure are a lot of purchasable outfits in this game, huh? Which is completely normal for this sort of game but then why not any of their later games?! Let me buy all the cute outfits you keep designing for promo art ;_; It is so weird to me they don't. I can only assume it's out of some desire to keep Genshin and later looking like prestige AAA games rather than mobile games overflowing with microtransactions. I guess once you find the recipe to hit the top of the game income charts, you don't want to shake up your monetization strategy even one inch. I don't know how much it really matters, though. There's still a huge number of people who looked at Genshin once, saw the word 'gacha' and dismissed it as no better than random App Store slop, which is a stupid way to judge a game. Not that anyone in my audience needs that explained.

[tigers-eyes-26]

Colors Chapter 2

Waluigi sat across a round metal café table from the Mayor. She had a dark purple wide brimmed hat to shield her from the sun. He wondered how many red pantsuits she owned. Waluigi had on a purple polo. His only pair of fancy clothes were still dirty, and he wasn’t going to meet with the Mayor in his working overalls. So, his tennis clothes would have to do.

“I’ve been told you are looking to open a casino?” She glanced up at him and took a sip of coffee.

“My…business partner is going to be opening a casino, he sent me to do the paperwork for him.” He played a little bit with his coffee cup.

She hummed. “After all the paperwork is done you going to leave town?”

Waluigi’s eyes widened. Wah? Is this broad asking me to stay? He took a sip to cover his initial reaction. “It depends….” The ball was now in her court.

She set her cup down. “Seeing you dance last night and seeing how much my people loved it, it’s a shame you don’t open up a dance studio.”

He smirked at her complement. “Yes, someone around here needs to teach these people how to dance. Unfortunately, I’m not the teaching type.” He took a bite of a croissant roll.

She looked up at him through her lashes, “You can’t even teach me?”

He nearly sputtered. What a con-woman thing to do! He swallowed his bite with a cough. He put on his biggest leer. “I can teach you anything you want to know, darling.”

“Good you teach me how to dance, we’ll record it and use it to teach the other people.” She took another sip looking satisfied.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Now lady, I’m a busy man.” He made his voice sound exhausted. “I still haven’t found the right place for the casino! I need to find employees; Wah! I still have to think of a good poster to promote……”

“I can help you find people to do that for you.”

He got her right where he wanted her. “Yes, but they wouldn’t do that for free.”

“Of course not.” She eyed him intently waiting for what this was going to come to.

“Just like them I am not going to teach for free.”

Her eyes sparked. “So, you’ll do it?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, “For a price….”

“Name it, and we’ll see.”

“Those people you mentioned can they do their jobs for half price?”

Her blue eyes gave him a death glare. “No, I wouldn’t have my people get less than what the earn.”

Waluigi pouted. “Then are you willing to pay me enough to pay them, and then some for my instructions?” He threaded his hands across his face to explain. “I came here with money from my business partner, but I don’t think he would appreciate me using it to hire people to do my job. I only have enough personal money to stay here for about a month.”

Pauline grit her teeth. Was she willing? She would love to see her people dance to her music other than jumping and swaying. Was it worth it? He was good she knew that. She had heard from the ladies he had danced with they would be interested to learn more. This was one thing that would get the economy flowing. She gave a sigh. “How much would your ‘instruction’ cost?”

He paused in thought. How much should he throw out here? “100 coins an hour.”

Now it was her turn to sit and think. She could always sell the tapes to get some of the money back. She stood up and extended her hand to the man in purple. “Deal.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. She was supposed to negotiate him down! Well, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He stood too and shook her hand. “Deal.” She had a good firm handshake.

“Let’s go find those you need to hire, and our instructions can begin at 6pm tonight.”

***********

The day was spent looking at the best places for a casino that was narrowed down to two places. Then Waluigi shared his ideas to an artist about the promo posters. After that meeting with a hiring agent about the workers needed at the prospective casino. This was going to be a breeze! Waluigi knew his good looks would come in handy.  He had an hour to wash his nice clothes, eat some food, primp a little and head out to meet Pauline.

She again was in her sequined red dress. She had a remote in her hand. Several cameras were set up in different angles. To his surprise there was no camera men behind the cameras. Pauline noticed his head swivel around to the cameras. “I figured you wouldn’t want a live audience.”

He frowned. “Actually, I want an audience to scream my name.” He shrugged, “but this will do.”

She smiled at his response. “Should we get started?” She opened her arms.

He slunk up to her holding her hand and waist. “Now for the basics.” He addressed the camera.

*********

A week into their arrangement Waluigi walked out of an office holding the new poster design for the casino. He took a long step out of the office only to bump into Pauline.

“Oh!”

“Wah!” he had dropped some of the poster papers he was carrying.

Pauline kneeled down to help pick them up. She examined one. “These are looking good.”

Waluigi swiped it out of her hand before she could look at it closer. “Of course, with my brilliant ideas and their umm… talent.” He generally motioned to the design office door.

“I’m heading to lunch right now care to join me?”

“Wah!? Not only am I secretly dancing with the Mayor, but NOW she is asking Me out on a Lunch date!” he barbed. “Be careful Madam Mayor people may start talking.” He shifted his eyes around looking invisible gossip mongers.

Pauline smirked and continued walking down the hallway. “You coming, or what?” He jogged to catch up to her.

**********

Lunch wasn’t anything fancy just some sandwiches from a corner dinner. They sat at a booth in a far corner away from people.

“So, Wally tell me about your ~mysterious~ business partner.”

Waluigi swallowed the bite he had taken. “Well….you see….” He scratched his cheek. Stalling. Wario didn’t have a good reputation, he didn’t know if that reputation had made it to New Donk.

“C’mon you can tell me.” Pauline bat her long eyelashes at him.

He wasn’t going to fall for it. “Let’s just say he isn’t as handsome as me.” He ended the conversation with taking another bite of his sandwich.

Pauline breathed out in frustration. “I’m not stupid you know; I saw the small print on the posters.” Waluigi frowned as he chewed. “Wario Inc. is the owner of the new casino.”

He finished his bite. “Ok ~Smart One~ what do you know about Wario?”

Pauline crossed her arms. “He’s dishonest, greedy, and will probably swindle hordes of money from my people with this casino of his.”

Waluigi raised his arms in a shrug. “Yah so, that’s what a casino does, sweetheart.”

Pauline’s lips made a straight line, her cheeks red, her eyebrows making it clear she was angry.

“What do you want me to do, Weh? That’s just how the guy is. You’re the mayor you have power you can refuse his business permits, or whatever.”

Pauline let out a breath. “Do you have his number? I can talk to him myself before I decide what to do.”

Waluigi looked to the side and dug into his pocket. He produced a small address book. He opened it up to the first page. Pauline read the page and gave him a confused look. “Smelly?”

“That’s him alright.” She got out a little planer book and a pen from her inside suit pocket. “Just a fair warning, he isn’t going to be honest over the phone either.”

Pauline blew out a sigh. “Then why do you hang out with the likes of him?”

Waluigi crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat refusing to answer.

She leaned forward placing her hand on her cheeks, she scanned him with her big eyes. He refused to look at her. “You are clearly better than him.”

“That’s obvious.” He scoffed.

“C’mon Wally, I’m not going to publish your life story in the news.” She frowned at him.

Waluigi threw his arms up in annoyance. “Wah! You are one nosy lady!” She still looked at him expecting an answer. He slammed his palms down on the table. “IF you must know, He was there when I came into this crazy magical world!” the shout echoed over the diner. Waluigi could feel the other patrons’ eyes on him. He sunk into the chair.

Once Pauline had recovered from her surprise at his outburst, she gave the other patrons a pointed look, telling them to mind their own business. The quietly turned back to their food. She leaned in closer and quietly said, “Why don’t you leave him.”

With the most serious face she had seen on him, he simply said “I can’t.” Suddenly he had gathered his things, stood up, and turned to the door. “Wait!” She stood up. He paused his exit. “Will I still see you tonight?”

He didn’t turn to her. “I can’t let my fans down.” He slipped out the door.

----------

Chapter 1:

Next Chapter:

[mysticdragon3md3]

Dandadan episode 1. I dropped that series because of that almost-rape scene and how long it dragged on, while she was in her underwer the entire time, getting groped by aliens. It soured me so much, that halfway thru episode 2, I just couldn't stay interested. So I dropped the series.

But I couldn't get that damned good Creepy Nuts song out of my head and I do love stories that cross paranormal scifi with supernatural occult. So I gave the series another chance, and skipping to episode 2 really helped.

Not that there wasn't absolutely gorgeous, subtle animation and character work in episode 1. I love that scene when Ayase dusted off Okarun's magazine and apologized to him. And I think she's a really refreshing protagonist for a Shonen Jump (actually Shonen Jump+) series. And Okarun is endearing. I like this continuation of modern male protagonists/deuteragonists (Deku, Tanjiro, etc.) who aren't afraid to show emotional vulnerability, instead of just being "the cool guy" protagonist. (I love Ichigo and Yusuke, but emotional openness is a type of True Strength that I'm desperate to see finally get some representation, in the Shonen genre.)

And episodes 2-4 so far don't seem to be weird about their fanservice. I'm fine with granny's fanservice because it's so background and out of the way. The whole story, whole scenes don't stop for the camera to leer on her, with nothing else going on. Even in these recent years, where I thought I had gotten tired of anime fanservice (maybe all those years watching Harem anime finally got to me), I was surprised to find myself ok with granny being clearly eyecandy. So I guess the whole story not stopping to revolve around staring at her tits or up her skirt, are what I need to be ok with fanservice again.

I'm kind of glad, because I'm having fun with Dandadan now. And It's always nice to be into a series that's popular. There's more merch and more ubiquitous excitement to share. And so much, frequent promo art. That's usually fun. I'm not ready to buy Dandadan Nendoroids yet (if they ever get announced), but maybe by the time they get announced, maybe then I'll be attached enough to at least preorder one of its characters. Maybe? Or maybe just buy on sale, after release. I'm just glad to find a Shonen genre anime that I can enjoy again. Because, even though I got into Spy X Family and it is published by Shonen Jump+, it doesn't quite feel like a "Shonen anime". And despite how much it's been good for me to finally get out of the Shonen genre, I do miss stories about fighters, advocating for Fighting Spirit, and inspiring that Fighting Spirit in its audiences. Because I'm the audience, and I need that inspiration in my real life.

[fuckerrd]

.

[magalidragon]

lady of the night | a smutty Jonerys Hollywood Drabble 💫 📸

For @youwerenevermine and her eternal love of manwhore Jon, who I love too but always with a twist 😂 And it is over the drabble word count (3100) so I’ll post on AO3 soon.

"Jon! Jon! Over here!"

"Jon, we love you!"

"Lord Commander! Look this way!"

The sounds of people screaming his name as he left the awards show afterparty were annoying buzzes in his ear, especially after several whiskeys-- and maybe a hit of something else, he wasn't sure what he'd taken-- although it didn't make it less loud. If anything the buzzes seemed magnified tonight. Jon blinked against the camera flashes, a horde of paparazzi on the street, just beside the roped off crowd of fangirls and professional autograph chasers.

Normally he'd just wave, maybe even smile-- most likely not now because he was so buzzed-- carrying on with his plan to get from the club to the waiting black SUV which would whisk him back to his suite at The Sunspear, which was the toniest and fanciest of the hotels in Sunspear, Dorne. He only showed up in Dorne when he was meeting with executives, filming if necessary, or forced to attend these events, whether they be networking or awards shows.

He was in town for the Golden Kingdom awards, putting in his contractual appearance as one of the "ensemble" of The Steel Throne cable fantasy series. He was nominated this time around, for the final season, and he had no idea why. His role had been reduced to nothing more than window dressing and he had only a handful of lines he mostly delivered in a flat wooden voice because he really couldn't be bothered to put in anything else. It really was his last bit of "fuck you" to the writers and producers who had destroyed a character he'd come to consider a part of himself.

And somehow he got a nomination for an award. He was crossing his fingers that he'd lose and thank the gods he did. He wasn't even at hsi table when they called his category, he needed a smoke break.

As always happened when he left clubs and his publicist-- shitty little cretin Tyrion Lannister-- called ahead for photographers and tipped off Instagram celebrity spotting pages, he was swarmed. He paused as the SUV pulled up to take him away, lighting a cigarette. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and took pity on several of the people calling his name, because they looked young and naive enough to think he deserved to be famous.

Plus they didn't have the look of girls who wanted to come home with him, which was nice. He ignored Tyrion, who was tugging on his arm to drag him back, and waved at his "date" to the awards and the parties, his beastly friend Tormund who was leering at some of the poor girls, and approached the line.

He stuck his lit cigarette in his mouth when he got to the line, randomly scribbling his name on shirtless pictures of him from his modeling days or promo shots of him as Lord Commander Cregan Snow. He would have preferred it if someone had brought up the cartoon character of the same name. He was gunning to voice that dude in the animated movie he'd heard was in production, but seemed his agent Davos wasn't keen on him attaching his name to a children's fantasy series.

“You don't have the greatest of reputations, son."

It was all a matter of perception, he thought, and somehow he'd fooled even Davos.

As he scribbled his name on one last photo of his shirtless, oiled up body from a blockbuster he’d done in his early acting days, turning his face briefly to blow smoke away from the crowd, he caught sight of a woman with curly dark pink hair.

Pink. That was a new color, one he hadn’t seen before. He ignored the screams of the girls; at least two shoved their numbers into his hand, which was still outstretched for another photo to sign. He scribbled something akin to his name on this one and waved, stepping backwards from the throng of fans. He sucked on the cigarette a moment, his gray eyes sweeping the crowd again, until he spotted her again.

The pink haired woman blinked at him, cocking her head and coyly pointed her finger at herself. She smiled, long and slow, and he noted that her eyes were a curious coloring. She had one green eye and one blue. He had never seen that before either. He blew out more smoke, licking his lips and flicked ash off his cigarette, his gaze never wavering from her.

She had on a deep pink halter top with a pair of barely there black shorts she’d put on over black tights, a pair of heavy platform black boots, and a black leather jacket. The shirt was cut, jagged, giving a glimpse of her taut midriff. The dark hair with pink streaks was wavy around her face and scattered with tiny braids.

He didn’t blink and pointed at her, before gesturing towards the car. She giggled and pointed to herself, mouthing “Me?”

“You,” he mouthed back. He turned, not waiting, and went to the waiting car. Davos was standing there, already on his phone. “She’s with me,” he said, before Davos could stop security from keeping the woman from going to the SUV.

Davos sighed and said nothing. He shoved his phone in his jacket pocket and turned without a word, going off to his car.

Jon climbed into the SUV after the woman, ignoring the sobs of his name from the dejected crowd. He slammed the door shut and turned to her, taking her in again, this time face-to-face. She had pale skin, her cheeks flushed pink, and there was a tattoo creeping out from the top of her shorts. “Wow,” she giggled. “This is really insane! Jon Snow!”

“That’s me.”

“Sooooo dreamy,” she giggled, leaning against him. She licked her lips and her tongue wagged, a pink stone in the center of it. He twitched in place, already growing hard at the prospects of what that little tongue and stone could do when placed in certain areas. She dragged a pink fingernail on his collarbone, dragging it over his exposed chest. “You’re shorter in real life.”

He smirked. “Not the best way to start off a convo, babe.”

“Babe?” She wrinkled her pert nose. “Not a fan of that.”

“Sweetie?”

“Ew.”

He reached behind her head and tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her against his chest and rubbing his lips over hers. “How about your name?”

“It’s…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Whatever you want it to be.”

He laughed. That was new too. “You’re usually better prepared. Pink, huh?”

“THought I’d try something new.” She straddled his hips, pushing his shoulders into the buttery leather seat behind him. Her hips swiveled against his and he groaned, unable to stop his hands from finding her hips,pulling her closer. She pressed a kiss to his mouth, hot and open, before jerking back and gagging. “Disgusting.” She swatted his chest. “No fucking smoking!”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a stress reliever!”

“I thought I was your stress reliever.”

“You tend to give me more stress.”

She pulled a mint out of her pocket, popping it into his mouth. He crunched hard on it and swallowed quickly, eager to get back to her, but they were already at the hotel. Fuck, he thought, glancing between them at the heavy bulge in the front of his pants. She smirked again, tapping his nose. “Ill walk in front of you.”

“Much obliged.”

They exited the SUV, thankfully only a couple of photogs across the street who snapped some what he knew would be blurry unidentifiable photos— he’d gotten good at this in the last decade— of the two of them hurrying into the hotel.

He selected this hotel because it was discreet, which was very needed given his ah… <I>proclivities.</i> Or what the world thought were his proclivities. He jabbed the elevator button, his nose in line with the top of her pink hair. He inhaled deeply, sighing out the exhale. “You smell like peaches.”

“It’s the shampoo.”

“I like it.”

The doors dinged open and they stumbled in, barely waiting for them to close before he had her pressed up against the back, her surprised gasp caught in his mouth as he kissed her. He noted that she even tasted like peaches. Or he could have been making that up between the booze making it’s way through his system.

She hiked her leg around his hip and he dove his fingers down to unzip her shorts, finding that her tights were actually stockings, the garter hidden. “Oh seven hells,” he groaned, feeling her desire already seeping against his fingers, hot and slippery. She was starkers too, which caused his cock to twitch in his pants. “You’re all ready.”

She choked out a throaty laugh. “You know what I like.”

“Gods, I can’t wait…” He turned to hit the stop button but it was too late, the doors already opened onto the penthouse floor. He fumbled in his pocket for his key card, tripping out and down the hall to his room.

She was behind him, sucking on his earlobe while he tried to swipe the key. Her hands were in his pants, fast and warm, the first touch of her fingers around his cock almost causing him to explode right there. He growled. “Fuck!”

The door burst open and they fell into the room. He tripped on his pants, already at his knees courtesy of her stealthy moves. He ripped off her jacket and yanked at the halter, the fabric falling forward and exposing her perfect breasts to his hungry eyes. And mouth.

He eagerly kissed her, hands grasping the soft globes, squeezing and flicking at her nipples, furling them into tight pink buds against his fingertips. “You’re gorgeous,” he mumbled, pressing her to the wall near the suite’s bedroom. They were definitely not going to make it there.

“Full of compliments, aren’t you?” She gasped, his lips folding over one nipple, his fingers tweaking the other. One of her hands tangled in his hair and the other was between them, pumping his cock. “Seven hells Jon. Fuck me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

With one fast drop to his knees to swipe his tongue on her slit, teasing at her little clit and dipping his fingers in to test her readiness, he was satisfied. Her nails dug into his shoulders, tearing at his jacket and dress shirt. He struggled to get them off, buttons flying in all directions when they finally gave up and just tore the damn thing.

The designer would have to understand. It was a life or death situation at this point. She scattered kisses along his collarbone while he shoved his briefs down and kicked them off, her legs up over his elbows, her abs flexing as he pressed her harder against the wall, searching for her lips.

He had no idea at what point she’d taken off her shorts, but they were gone, only her stockings and garters on. He slid against her, the head of his cock bumping her clit. “Oh fuck,” she groaned, hitting her head against the wall. “So good…who knew?”

Jon tangled his tongue with hers, tilting her hips so he could line up and a second later, punch his hips up, cock sliding into her plush, molton heat. His eyes rolled back in his head, her body squeezing around him, pulsing and tight. “Shit,” he mumbled, forehead touching hers. He let go of one leg, his hand cupping hee face, rough fingertips scratching against her soft cheek. “I think we can give up the act.”

She laughed, her tongue barbell tapping his lower lip. “Not yet. Show me your talents Jon Snow. I’ve always wanted to know.” She gasped, eyes slamming shut when he thrust back, almost pulling out before he bottomed out into her in a hard, powerful thrust.

They said no more, just curses and shouts of Valyrian from her and gasping grunts from him as he fucked her hard against the wall. Her nails ripped at his hair with one hand and held her leg up with the other as he pressed his thumb between them against her clit, just when he knew she was about the topple over the cliff.

She screamed, coming so hard around him she triggered his release, his heart stopping as he shuddered around her, clutching her limp body to keep from dropping her. He came and came, seeing stars as he emptied himself into her. “Fuck,” she sighed, after he finally finished, his breath ragged gasps into her throat.

They slid down the wall onto the cool floor, a heap of clothes, sweaty limbs, and sex. He kept his eyes shut a moment, trying to return to his body. She kissed him and patted his cheek. “I’ll show myself out.”

He weakly reached for her, but she was gone in a flash, clothing on and door shut after her. “Fuck,” he mumbled, scrubbing his face. He stood slowly, his mind foggy. He blinked a few times to right himself and went to the bathroom to clean up.

A piss and hot shower later, he was walking out of the bathroom to collapse into bed, when he heard the TV going in the bedroom. He chuckled, scrubbing a towel through his hair, another tied around his waist. Jon padded into the bedroom, in time to see his ex-wife shrieking at something.

It was on the television but still made his balls shrivel up inside of him. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded, tossing the towel aside.

His girlfriend of almost a year, Weateros’s Sweetheart and all around good girl Daenerys Targaryen, who no one would ever have pinned as his one and only, the love of his life, and the only woman he had been with in at least two years since he divorced said ex-wife, was curled on the massive bed in a t-shirt with his character’s face on it, slurping an ice cream sundae.

She smiled innocently around her spoon. “I can’t help it, I like watching shitty television.”

“Can we not watch her show? It’s horrible.”

“I like it! It’s good bad tv.” She tucked a faded pink strand of hair behind her ear, patting the space beside her. “Come on, let’s have a game. Whenever she makes a constipated face or that guy shows up naked, we’ll drink.”

“We will be drunk in ten seconds.” He climbed into the bed anyway, dragging her over to him and allowed her to feed him bites of ice cream before he could stand no more of his ex’s face. “This is too much I’m changing the channel!”

Dany whined, trying to grab the remote. “Oh come on!”

Jon flicked the channel in time to see her face take up the screen. He grinned. “Ah, now it’s your stuff.”

She stuck her tongue out and then shook her head. “No, it’s not my movie, it’s a post awards show gossip fest.”

They watched for a few minutes— she had been declared one of the best dressed for her red plunging neckline dress which they all declared was Daenerys “stepping out of her good girl shell.”

“If only they knew you dressed up as different women and pretend to be a fan girl,” he mused. It was a kink they’d discovered on accident, but one they loved to indulge in, especially Dany. It worked for them both. She could exercise her inner bad girl and he got to look like the whorish bad boy that had made him famous.

Too bad no one knew he’d rather spend his nights in bed eating ice cream with her watching bad TV. He was the opposite of a whore, but hey, it made him famous. He was just sick of it. “What are you thinking about,” she mused, tapping the frown between his brows. “What’s this here?”

He shrugged. “Guess I’m tired of being Man Whore Jon.”

“Jack.”

“Huh?”

“Online they call you Jack. It’s your whore alter ego.” She nipped his bottom lip and reached for her phone, bringing up a blog. “See?”

“Get off the internet Dany it will ruin your brain.”

“Oh shit.”

“Huh?” He was looking at his phone now, Davos sending a few messages they had to talk about revamping his image.

She shoved her phone under his nose. It was a gossip Instagram, Lantaissa. People dropped celebrity sightings there and send in blinds. He peered at it, squinting since he’d taken out his contacts in the shower. “What’s it say?”

“Anon please! I have MAJOR NEWS. I JUST saw Lord Commander Jon Snow and goodie two shoes Daenerys Targaryen at the Sunspear Tower. She had pink hair but it was DEF her and they were getting in the elevator together and were super handsy!”

Dany groaned. “Ugh this is NOT how I wanted us to get out!” It could work though, he thought. They’d have to figure it out with the PR teams but it could work. He took the phone from her and tapped on the submit button. “What are you doing?” she demanded. She leaned over his shoulder, chuckling after a moment. “Oh Jon Snow, you crafty little wolf.”

Using a fake email he’d had set up for exactly these PR purposes, because Davos made him, he submitted the “anon please” and then using his phone, texted Davos his image control would be handled.

After a few minutes, he frowned again and looked up at her. She was staring at the TV, her blue and green contacts out. He flicked one of the pink curls. “You sure you want to tie yourself to me?” he wondered. “I don’t have the best rep.”

“Jon I love you, I don’t care.” She kissed him softly, smiling and arched a brow. “I just open us being a public thing soon enough won’t upset our little rendezvous.”

He laughed. They’d snuck around like this for this long. “You might have to upgrade to some elaborate wigs instead of hair coloring.”

“I have a whole closet full.”

“Also you didn’t have a name picked out tonight, threw me off guard.”

“I was in a hurry to get out of that loaned awards dress and into my costume.”

He smiled, pulling her down for a quick kiss. He sighed. “I love you Dany.”

“Your lady of the night,” she teased. “Is that what they call the girls lucky enough to fuck Jon Snow?“

“You tell me, you’re the only one lucky enough for that.”

She giggled and pulled him up over her, sighing happily as he kissed down her neck. “Hmm, yes, lucky me.”

THE END

[kineticpenguin]

Oh, you want to be a War Thunder youtuber? Lemme guess, each video is going to be a kill montage where your bounced shots are highlighted with a wink and "skill issue," every time a German tank shows up it's accompanied by muffled, bass boosted Erika, at least one of your kills will be accompanied by Michael Rosen smacking his lips and saying "noice," you use fart with reverb with no clear rhyme or reason, and you use that clip of the Rock leering at the camera with the Vine boom constantly? Oh is that the German kid freaking out on his keyboard when you get killed? When you have a real "good one" you use Doom music?

Yeah? Just like all 500 other guys doing the exact same thing? Well, keep being derivative, I'm sure you'll get your own in-game decal and promo link sometime this century.

[zappedbyzabka]

Not LaRusso auto anon, but thinking about Daniel checking out his new intern. Kid named Lawrence, kinda cute. Maybe his silly, awkward flirting makes Daniel's life interesting after the divorce.

And then Daniel has one day that's long, and kinda crappy and he has a private party in the Hills to get to. He doesn't even want go, but the host's been hinting that he might use their cars in a promotional thing. So Daniel sucks it up, looks around hoping to catch a glimpse of Johnny, and is disappointed to learn he didn't clock in today. Really was looking to be that kinda day.

And then he's at the big house, nursing the same drink to ward off refills and his host is there. Tells Daniel that maybe they can move to the private party downstairs. Where the big boys play.

Turns out it really is a private party, no more than 7 or 8 people, all drunk. Daniel sees someone cutting white lines of something and maybe thinks that promo deal isn't that necessary. And that's when he sees it.

There's someone draped over one of the older guests, lush blond hair. Not too long, curling at the nape. And Daniel's sure he knows them from somewhere. The old guy's got a hand up their skirt, mouthing at the open buttons on the shirt and that's when Daniel sees who it is.

Johnny's eyes are cloudy blue, he's limp as a ragdoll as the old guy's hand moves under the skirt. There's lipstick streaked across his face, and Daniel's frozen in his seat as the host (Weinberg, his name is Weinberg) comes up to him. Asks, "I can throw that in," and drags Johnny toward him before Daniel can get in a reply.

Johnny's a heavy, warm weight against him. He smells like sweat, alcohol and cigarette smoke as Weinberg hooks two thumbs in his shirt to rip it open. He rubs that thumb against Johnnys nipple, looking knowingly at Daniel when the boy hiccups. Daniel swallows, and Weinberg leers. "Let you have first go, LaRusso. Show of good faith."

Johnny's unseeing eyes are glazed and wet.

Daniel looks from him to Weinberg, slings an arm around the boy's waist ignoring the way he whimpers. Daniel looks Weinberg in the eye, "I don't like putting on a show." Weinberg frowns but shows them to a private room while people laugh in the background. "Don't be too long," Weinberg smirks, "and don't break him in too badly."

Daniel's stomach turns at that, but he nods. Smiles, even. And as soon as the door shuts, he's on Johnny. Shaking him, lightly slapping at his cheek. Johnny's eyes flicker, and then Daniel's scrambling, mindlessly grabbing his wrists to avoid a punch to the face. And Johnny's, Daniel looks in horror, Johnny's crying. Fat tears leaking down his face, struggling so weakly for a big guy, until Daniel lets go, cups his face. Guides his chin until Johnny looks at him, whispering over and over "Its ok, it's ok, it's me, I have you, please Johnny, please"

And in a brief, bizarre moment of lucidity Johnny looks at him, really looks. Mumbles, "Mr. LaRusso?" And Daniel nods, pushing back the sweaty hair from Johnny's face. "Yeah, Mr. LaRusso. Johnny I'm gonna leave, do you wanna come with?"

Johnny doesn't answer. He just starts crying again and Daniel figures that's enough of that.

He grabs a long woman's coat from the closet and wraps Johnny in it. Looks at the clock, it's been about ten minutes and he doesn't know what the fuck Weinberg meant by "not too long". Johnny's not all there, stumbling on autopilot as Daniel maneuvers them to what looks like a kitchen. He's seen enough of the Hills houses to know where the servant's entry is. Johnny's frighteningly pliant as Daniel shoves him into the car, one eye constantly flicking back over his shoulder in case Weinberg decides to... God Daniel doesn't even know.

Fuck Weinberg, he thinks as he guns the car. There's some shouting in the distance but Daniel doubts they're sober enough to keep up. His cellphone starts buzzing next, lighting up the tired planes of Johnny's face. The smudged lipstick looks like blood against his mouth. Daniel reaches across and shuts it off. He ignores the ramp exit to his house in Encino, and drives down to the dojo. The only thing on his mind is getting Johnny to safety. And there's going to be a ton of shit to deal with: what the hell Johnny's on, why the fuck he was even at Weinberg's, and the possibility of police and lawyers in the morning.

He takes a deep breath, gets an unconscious Johnny out of the car. Lifts him into a bridal carry, tucks his lolling head against his chest and carries him indoors. After wiping Johnny's stained face, he worries about the ripped up shirt and skirt until he decides enough people have touched Johnny without his permission for today. He tucks a blanket over, and on lightly checks his pulse. It's strong, and in the dim light Johnny looks... better. His breathing is clear, and he looks less pale. Daniel sighs, looks at the clock. It's almost 3 am.

He takes a long look at Johnny before going to the kitchen. Comes back with a large mug of coffee and a mess of papers. He camps out at his desk, looking up lawyers and all the favors he can call in. Johnny sighs, shifts in his sleep and Daniel balls his fist. Breathes out slowly. He'll be right here when Johnny wakes up.

TW DRUGGING. TW implied rape.

This is sad, Sid is a piece of shit and I hope Daniel ruins his life somehow. Hopefully Daniel helps Johnny hide because you know Sid would be looking for him after Daniel drives away. Just to make this not hurt so much I'm gonna say that Daniel and Johnny get married and move to Japan together, Johnny never gets hurt again.

[maxwell-grant]

Odd-ish question. Imagine, if you will, that a new The Shadow film or prestige TV Series is being made. In your head, what's the trailer?

I gotta say, it was rather disheartening to learn in film school that most directors/producers/showrunners don't actually get to have much say in how their work is promoted, because, at least as far as I know, that stuff is outsourced to a separate team. I mean, I get why this happens, it's ultimately for the best, but it's still kind of a bummer to me personally since I do like making trailers and teasers (I do make my living as an editor and all).

I'm not gonna get too into what I imagine said trailer to be like, because it's one of those things I'd rather keep to myself until I get to make something of it, but I will talk a bit about how I think a marketing strategy for a new Shadow film or series could be like.

First and foremost, I think anyone who wants to tackle The Shadow, even just to promote him, has gotta understand what about the character works, what influenced his creation, what's he got that can be promoted, what can grab audiences, what can get them to stay, and so on. "Fandoms" nowadays rule the way media is consumed and sustained, and you see it especially in modern cartoons that live or die on the audience's devotion. That is one of the reasons why I made this blog, because I want the character to thrive again and I want to provide people with a catalogue of information they can dig into.

The Shadow was, for a decade and then some, arguably the biggest crimefighter of American media, figurehead of not just one but TWO mediums, and the only reason he existed at all was because Street & Smith's marketing ploy for a faceless narrator turned out far more successfully than they could have anticipated. That he's survived the total downfall of American pulps and decades of mismanaged adaptations, as still one of the most famous of all pulp heroes, is testament to how strong the original concept still is, the appeal the character held. I made this post partially to highlight that.

And first and foremost, is to build up the character. Take advantage of the fact that the general audiences only have the vaguest idea of what this guy is like, and treat him not like an old character making a comeback, but like he's about to debut for the first time. As I mentioned prior, 1930s radio audiences were enthralled by The Shadow not just because he was the most interesting part of the stories he was promoting, but because he was completely unlike every other narrator in radio at the time, a hissing disembodied voice taunting and cackling malevolently, taunting and daring you.

Think of the marketing strategy for Godzilla 1998, and the waves it made as, instead of just plastering images of the monster front and center, they built up the idea of Godzilla through ads like these, instilling in your head the concept of an unfathomably large monster trodding it's way into the city and wreaking devastation with every footstep, even if you couldn't see what it actually was. It was a particularly genius move because even at this point, most Americans had at least a slight idea of what Godzilla was, or they were at least familiar with the concept through parody or pop culture osmosis. So what the marketing did was break down and fragment the Godzilla concept, and gradually put it back together under the heads of viewers. The movie sucked, mind you, and that reinforces my point: It didn't turn a profit based on it's stellar critical reputation or a prior American following for Godzilla, it turned a profit because the marketing was that good.

Joker is another example of a movie that managed to do well by essentially "re-selling" you it's titular character and through incredible marketing. IIf the idea seemed beyond stupid and unnecessary to most people at first, the Joker trailer did such a fantastic job at selling people on the concept that it immediately turned a lot of heads around. In fact, the trailer was so good, I suspect most people who went into the movie already had made up their minds on it's contents based entirely on the trailer, but I digress.

The film dissassembled the Joker bit by bit, both in marketing as well as it's story, and gave each of it's pieces it's own story. From the laughter as a replacement for tears, to the clown paint starting off as a form of confinement until it replaces the face of the broken man within, to even elements such as the green hair, gaunt physique and fondness for colored suits, all of these got a story, all of these had a "hook", all of these were given significance separate from the history of the character as a franchise supervillain, all of these were made interesting in ways people would be interested in learning more about. Why does The Joker laugh? Why is crying? What's "Arthur" like? What's he gonna do on the show? What the hell is this film going to have to do with Batman?

It got people talking and asking questions, and that's exactly what you want your audience to do. Even for a character as old and overexposed as the Joker, the movie still succeded, at least in marketing, in presenting as if we were going to see him for the first time, to the point all the film needed to secure it's Batman connection was just the name.

And Street & Smith was doing this even back then, when they were in the middle of transitioning The Shadow from radio narrator to pulp crimefighter. They started putting out shows where The Shadow would take a more active role, they started getting him to show up in other programs, they put out this contest where they gave out small lines where The Shadow told a detail about himself, and listeners had to piece it together. The radio show was told as if The Shadow was a real, active person, and this was something carried over to the pulps. This was, mind you, before Walter Gibson got to touch the character, but it shows that right upfront, Street & Smith knew how to market this character effectively, through mystery and build-up. I think there are ways to do that nowadays even besides the usual avenue of teasers and trailers.

And if I was going to make a trailer, if I was in charge of designing a marketing strategy or video and so on for The Shadow, this is what I think needs to be emphasized.

None of the promos show his costume in full. We get glimpses of it, like a slouch hat and red scarf abandoned in the middle of a square as a public ad, intense eyes leering over an urban landscape for a poster. A popular podcast gets hijacked in the middle of an ad break for The Shadow, and they act like nothing happened. An entire teaser goes by, and in it, all you see from him in costume is a hand with a Girasol Ring. We don't know who is the actor who's gonna be playing him, we hear laughs in the ads but never a speaking voice. A different rumor is confirmed every week.

The trailers show us scenes of agents interacting, policemen looking for him, criminals hurting others only to run terrified. All sorts of cryptic remarks, or terrified statements. We get an image of Harry Vincent standing on a bridge with gloved hands holding him, and to people unfamiliar, they think The Shadow's about to throw this guy off a bridge, and the fans know better.

Some people think this is all unnecessary, I mean, they know who The Shadow is, he's a 30s radio vigilante who inspired Batman and who Alec Baldwin played once. He's got a girlfriend named Margo, he shoots people. What's the point of all this?

And then The Shadow starts to show up a bit more, and he does the things that people seem to forget he's capable of, for good and bad. And gradually, the trailers and teasers and ads start to unveil just how little general audiences really know The Shadow. And, hopefully, they start wanting to learn more.

[rawiswhore]

Various WWF Wrestlers x Fem Reader- “I Was Gettin’ Some Head”

I wonder what many WWF/E wrestlers, specifically the ones I type about, would think of these fanfics I type about them?

They'd probably be laughing their heads off or be absolutely shocked, some would think "typical"...

There's a LOT of slash fanfiction shipping Jeff and Matt Hardy together (there was also a lot of fanfics about that during the Attitude era) even though the Hardy Boyz are actual brothers, not to mention there's fanfics shipping wrestlers into homosexual relationships, so...

There's wrestlers that probably even did some of the stuff I type about!

Speaking of that, I'm probably the only person who writes fanfiction about Bart Gunn, a wrestler that was never really that popular and now works as an electrician.

________________________________________________________________

A few days before Shawn Michaels' birthday in 1998, you were standing in the locker room near your locker, whereas Triple H and some other wrestlers were standing quite a few inches behind you, standing next to one another.

Who were these other wrestlers? Triple H, Shawn Michaels, Billy Gunn, Val Venis and Bart Gunn.

Triple H was dressed in a tight black D Generation X t-shirt and jeans, looking like he does when he appears on "Monday Night Raw".

Shawn was dressed in a white short sleeved shirt and jeans, Billy and Bart were dressed in loose fitting T-shirts and basketball shorts, and Val had a towel wrapped around his genitals, looking like when he enters the ring on "Monday Night Raw".

Val's towel was tucked in to hold his towel from falling out.

You were unbeknownst to what was behind you.

"What does everybody want?" Triple H shouted.

What Triple H exclaimed made you turn your head and look at what's behind you, you can easily recognize Triple H's voice.

"HEAD!" the other wrestlers standing next to Triple H replied, shouting this out, sounding like the audience when Al Snow asks his iconic, signature catchphrase.

Triple H shouted "HEAD!" in unison along with these men.

Shawn, Billy, Triple H and Val motioned at their crotch a la D Generation X, doing DX's "crotch chop" by pointing at their cum gutters, their hands forming a "v" shape and thrusting their crotches forward.

They didn't point at each other's  crotch, like Shawn pointing at Val's crotch and what have you.

Some other wrestlers in the locker room who weren't standing next to Triple H and standing by their lockers even shouted "HEAD!" along with Shawn, Billy, Val and Bart.

By the time the 1990's and even the 20th Century were coming to a close, after playing such silly, corny gimmicks in the WWF that were massive failures, a wrestler was finally going over (as they say in wrestling lingo), being now known as Al Snow, playing a schizophrenic madman that carried a decapitated mannequin head.

And what was his trademark mannequin head's name?

Head.

Can I make it any more obvious?

One of the things Al will always be remembered for is his catchphrase, where he shouts "What does everybody want?" to which the audience shouted back with "HEAD!" as Al showed off his severed mannequin head to the crowd.

Some of the audience would even hold Styrofoam mannequin heads and make them headbang in the crowd.

His catchphrase is meant to be a sexual innuendo, typical Attitude era.

Hearing Al's signature catchphrase and chants gave Triple H an idea, and he wanted to share this idea with other people, wrestlers mainly, that he knew you had sex with.

Previously, you shared with Triple H and Shawn Michaels an idea you had with them, while you sucked their cocks, they shouted their "suck it!" catchphrase as well as did their iconic signature crotch chops that go along with that taunt.

2 of the wrestlers Triple H shared this idea with were Billy Gunn and Val Venis, and they were thinking the same thing after hearing Al Snow's catchphrase.

The other person he shared this idea with was Bart Gunn, a wrestler you were becoming even more enamored with this year considering his hair is growing longer.

Bart figured Triple H had this idea, he's even thinking you have this idea as well.

There's someone Triple H wants to share this idea with as well as invite him to this rendezvous, and that's his former friend Shawn Michaels.

Sadly, Shawn wasn't in the WWF during most of 1998 due to a back injury, however, he did return to the WWF near the end of the summer of that year, albeit by sitting at the commentary table.

When Triple H told Shawn this idea over the phone, Shawn loved this idea, and luckily, in July, Shawn returned to the WWF sitting at the commentary table, not being able to wrestle.

You smiled from ear to ear and laughed hearing these wrestlers shout Al Snow's iconic catchphrase and question, and these wrestlers behind you saw it.

"What does everybody need?!" Triple H exclaimed and shouted again.

"HEAD!" these wrestlers standing next to Trips replied with, shouting it.

You walked up to these wrestlers behind you.

"I figured you guys would shout something like that to me, even I got an idea similar to what you're doing before this" you stated as you walked up to them, raising your voice so they can hear you "Is this a booty call? Do you white boys know what that word even means?"

You pointed your index finger to these wrestlers standing behind you, waving your finger back and forth across to these wrestlers shouting Al Snow's catchphrase at you.

"Doesn't 'booty call' mean a sexual invitation?" Triple H asked.

"Oh, you didn't know?" you asked, trying to say that like the New Age Outlaw's iconic catchphrase.

"Yo' ass betta caaaaaaaaaall some-bod-aaaaaaaaaaaaaay!" Billy retorted.

This resulted in the wrestlers standing in front of you laughing and smiling from ear to ear, even you couldn't help but laugh and smile with them.

"But yes, 'booty call' means sexual invitation" you explained when they stopped laughing.

"Why d'ya think we're shouting this at you?" Triple H asked.

They could've shouted this at other WWF women in the company, but they'd be saying that's sexual harassment.

You're the slut of the WWF, you're even sluttier than Sunny.

Sunny has left the WWF in the summer of 1998 because she doesn't want to play second fiddle to you and Sable.

Speaking of Sable, she might be an attractive woman with huge breasts, but she's married and has a daughter, and next year, she left the WWF and even sued the company due to sexual harassment and being forced to dress provocatively.

Jacqueline has joined the WWF this year, and she too is a beautiful woman with huge tits, but she isn't really sexually promiscuous.

Not to mention, considering she's an African American woman and DX had recently cut a promo in blackface (if you knew history, you'd know why black face is considered terrible) as well as once spray painted racist cartoons and messages on an all black wrestling faction's locker room, she definitely wants nothing to do with Triple H, Shawn and Billy.

Debra and Terri Runnels are married, and Chyna gets so much insults for the fact that she's an overtly muscular and even manly looking woman.

Luna Vachon isn't exactly Trish Stratus in the looks department either.

Even though Sable is an occasionally attractive woman, she looked so much older than her age, and if that's not bad enough, she had a really nasty personality backstage, always bragging she was the sole reason the WWF was suddenly blowing up in popularity in the late 90's, never mind Stone Cold, the Rock, or others.

Debra and even Terri Runnels were that same way, not that they're women with egos the size of Russia, but they looked older than their ages.

Plus, women like Ivory, Miss Kitty/The Kat, Trish Stratus, Lita, Stacy Keibler and Torrie Wilson weren't even in the WWF in 1998.

You've had many orgies with WWF wrestlers, so of course they're going to shout Al Snow's signature catchphrase at you.

"I'm not offended by your shouts at me" you confessed when you stood right in front of these wrestlers shouting that obscene quote at you. "Even I thought of asking you guys to shout Al Snow's signature question while I suck your cocks before you guys shouted it at me"

"Why didn't you ever say it to us?" Shawn asked.

"Because 4 men isn't 'everybody'" you confessed.

There were many men you wanted to do this with, but they weren't in the WWF and over in other wrestling companies.

Plus, you want these wrestlers to look a certain way when you suck their cocks, you want them to look hot and sexy.

You then sunk down to the floor until you crouched down on your knees.

"Y'want me to take my clothes off?" you asked these men standing in front of you, looking up at them.

They'd love to see your tits and cum on your breasts, so...maybe.

They nodded their heads.

"We don't want that shirt you're wearing to get any stains on it" Shawn admitted "Ifyknowwhatimean"

These wrestlers standing with Shawn laughed and chuckled at that, even you couldn't help but chuckle at what Shawn said.

You grabbed your shirt you were wearing and lifted it off of your torso and over your head, placing your top next to you on the floor.

You wore no bra under your top, showing off your bare tits.

Their eyes were growing wild seeing your naked breasts, grinning naughtily at your tits.

They could nearly make some wolf whistles at you like those rednecks in the audience who leer at sexy women in the WWF like Sable, Sunny and you.

One of your hands moved to the front of Triple H's fly area of his jeans, where you pulled the zipper down of his jeans, one of his hands popping the button out of the hole of his jeans.

He pulled his jeans and his boxers underneath down until his genitals were exposed to you, his erection pointing in front of your face.

The other wrestlers standing next to Triple H were following suit, pulling the zippers of their jeans down and unbuttoning their jeans or pulling their basketball shorts down, pulling their bottoms down until their erections were sticking out at you.

Val pulled his towel off, only to show that he wasn't wearing anything under that towel.

You could see their cocks all in front of you, your eyes were growing wild seeing these erections pointing at you.

Al Snow's signature decapitated mannequin head he carries around also has the words "Help Me" scrawled on its forehead.

Wonder if they could write "Help Me" on your forehead in lipstick or eyeliner or even with a marker?

Should you suggest this?

Hmmmm...

"You've got such perfect cock sucking lips" Triple H purred, his thumb running across your lips. "Perfect to be wrapped around me and the boys' dicks"

The other men standing with Triple H agreed with him, nodding their heads and smiling.

"No wonder she's in DX!" Billy stated. "We say 'suck it' and she's got those cocksucking lips!"

Triple H and the other wrestlers laughed and chuckled at that.

Triple H could nearly shout "let's get ready to suck iiiiiit!" like how he shouts on "Monday Night Raw" with DX in the ring, so could Shawn Michaels, Billy Gunn and even Val Venis, but would that be too corny and silly, even unsexy?

Speaking of suck it, Triple H lifted his hands and made his hands form a "v" shaped chopping motion at his "cum gutters" as they're called.

"Now suck it!!!" Triple H exclaimed, his hands making a chopping motion at his cum gutters when he shouted "suck it!".

He didn't just crotch chop at you, but also pushed his crotch forwards towards your face.

Billy, Shawn and Val saw and heard what Triple H shouted, smiling and chuckling at him.

You leaned your face into Triple H's genitals, until his cock had entered your mouth, your lips wrapped around his shaft, and proceeded to start sucking his penis.

Your hands were trying not to touch the floor, because you might want to wrap your fingers around these men's cocks and if you touched the dirty floor, you'll get your dirty fingers on their cocks, you might even taste their dicks that have been touched by the dirty floor if you sucked their penises and that would taste nasty.

One of your fingers wrapped around Shawn's shaft, whereas the other fingers wrapped around the bottom of Triple H's cock.

You wish you could have a huge mouth so you could fit so many cocks inside your mouth at the same time.

"What does everybody want?!" Triple H shouted.

"HEAD!" these other wrestlers standing next to him answered.

"What does everybody need?!" Triple H shouted and asked.

"HEAD!" the wrestlers with him replied with again, shouting it.

"What does every love?!" Triple H shouted.

"HEAD!!" Shawn, Val, Billy and even Bart exclaimed.

Triple H even shouted "head" in unison with these other wrestlers.

Some wrestlers standing at their lockers far away not involved in this orgy even shouted out "HEAD!" along with these wrestlers.

Speaking of that, some other wrestlers who won't be getting a blowjob this afternoon saw you squatting on the floor while these wrestlers you thought were sexy were circled around you, their cocks pointing at you while you sucked Triple H's cock.

Some of them were shouting and roaring out "yyyyyyyyeaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!", others just kept calm and carried on, rolling their eyes and walking away.

One wrestler shouted "Get a room!".

Isn't the locker room still a room nonetheless?

Another wrestler not swarming around you shouted "suck it!" while pointing to his crotch a la D Generation X, but you didn't bother to look at him.

Wonder if Al Snow is gonna see this?

Since Triple H is shouting "what does everybody want?", to which these men retort "HEAD!", an oral sex reference, and the keyword is "everybody", you tried to widen your mouth by letting the side of your mouth spread wider, enough for someone else's cock to enter.

That someone else's cock was none other than Shawn Michaels.

You tried to pull Shawn's cock into your mouth, even if you already had a dick inside your mouth, where his cock managed to squeeze into your mouth despite there already being a penis inside your mouth.

Shawn was absolutely surprised, his eyes growing wide, and even the men standing with Shawn were surprised at you trying to put his cock in your mouth.

Well, Triple H did ask "what does everybody want?", only for the men standing with him to respond with "HEAD!", which is an oral sex slang term and double entendre if you're Al Snow.

Keyword: "everybody".

The sides of your mouth were hurting by having two cocks inside your mouth, but wonder if you could handle it?

You also wonder if you could try to fit Billy Gunn's cock in your mouth...

You managed to try to suck on 2 cocks inside your mouth, even if it was difficult and your mouth was hurting.

One side of your mouth stretched out to make room for another cock.

Your fingers unraveled off of Triple H's shaft and wrapped around the bottom of Billy's shaft, where you pulled his dick to your mouth and tried to fill the empty space inside your mouth with his cock.

Billy's eyes grew wild when he saw you try to fit his own penis inside your mouth, he nearly could jump backwards at you trying to put his cock in your mouth.

Even the other men standing next to Billy could jump back over you trying to put another penis in your mouth despite you having 2 cocks in your mouth.

Their eyes were getting bigger at you trying to put another cock in your mouth, taken by surprise.

Though, they shouldn't be surprised at you trying to put more than 2 dicks in your mouth.

It was a tight fit, your mouth could barely fit 3 penises in your mouth, let alone suck on them.

These sexy male wrestlers standing in front of you grinned at you, their mouths spreading these shiteating, ear-to-ear smiles at you.

Despite being shocked at trying to put 3 cocks inside your mouth, Triple H doesn't mind this.

Remember, he said "There's a lot of bi things I am, but lingual is not one of them!".

It was a little difficult trying to suck on 3 cocks in your mouth, trying to make your mouth go up and down their shafts in an attempt to suck their dicks, but you have a reason why you're doing it.

Meanwhile, some wrestlers in the locker room saw you trying to suck on 3 dicks inside your mouth, their eyes were growing wide in shock and their jaws dropping, their hands covering their mouths.

They even were getting other wrestlers in the locker room to take a look at this, they were completely shocked as well.

Some wrestlers were roaring in delight, shouting "yyyyyyeaaaaaaaaaaah!!!" like trashy rednecks, others didn't bother to look at this.

And, to top it all off, you had 3 members of D Generation X (or, at least one former member of DX)'s cocks inside your mouth.

Heh, gives new meaning to "suck it".

Some people in the locker room even were shouting "suck it!" and chopping at their crotches a la D Generation X.

Since Val Venis is known for playing a porn star in the WWF, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and tried putting his cock into your mouth, the tip of his penis poking to your mouth, trying to slide it in between 2 other cocks.

Some of the other wrestlers saw Val trying to put his dick in your mouth, admiring his chutzpah and understanding precisely why you're doing this.

They smiled from ear to ear and chuckled at him.

"Why are you trying to put 3 cocks in your mouth?" Bart Gunn asked you, tapping at your shoulder so you can hear him. "Or even...4?"

Your eyes looked up at him and your mouth pulled up to the top of Triple H, Shawn and Billy's cocks until all 3 of their dicks escaped your mouth, their dicks now smothered in precum and your saliva.

"Well, he asked 'what does everybody want?'" you confessed, pointing at Triple H "to which they all replied with 'head' shouts"

"I didn't exactly mean it that way!" Triple H admitted, smiling and laughing.

"Would you be annoyed if I sucked on your cock for a while, only to suck on his immediately after?" you asked Triple H, pointing to Shawn when referring to "his". "Since you'd be so enjoying me sucking your dick only to be interrupted. You said that everybody wants head!"

Keyword: "everybody".

"Actually, yeah, I would be annoyed" Triple H admitted. "But that's why I'm telling you to 'suck it'!"

He lifted his hands and made them form a chopping motion at his cum gutters, doing DX's iconic "crotch chop", this crotch chop was forming a "v" shape at his cum gutters as they're called.

Shawn and Billy smiled and cackled from ear to ear hearing that, so did Val Venis for that matter.

"Now suck it again!" Triple H ordered, his hand making a chopping motion at one of his cum gutters.

You leaned your face into his genitals until his cock had entered your mouth, where you proceeded to suck his dick, your lips wrapped around his shaft.

Even though Triple H in July of 1998 is pretty hot, the hottest he's looked by far was at the beginning of 1998, like in January that year, or in March that year.

While this Triple H you don't have to imagine you're sucking his cock since you are currently sucking his dick, you're imagining you're giving Triple H at the beginning of 1998 a blowjob, that's the hottest he's ever looked.

As you sucked on Triple H's dick, these wrestlers swarming you with their penises pointing at your face stared down at you, Triple H included, smiling and grinning at you.

When you sucked on Triple H's cock, some precum was spilling out of the slit of his penis head, landing on your tongue, only for you to swallow that cum down.

One of the things you're contemplating of doing as you suck off Triple H is crank Shawn and Billy's (as well as Val and Bart's) shafts, masturbating them.

Triple H put his hands on top of your head, where his fingers sunk through your hair, and he pulled you into his genitals.

"Just take my big, juicy cock" Triple H purred, his voice low and husky "My filthy dirty cumslut"

Triple H dressed in his usual DX gear was playing his character he plays on "Monday Night Raw" even in the locker room when the cameras weren't filming him.

Though, Shawn Michaels, Billy Gunn and Val Venis were playing their characters on "Monday Night Raw" as well during this orgy.

Triple H could nearly say his classic, iconic sexual innuendo he says on "Monday Night Raw", even before you started giving him oral sex, but most of his sexual innuendo is related to putting his dick in your twat.

Plus, he almost could say "I don't think you could handle this huge cock", but you've sucked his cock before as well as these other men standing next to his dick.

Triple H eventually slid his fingers from out of your hair, where he made his hands form an "x" shape by crossing them at the wrists above his genitals, only to raise those hands up, still in an "x" shape and quickly drop them down.

"Suck it!!" he shouted, thrusting his crotch into your face.

Shawn chuckled a la Ted DeBiase Sr. and smiled from ear to ear, so did Val Venis and Billy Gunn.

What your eyes could see above your face was Triple H's hands forming an "x" shape while he did DX's iconic signature gesture.

He then separated his hands and motioned his hands to chop at his cum gutters, this time in a "v" shape.

"Suck it!!" he exclaimed again, pushing his crotch to your face again, but not enough to bump you down.

"Suck it!!" Shawn exclaimed, his hands chopping at his cum gutters in a "v" shape, like this:

 Your eyes darted to Shawn, you could easily recognize his voice and even tell it was Shawn who shouted that, only to find him crotch chopping like a muddafucka.

Your mouth slid up Triple H's shaft, only for your lips to shift and slide over to Shawn's cock, shifting and sliding to his penishead.

Before you could do this, you have to ask them something...

"Hey guys!" you shouted, pointing your index finger at these wrestlers about to get blowjobs, killing the mood and sounding serious. "Should I jerk your cocks off? Masturbate you guys while I'm giving head?"

They were thinking the same thing.

Why were you holding Shawn's dick but not jacking him off.

They all want to cum in your mouth, be it precum or official cum, but they want to jizz on your face and your tits.

"Though, I thought I was here to suck cock" you stated "Not just jerk you guys off!"

They laughed hearing that.

Besides, you might get cum in your eyes, and that hurts.

They shrugged their shoulders, suggesting doing whatever you want, though, they'd love to see your face and tits drenched in cum.

Maybe next time you could do that, though maybe when they officially cum, you could clean their cocks off with your mouth and tongue (that rhymed) while they shout Al Snow as well as DX's signature catchphrase and do DX's signature, iconic gesture.

Decisions, decisions...

You decided not to do it, considering they're here to get blowjobs, not handjobs, much to the dismay of these wrestlers standing in front of you.

Shawn was shouting "suck it!" over and over again like an overexcited child, his hands chopping away at his cum gutters (I feel so embarrassed typing "cum gutters", but what else am I supposed to call them?), forming a "v" shape with them.

Triple H was chuckling and smiling hearing Shawn exclaim that, Billy and Val were smiling and laughing at this too.

Bart, meanwhile, was keeping his usual straight face, not seeming all that enthusiastic.  

"What does everybody want?!" Shawn roared, a wide, ear-to-ear smile plastered across his face.

"HEAD!" the wrestlers swarming with their dicks at you retorted, having the same ear-to-ear grins on your face as Shawn.

Even some wrestlers in the locker room who weren't circling you and were busy taking a shower or whatever shouted "HEAD!".

Shawn was trying not to cackle and laugh.

"What does everybody need?!" Shawn quoted, saying it the way Al Snow says it (though all of these men are saying it like how Al shouts it.

"HEAD!" Triple H, Billy, Val and even Bart shouted, some of these men, in particular Val and Triple H, making their hands form "crotch chopping" motions at their cum gutters.

"And what does everybody love?" Shawn asked, saying it loudly.

"HEAD!" the wrestlers, both with their cocks out and others who aren't bothered to join this orgy, replied.

Because of Shawn and the rest of the crew being loud, obnoxious dipshits, some people are standing by and watching what's going on.

Others are entering the locker room over the commotion, they can hear all the shouting and roaring from another room, only to find you giving head to who you think are the sexiest men in the WWF, for now, anyway.

Some are rolling their eyes and not bothering with this, some are hitting their heads with the palms of their hands, doing the iconic "face palm", others are watching this, enjoying this and even masturbating to it.

Are you and these wrestlers going to be arrested for being way too loud as well as indecent exposure?

Shawn's hands joined each other, crossing each other at the wrists, making an "x" shape.

His hands were above his genitals and raised those hands up, the hands still in an "x" shape when he raised them, only to quickly drop those hands down, still in an "x" shape.

"Suck it!!" he proclaimed, thrusting his crotch into your face.

He cackled like Ted DeBiase Sr. or after he shouted "I was up...all...night!" while he crotch chopped behind a podium, during that notorious moment where D Generation X had a presidential-like announcement and they promised not to use R-rated curse words.

His laughter was contagious, Billy, Triple H and Val laughing as well, having wide ear-to-ear smiles spread across their faces.

Shawn's hands separated, only now for his hands to do the "V" shaped crotch chop and for his hands to point at his cum gutters.

"Suck it!!!" he shouted again as he did that gesture, and you sucked it.

"Suck it!!!" Billy interrupted, his hands pointing to his crotch by making his hands form a "v" shaped crotch chop, pushing his crotch forward when he shouted that phrase.

When you've sucked his cock and swallowed his precum, as well as heard him shout Al Snow's catchphrase, it's time to move to the next man to get a blowjob, that next man is Billy Gunn.

Your head rose up from Shawn's cock and shifted over to Billy's dick sliding your lips across from the tip of Shawn's penis to Billy's penis head, only for your mouth to engulf Billy's penis head as well as the rest of his shaft.

You proceeded to start to suck Billy's cock, and while you gave him head, you imagined you were sucking Billy at the end of 1997, when he had those bows tied in his hair, and even sometimes imagined you were sucking him during his RockaBilly days in April of '97.

His hair is growing a little bit longer as 1998 progresses on, but the hottest Billy has ever looked by far was at the end of 1997.

Billy was smiling from ear to ear at you sucking his cock, his head and eyes looking down at you sucking him off.

"What does everybody want?!" Billy asked loudly.

The other wrestlers as well as some of the other locker room responded back by shouting "HEAD!".

He was asking what Al Snow asks in his entrance theme, only for the same response, that response being "HEAD!".

Speaking of Al Snow, when you were giving oral sex to Billy, some wrestler walked up to you and brought Al Snow along with him.

Thank goodness you're looking at these men swarming around you, otherwise a wrestler you're not attracted might approach you and want to suck his cock, you don' t want that.

"Heard the boys shouting Al Snow's catchphrase" this wrestler said "I'm surprised you're not giving him head!"

He pointed to Al Snow with his index finger.

Indeed, he's right about you're giving blowjobs while quoting his iconic signature catchphrase, but not involving the man who shouted that catchphrase?

Al used to be cute back in 1996 when he played that corny Leif Cassidy gimmick (even though his hair looked pretty awful), he was even kinda cute when he played a ninja named Avatar.

He now has dirty blond hair with dark roots exposed at the top of his head and a sleazy handlebar moustache.

You're really not sure what to think of Al with the way he looks like now.

He isn't Paul Bearer levels of ugly, but he isn't as sexy as Shawn Michaels either.

You also don't really wanna hurt Al's feelings, but you're unsure whether or not to give him, well, head.

Maybe you can imagine you're sucking him off when he's Leif Cassidy or even played that ninja character.

He's kind of hot with this dirty long blond hair and even that handlebar moustache.

"Y'want to suck him off?" this wrestler asked, still pointing his index finger to Al.

You shrugged your shoulders, unsure if you want to give him head or not.

"You don't know?" this wrestler asked.

You nodded your head, still having a cock in your mouth.

"I'm honestly not all that sexy" Al Snow confessed "Most people wouldn't find me all that hot, that includes her"

Al pointed to you with his index finger, though you and Al used to fuck a few times, but that was when he was Leif Cassidy (before he grew facial hair).

"I used to fuck her before I grew facial hair" Al admitted to this wrestler, still pointing at you "That was 2 years ago"

Hmmm, maybe Al could shout his catchphrase while these wrestlers swarming you could answer Al's iconic, signature question.

Billy, meanwhile, was smiling from ear to ear (and he has a beautiful smile), and of course he had to do DX's iconic crotch chop, both variations of it by making his hands form an "x" shape and a "v" shape over his crotch as well as shout the iconic, obscene catchphrase that goes with that gesture.

As you sucked on his cock, precum was leaking from the slit of his penishead and onto your tongue, only for you to gulp and swallow it down.

When you were busy giving Billy Gunn head, Shawn, however, leaned his head close to Triple H's ear, where he confessed that he thought of writing "Help Me" on your forehead in lipstick or eyeliner or even a marker, much like that iconic mannequin head that Al Snow carries into the ring with him.

Triple H liked this idea, though, would you like it?

Triple H turned his head towards you and tapped you on your shoulder, which made you look up at him.

You pulled your face away from Billy's cock until his dick left your mouth.

"Would you like it if we wrote 'help me' on your forehead with lipstick or a marker or something?" he asked. "Like that mannequin head Al Snow carries to the ring"

"I was thinking of doing that as well" you confessed "Though, it seems  a little tacky, plus, the words 'help me' scrawled across my forehead would make it seem like I'm getting raped, and I'm not"

"Touché" Triple H replied, nodding his head.

"I'm not roleplaying a rape victim or a sex slave" you confessed "Maybe next time we could do this"

After you had sucked on Billy's cock until some precum leaked out of his dick and you felt like you swallowed enough of it, Val Venis shouted "suck it!" at you while his hands motioned at his crotch, his hands making chopping motions.

You shifted your head towards Val's genitals, where you obeyed his order, leaning your face into his crotch until his dick was in your mouth.

You're surprised Val Venis has never crotch chopped and shouted "suck it" on "Monday Night Raw", considering he plays a PORN STAR and he'd be taunting oral sex while pointing at his genitals.

Fun fact: apparently Val almost was a member of D Generation X.

Val was grinning at you when you shifted your face from Billy's genitals to his, though you would honestly rather not look at him.

While he isn't as hideous as most of the men over in ECW, he isn't that hot or sexy despite being a popular sex symbol in the WWF (with emphasis on "sex"), though Val is pretty hot.

He's probably the male sex symbol during the WWF's Attitude era, much like the Ravishing Rick Rude (who he ALWAYS gets comparisons to) during the 80's Golden era and Shawn Michaels during the New Generation era.

Of course, Val had to ask this simple question...

"What does everybody want?"

He didn't shout it, he said it smoothly like how he says it in the WWF with his rough, rugged, gravelly, raspy voice.

"HEAD!" the wrestlers standing next to him retorted, even some other people in the locker room shouted "head" along with them.

"What does everybody need?" he asked again.

"HEAD!" most of the locker room answered.

"And what does everybody love?" Val asked.

"Head!" the locker room shouted.

Some said "head" in a deadpan voice while rolling their eyes.

Val laughed a bit in his throaty, raspy voice after hearing that.

He was staring down at you while you sucked him off, and of course, he couldn't help but do DX's crotch chop twice while you fellated him, both variations of the crotch chop as well as shout "suck it" while he thrusted his crotch to your face.

Sometimes, he even quoted some of his signature sexual innuendo he says on "Monday Night Raw", which would lead to some of the men standing next to him laughing, even you giggled a bit while you sucked him off.

One wrestler who you have had sex with a few times as well as thought of doing it with occassionally is Bob Holly.

The same Bob Holly who played Spark E. Plugg, a wrestler whose gimmick is a racecar driver, who would be in the New Midnight Express with Bart Gunn and eventually cut his hair and bleach it blond.

Bob is kind of handsome, even when he died his hair blond when he was in the Midnight Express, and since you have banged him a few times, Bob walked up to these wrestlers circled around you getting oral sex, only for your eyes to see him.

He probably wants some head too.

While he is a little bit attractive, he's not that hot, he has one huge overbite.

Though, you could imagine you're sucking on someone more attractive than him while you're giving him head...

Speaking of that, even though Val is pretty hot, a few times as you've given him oral sex, you're imagining sucking off someone hotter than him, like Rob Van Dam, Jeff Hardy, or even a sexy movie star or rock star.

Since Bart is probably the last one and you've sucked some precum out of Val, you shifted your head over from Val's penis to Bart's, but before you could give some oral sex...

"So Bob" you said to him, pointing at Bob Holly. "You want some head too?"

"I've thought of it" he confessed "We've fucked a few times"

"I know" you admitted "But...I'm not as crazy for you like I am with Triple H and Shawn"

At least you're being honest.

He knows.

You've fucked Shawn and Triple H numerous times as well as the likes of Jeff Hardy and even Billy Gunn.

He barely got any sex from you.

"Maybe I could give you some head" you suggested, shrugging your shoulders. "Though, you could have a ringrat go and give you head"

You should've said that to Al Snow.

Bob knows you aren't that attracted to him, plus, he's nowhere near as lusted over as Shawn Michaels or even Val Venis are.

Bob walked away, but he does know what a massive whore you are.

His tagteam partner Bart, meanwhile, motioned a crotch chop at his crotch and shouted "suck it!" at you, sounding and looking enthusiastic.

You proceeded to start sucking on his dick while he stared at you.

Even though Bart always keeps a straight face on "Monday Night Raw", he used to smile and act like he as having a good time when he was in the Smoking Gunns tagteam with Billy Gunn.

While you sucked him off, of course he had to crotch chop at you twice while shouting "suck it" like the other men did.

Pretty soon, you took turns sucking on these wrestler's cocks while they stood in front of you and circled around you.

When you gave fellatio to them, sometimes your tongue licked up as well as around their shafts, licking up the precum that trickled down their erections.

Though, you're supposed to be sucking it, not licking it, though you're still giving head either way.

When you were busy sucking off these other wrestlers, Triple H exclaimed "My bazooka is locked, cocked and ready to unload!", complete with one of his hands making a chopping motion at his cum gutters, to which you would eventually suck on his cock, as well as sometimes quoted some of the sexual innuendo he used to say at the female audience on “Monday Night Raw” during his early DX days.

You also sometimes used the tip of their penises like a lipstick, rubbing their penisheads across your lips.

Strange, but oddly sexy.

You basically sucked their cocks until they officially came, not just having precum enter your mouth.

Wonder if Triple H and most of the WWF roster watched ECW in 1997 and 1998?

I know some WWF wrestlers got their starts in ECW; Mick Foley, the Dudley Boyz and Stone Cold are examples, and ECW crossed over in the WWF in 1997, but I wonder if Triple H and some of the WWF roster watched ECW in 1997 and 1998?

Why?

Because Al Snow debuted the character he'll always be remembered for, a schizophrenic who carried a severed mannequin head, in ECW during those years, and he was a massive favorite in that company, people in the audience holding mannequin heads.

Maybe you could've given oral sex to Triple H, Shawn Michaels, Billy Gunn, Jeff Hardy and maybe a few others in late 1997/early 1998 while they shout Al's iconic, signature catchphrase, before Al joined the WWF with the gimmick he'll always be remembered for.

Epilogue: a few months later as well as into the next year, you actually had a few orgies with Triple H, Shawn, Billy, Val, Bart and some hot wrestlers who joined the WWF like Jeff Hardy, Christian and Test, where they shouted Al Snow's catchphrase while you sucked their cocks.

When Al Snow and his mannequin head's popularity were increasing, you would walk to the ring in the WWF, some men in the audience would hold signs that said things like "I want head from y/n!" and "Everybody needs head from y/n!", as well as chant "We want head!" at you.

They also held signs like "Y/n, I'll let you SUCK IT!" and they'd crotch chop at you, shouting at you to "suck it", though men in the WWF were carrying and signs like that and shouting DX's catchphrase while doing their signature gesture at you even before Al Snow was in the WWF.

Just imagine if these horny men and teenage boys who write those kinds of signs saw what you did backstage with these wrestlers, they'd be in lust.

So much lust, they'd want you to suck their cocks while they shouted Al Snow and DX's catchphrase and did DX's iconic body language.

They probably do have sexual fantasies of that, as well as sexual fantasies of Sable, Debra, Terri Runnels, Sunny, Miss Kitty/Stacy Carter, Trish Stratus, and other wrestling women and maybe even a few non-wrestling female celebrities give them blowjobs while these hornballs shout Al Snow and DX's signature catchphrases and do DX's signature gesture.

During Thanksgiving at the end of the year 2000, you actually gave a blowjob to Al Snow while he shouted his iconic catchphrase, and Jeff Hardy, Christian and Test were there too, you gave them blowjobs as well.

Al had shaved his facial hair by then and looked so much cuter and hotter.

Triple H had grown some facial hair and was with Stephanie McMahon, although at least Trips didn't look as bad as he did in 2005/2006 when he had that handlebar moustache.

Shawn was barely in the WWF in the year 2000, Billy Gunn cut his hair at the end of the year, so did Val Venis.

Plus, since it was at Thanksgiving time, and Debra asked on a Thanksgiving themed "Monday Night Raw" if anyone would like some of her pie while she held up a pumpkin pie, of course you let Al, Test, Jeff and Christian have a taste of your pie and your legs, thighs and breasts.

You're not talking about pumpkin pie or legs, thighs and breasts from a turkey.

________________________________________________________________

I actually had wanted to post this fanfic on Christian's birthday (yes, the Jay Beso Christian), though I changed my mind when I saw a clip of Val Venis getting "bloodbathed" by the Brood, which gave me an idea to type the fanfic I posted on Christian's birthday.

Plus, the fanfic I posted on Christian's birthday starred him, whereas the fanfic I originally wanted to post on his birthday would mention him just a few times.

I originally wanted to set this fanfic when Al Snow was so over, there were several people in the audience holding up mannequin heads, but I set this fanfic when Al Snow was an up-and-coming wrestler.

[fuckerrd]

general tag drop

[gamergirl929]

The Boss VS The Man (Becky Lynch x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Hello you could do a one shot Becky X Freader, where the reader's ex girlfriend keeps teasing Becky every time they meet, until the day Becky loses her temper and challenges her ex to match (could be hell in a cell, and the ex is Sasha), after Becky's victory, the reader spends the rest of the night taking care of her and maybe with a hot conclusion .... sorry if it got too big

This one gets INCREDIBLYYYY smutty guys, you’ve been warned. ;) 

Becky crosses her arms across her chest, looking passed you at Sasha Banks who keeps her leering far from a secret as she eyes you from behind.  

“What’s wrong?” You ask, brow furrowed as you glance over your shoulder.  

Your eyes widen slightly as you realize Sasha Banks is grinning your way.  

You turn back towards Becky and take a deep breath.  

Ever since the woman had returned to the WWE, she’d done nothing but come for Becky, in the ring and outside of it, the woman insistently making comments to the woman about the relationship between the two of you and with Sasha being your ex and all... It made for an awkward situation.

You put your hands on Becky’s waist and pull her towards you with a small smile.  

“Ignore her.” You whisper as you bury your face in her neck.  

“She’s just jealous.” You whisper against her flesh and the woman grins as she closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of your hot breath against her neck.  

The Raw Women’s Champion pulls back only to lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips that has your heart slamming in your chest.  

You melt into the kiss when Becky’s nails scrape at the nape of your neck, something she quickly realized made you melt.  

While your relationship with Sasha lasted only a short amount of time, you and Becky had nearly 9 months under your belt, and you couldn’t be happier with the former Irish Lass Kicker.  

The two of you pull apart and you cup Becky’s cheeks, smiling as her eyes slowly flutter open and immediately lock with your own.  

“Go out there and kick ass.” You whisper and Becky grins before capturing your lips again.  

Someone clears their throat and the two of you pull apart, turning to find a nervous tech standing beside you.  

“Sorry Ms. Lynch, but you’re up.” He smiles before running away and you grin turning back to the woman.  

“Knock em dead.” You whisper as you kiss her lips and she grins.  

“You got it babe.”  

                                                         ***

You watch with a grin as Becky practically decimates her opponent, one Alexa Bliss.  

Becky grins as she holds her Raw Women’s Championship high above her head.  

“I hope Becky’s keeping my title warm.” You hear a nearby voice and glance behind you, not realizing a camera is on you when Sasha Banks takes a step towards you.  

You scoff.  

“You mean HER title?” You ask and Sasha grins as she takes a step towards you, closing the distance between the two of you.  

Your brow furrows and you take a step back, earning a beaming, cocky smile from the blue haired woman.  

“When I get MY title back, maybe you’ll see which one of us is the better option, the former Raw Women’s Champion, Becky Lynch...” She says, leaning forwards with a blinding, though malicious smile.  

“Or, The Boss and Raw Women’s Champion, Sasha Banks.”  

She winks before walking away, hips swaying back and forth.  

Your brows knit together in confusion and it’s then you realize that a camera is on you.  

“Y/N what was that?” Charly Caruso asks as she makes her way towards you, microphone in hand.  

You simply shake your head with a shrug and turn to the woman, bewildered.  

“I have no idea Charly.”  

Seconds later, you’re joined by none other than Becky Lynch, her dark brown orbs scanning the backstage area, obviously in search of Sasha Banks.  

The crowd in the arena cheers as she comes in to view, and you’re just now realizing the camera on you was broadcasting on the Tron.  

“Where’d she go?” She asks angrily and you slip your arms around her, pulling her back against your chest.  

“Hey, come on calm down.” You whisper and Becky shakes her head.  

“She can talk about the title all she wants, but she’s not treatin’ ya like yer some prize to be won.” She snarls and your eyes widen as Becky turns to Charly.  

“I’m officially challenging ya, Sasha Banks, to a match. You, me inside Hell In A Cell.” She shouts before turning, grabbing your hand and dragging you down the backstage hallway.  

                                                          ***

“Baby, come here.” You whisper as you reach for Becky, who’d been angrily pacing the room since she got out of the shower.  

Becky sighs as she turns to you and shuffles towards the bed.  

“Get in here.” You smile as you pull her into bed. She almost immediately scrambles into your lap and buries her nose in your neck as her legs wrap around your middle.  

You smile as she nuzzles into your neck, you never get tired of seeing the soft side of The Man that no one else, besides you, gets to see.  

You notice she’s clinging onto you tighter than she usually does and you frown.

“It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper as you place soft kisses behind her ear.

“I just can’t believe she talked to ya like that.” She growls into your neck.

“She’s trying to get under your skin.” You sigh as your hands run soothingly down her back.

One hand continues to run up and down her back, while the other slips to the back of her neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs at the base of her neck. 

Becky lets out a soft hum as she nuzzles into your neck and you smile.  

“I love you Becky... I love you and no one else.” You whisper as you turn her head and press a soft kiss to her lips.

“Now come on babe, let’s get some sleep.” You whisper and she sighs softly before vacating your lap, with much reluctance.  

Becky flicks off the light and crawls into bed beside you and you pull her back against her chest, her back against your front.  

You nuzzle into the back of Becky’s neck and take a deep breath as your hands move to rest on her exposed abdomen.  

“I love ya too Y/N.” Becky whispers into the silent room and you grin as you press a kiss to the bit of flesh behind Becky’s ear.  

“Sleep.”  

You smile when you feel Becky's breathing even out soon after, knowing that the woman was exhausted.  

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling the shampoo of the woman in front of you as you slowly drift to sleep to the sound of Becky’s soft snores.  

                                                          ***

The weeks leading up to Hell In A Cell are unfortunately, much of the same, promos cut by Sasha include you and how after her win she’ll not only take the championship from Becky, but you as well.  

That only lit a fire under your girlfriend, leading to many a beatdowns that had to be stopped by not only security, but also a number of the Raw Women’s Roster. 

The final Raw before Hell In A Cell couldn’t come sooner, but seeing as it was the FINAL Raw before the championship match, Becky was on her toes, ready for Sasha to not only run her mouth, but to possibly lodge an attack on the Raw Women’s Champion.  

Becky had your hand in a vice grip as the two of you moved around backstage, her dark brown orbs scanning your surroundings wildly.  

“Babe...” You whisper, giving her hand a squeeze and she stops, turning towards you.  

“What is it love?” She asks and you frown, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a secluded corner.  

“I need you to try and relax, okay?” You whisper as you cup your cheeks and Becky sighs softly.  

“I’m sorry...” She whispers as she leans into your touch. “She’s just, gotten into my head...” She frowns and you give her a small smile as you lean in, kissing her lips softly.  

“That’s exactly what she wants, she knows you can beat her, so she’s trying to rile you up so you make a mistake.” You whisper as you tuck a loose strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear.  

Becky lets out a sigh as you stroke her cheek with a smile, watching as The Man melts before your very eyes.  

You lean forwards and kiss her forehead, grinning when she lets out a soft content sigh.  

“Remember, whatever happens, I’m on your side, always.” You whisper as you nuzzle into her forehead and Becky beams as she leans up to press a soft kiss to your lips.  

“I wouldn’t ave it any other way.”  

                                                          ***

Much as you expected, both Sasha and Becky end up in the ring, nose to nose and angrily snarling at one another.  

“Y/N just settled for you because I left after Wrestlemania, if I had stayed, she’s still be in my bed and not yours.” She smirks and you shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose.  

“Jesus Christ.” You mumble, nostrils flaring.  

“And after I win, that’s where she’ll end up again.” Sasha sneers and you scowl angrily, turning and stomping towards the curtain that separates the arena from the backstage area.  

Before Becky can act, your music hits, filling the stadium as you march down the ramp, eyes locked on Sasha Banks.  

You slip into the ring, standing toe to toe with Sasha Banks, your eyes narrowed as you stare into her brown orbs.  

She brings the mic to her lips, but before she can even say a word you pull your hand back and punch her, sending her sprawling.  

She falls onto the canvas, holding her mouth as she stares at you with wide eyes.  

Becky walks over to you with a grin and kisses your cheek as she holds her title over her head.  

Sasha’s lip curls in a snarl as she stares up at you and you smirk as you take Becky’s hand and give it a squeeze.  

“Come on.” You whisper in her ear and Becky gives Sasha a cocky grin before she holds the ropes open and allows you to sleep out of the ring before following suit.  

You and Becky end up at the top of the ramp, fingers intertwined as Becky holds her title high above her head.  

Becky turns and the two of you share a chaste kiss, the WWE Universe cheering as the two of you head backstage, leaving an angry Sasha Banks in the ring.  

The second your backstage Becky pulls you into a bone crushing hug and you bury your nose in her sweet-smelling hair.  

“I’m sorry I came out; I just can’t stand hearing her talk like that.” You growl, smiling when Becky places a kiss to the bit of skin behind your ear.  

“I know Y/N. I know.” She whispers as she slowly pulls back, her arms wrapping around your neck.  

“Come on, let’s go somewhere more private.” She whispers, taking your hand and leading you through the backstage area to a more secluded area.  

She finds a dark corner and pushes you back against the wall before wrapping her arms around you and burying her nose in the crook of your neck, a position you know she loves.  

“It’s okay.” You whisper. “I love you Becky, and it doesn’t matter who has the title, though I know it’ll be you...” You grin when Becky lets out a chuckle.  

“But what I mean is, even if you lost the title, it wouldn’t matter, I love you Becky, you and no one else.” You cup Becky’s cheeks, pulling her back so you can look into her dark brown orbs.  

“I love you Becky, and only you.” You smile and Becky’s cheeks flush as she leans forwards, her lips pressing against your own.  

“I love you too.”  

                                                          ***

That evening you watch with a smirk as Becky slips out from beneath the covers the two of you had been sharing, the Raw Women’s Champion bare as she moves around the room.  

You let out a wolf whistle and Becky grabs, what happens to be your shirt, off the floor and throws it at you, smacking you right in the face.  

“Pervert.” She grumbles and you snort as you pull the shirt off your face.  

“Just appreciating the view.” You wink, only to be smacked in the face with a sock Becky throws in your direction.  

“You’re killing me love.” You chuckle as Becky stands at the end of the bed, her hands on her hips and an eye brow arched.  

“Oh, am I?” She winks and you swallow hard as she swaggers towards the end of the bed and crawls towards you.  

You mouth goes dry as Becky straddles your waist and you swallow hard, eyes locking with Becky’s dark brown, almost black orbs.  

“Maybe I could kill ya another way?” She purrs and you swallow hard, your eyes darting around her face.  

“Do tell.” You grin and Becky snorts as she slips off the bed and walks towards the hotel’s bathroom, hips swaying back and forth.  

You stay stock still, eyes wide as clear your throat, hoping to rein in your arousal. 

“Well?” You hear Becky ask, her head popping around the corner. “Ya comin?” She asks and you grin as you scramble off the bed and rush towards her, picking her up and throwing her over your shoulder before heading towards the shower.  

“Hell, yeah I am.”  

                                                          ***

It’s Sunday evening, you and Becky standing backstage, hand in hand as you wait for the Raw Women’s Championship match to begin.  

You give Becky’s hand a squeeze and the woman turns to you with a grin, you’d spent your week like you had your Monday night, together, well when you weren’t busy with WWE of course.  

You give her a wink and Becky chuckles with the beaming smile you know and love.  

“I love you.” You whisper with a smile.  

“I love you too.” Becky whispers as she turns to place a soft, feather light kiss to your lips.  

“I’ll be right back here, that is unless anyone tries to interfere, then I’m coming down there and kicking some ass.” You grin and Becky throws her head back with a laugh.  

“Easy tiger.” She winks.  

You lean forwards, your lips brushing the shell of her ear as you whisper.  

“Maybe tonight after you win, we can have a little celebration?” You purr, giving her ear lobe a soft nip, which earns a shiver from the Raw Women’s Champion.  

“I’m still sore from da week we had.” She grins and you pull back with a wink.  

You lean forwards, kissing her lips with a grin, only to be interrupted by none other than Charly Caruso, mic in hand and camera following her every move.  

“Sorry to interrupt the two of you.” She smiles. “But your match is next Becky, are you at all worried about facing The Boss, Sasha Banks?” She asks and Becky looks at you with a grin.  

You grin as you turn to Charly.  

“I think The Boss, should be the one who’s worried, she is facing The Man after all.” You smirk and Becky gives you a loving smile.  

“So, no Charly, I’m not worried. Sasha Banks is da one who should be worried when I make her regret everything, she said bout Y/N.” She grins and Charly nods with a smile as you pull Becky back against your chest, your chin resting on the top of her head.  

“And after that, Becky Lynch will still be your Raw Women’s Champion.” You grin.  

Becky looks up at you and you grin as you press a kiss to her forehead.  

You smirk when out of the corner of your eye you say a blue head of hair and can’t help but grin cockily when Sasha Banks turns towards you, though the malicious glint in her eyes has you stiffening.  

“See you after the match Y/N.” Sasha winks her eyebrow arching seductively as her music hits and she’s stepping through the curtain and out of sight, the camera on her the entire time before it turns to you and Becky.  

Becky growls, but before she can move you tighten your hold on her.  

“She’s trying to get under your skin, don’t let her.” You whisper and Becky takes a deep breath, her eyes shutting as she nods.  

“Okay, okay.” She whispers.  

As her music hits, she turns around pressing a quick kiss to your lips with a grin. 

“For good luck.” You whisper, kissing the tip of her nose and earning a grin before she steels herself and moves through the curtain and out into the arena.  

You rub your hands together and turn to Charly Caruso with a nod.  

“You’re not going out to ringside?” She asks and you shake your head.  

“This is Becky’s fight.” You give her a nod. “She needs to destroy the boss on her own.” You wink before turning and heading towards the nearest television monitor.  

Becky climbs into the cell and you rub your hands together again, swallowing hard.  

“Show time.”  

                                                          ***

After a number of chair shots, ladder shots, snapped kendo sticks and cuts courtesy of the steel cage later, Becky is standing tall atop the steel stairs, title in hand over her head.  

You make your way down the ramp with a grin clapping as you stare at your girlfriend proudly holding her title high.  

The second she sees you she’s out of the steel cage and leaping into your arms, her legs around your waist.  

You spin her around with a grin and kiss the side of her head, beaming proudly.  

“I knew you could do it.” You whisper in her ear and Becky laughs, pulling back to slam her lips against your own.  

The kiss is firm and sends the WWE Universe into a frenzy, one that has the two of you pulling apart considering you’re smiling too much to actually kiss.  

Becky drops down to the floor and you grab her hand before throwing your arm up, the two of your hands in the air as Becky holds the title in the air proudly.  

“I’m so proud of you.” You grin, earning another, gentler kiss from the Raw Women’s Champion.  

In the ring Sasha who’s now gotten her bearings is holding her arm tightly and glaring up the ramp at the two of you.

You send her a wink which only has the woman’s lip curling in a snarl and you grin as you lift Becky into the air with one arm, the Irish woman grinning as she holds her title high, her dark brown orbs locked on the blue haired woman in the cage.  

You place Becky back down on the floor and she turns to you, her back to the cameras as she presses another kiss to your lips.  

“Let’s say you and I go celebrate.” She winks and you can’t help the massive grin that splits your face in half.  

“You read my mind.”  

                                                          ***

After a number of interviews and some celebrating with the members of the WWE roster, you and Becky eventually make it back to your hotel room, both a little more than tipsy.  

You stumble into the hotel room, kicking the door shut behind you before backing Becky up into the hotel room’s door.  

Becky jumps up, throwing her legs around your waist as you begin placing hot, feverish kisses all over her neck.  

Becky groans, throwing her head back to expose more of her neck giving you the opportunity to latch onto her pulse point, nipping and sucking at the skin until it’s a dark shade of purple.  

“Hope that can pass as a bruise.” You snicker and Becky rolls her eyes as she cups your cheeks and pulls you into a fierce kiss.  

The second Becky’s tongue pushes passed your lips and brushes against your own you let out a groan that has Becky moaning into your mouth, her hips rolling into you.  

Becky mumbles something into your mouth and you reluctantly pull back with a grin as Becky lets out a whine.  

“What was that?” You ask and Becky growls as she rolls her hips into you again.  

“Fuck me.” She groans, throwing her head back as she rolls her hips harder, faster.  

You grin as you back her up back against the hotel room’s door and Becky growls.  

“Guess you’ll have to be quiet.” You smile as you lick up her neck, the woman in your arms shivering.  

Reluctantly, Becky’s legs slip from around your middle and her feet settle on the floor before she’s turned around, her front pressed against the hotel room’s door.  

Becky let’s out a moan when your hand slips up her shirt and cups her breast through her bra.  

“Y/N...” She moans softly as you knead the flesh of her breasts before tweaking her already stiff nipples.  

You hum into her ear as you nip and suck at the bit of flesh behind it.  

As you give her other breast equal attention you drag the fingers of the other hand down her stomach before reaching the hem of her jeans.  

“P-Please...” She sighs and you grin, taking pity in the Raw Women’s Champion and unbuttoning her pants before slipping your hand inside.  

You hum out a moan when you feel the already gathering wetness in the woman’s panties and she whines as you push against the damp fabric.  

“You’re already ready for me...” You whisper and Becky nods, gasping as you lightly press against the fabric, that continues to only get wetter and wetter.  

“You’re so wet...” You sigh and Becky arches her back, hoping to get some type of friction from your teasing fingers.  

“Patience.” You murmur and Becky whines.  

You smile as you watch Becky lovingly, grinning when the first swipe of your fingers against her clit has her groaning loudly.  

“Fuck.” She groans as you nip at her ear lobe.  

“Shhhh, don’t want anyone to hear us.” You purr as you set a relentless pace, your fingers rubbing tight, fast circles against the soaked fabric of Becky’s panties.  

Becky braces her hands on the wall on either side of the door as you mercilessly play with her clit.  

You give her clit a pinch and Becky turns, biting at the sleeve of her own shirt to keep herself from moaning.  

Your fingers toy at her entrance and Becky groans, attempting to lower herself down onto your fingers.  

“So impatient.” You whisper as you give her clit another pinch and this time, she cries out.  

“Please.” She cries and you shush her softly. She turns her head and you press your lips softly against hers.  

You smile when Becky tries to chase your lips, kissing the tip of her nose when she pouts.  

“I love you.” You whisper against her lips and Becky grins.  

“I love you too.”  

You gently push her panties aside and slip a finger inside of her, watching with a grin as her eyes roll back and she inhales softly, her mouth dropping open.  

Your eyes lock as you start a slow pace, your finger slipping in and out of her tight channel.  

“M-More...” She sighs, biting at her bottom lip as you slip another finger inside of her.  

“AH... Ye-yeah...” She moans softly as you curl your fingers inside her and pull them out at a faster rate than before.  

Becky attempts to slip her hand down the front of your pants but you shake your head, grabbing her hand and pinning it beside her head.  

“No, no. You move your hand and this stops.” You tease and Becky growls in frustration, that growl turning into a moan as you slip a third finger inside of her, the stretch causing her to gasp.  

Becky turns her head, dark brown nearly black orbs locking with your Y/E/C ones as you slam your fingers into her.  

Becky’s brow is furrowed, her mouth opening and closing with silent moans as she begins bouncing on your fingers.  

“Oh fuck, right there.” She grunts as her hand leaves the wall to slip around tangle in the hairs at the base of your neck, a move you’ll let go, for now.  

She gives your hair a tug and you groan curling your fingers inside her.  

“Fuck, do that again.” She moans out as you pound your fingers into her, curling them in just the right was that your fingers dig into the place deep inside her that makes her shudder and shake.  

“I’m gonna...” She tightens her grip on your hair and you groan.  

“Cum baby.” You whisper and Becky does just that, her body stiffening for a moment before she starts to shake and shudder.  

You slam your lips against hers, swallowing each and every sound that tumbles from her parted lips as she cums.  

You help her through her powerful orgasm and reluctantly, slip your fingers out of her, earning a soft grunt from the woman.  

Becky leans heavily against the door, both panting softly.  

The moment Becky turns around in your arms, you bring your fingers to your lips and suck them clean.  

“Damn it, Y/N.” She mumbles before pulling you into a hard kiss, her tongue slipping into your mouth. She lets out a groan as she tastes herself on your tongue.  

You grip the hem of Becky’s shirt and she immediately holds her arms up, giving you the opportunity to rid her off the garment.  

Next is her bra, which you surprisingly have unhooked and on the floor before her shirt even hits the hotel room’s floor.  

You duck your head, to nip and suck at Becky’s exposed breasts as you push her back and pick her up, sitting her on the table resting against the room’s wall. 

“Ya plan on fuckin me all over da room?” She giggles as you drop to your knees and pull her shoes off before ridding her of her jeans and panties.  

“You’re damn right I do.” You smirk when you, without warning, dive between her legs and lap at her clit relentlessly.  

“Oh fuckkk...” Becky whines as she tangles her fingers in your hair and pulls you closer, her head thumping against the wall as she leans back.  

She moans loudly when you hitch her leg up and over your shoulder.  

“Fuck... I can feel ya smiling...” She shakes and you grin as you nip at her clit.  

Your tongue slips inside her and Becky cries out as you wiggle your nose back and forth across her clit.  

“Oh!” Becky cries out when two of your fingers slip deep inside her and your tongue laps excitedly at her clit.  

Becky cums hard moments later, groaning, shaking and shuddering as pleasure shoots through her, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, and her head thumping on the wall behind her.  

You hear a thump on the other side of the wall and laugh as you move to your feet and wrap your arms around Becky, picking her up and laying her down on the bed behind you.  

“Sorry!” You call out and turn to the bed with a grin where your dazed girlfriend is laying.  

You fall into bed beside the bare woman, still clothed, both of you panting, her from exertion, you from laughter.  

Becky is still breathing heavily when she rolls on top of you with a lengthy yawn.  

You grin, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, before rolling the two of you over, you now hovering over the bare woman.  

“You’re wearing too much clothes.” Becky says as she tugs at your shirt and you smirk.  

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” You smirk cockily, a brow arched and Becky gives you a shove, sitting you up and grabbing the hem of your shirt.  

She tugs it over your head and throws it behind her before unhooking your bra before tossing it out of sight.  

She presses sloppy kisses to your chest before pulling you to the edge of the bed and standing up to strip everything off of you from below the belt, leaving you entirely bare.  

Though when she tries to climb in the bed, you lift her up and place her on another one of the hotel’s tables with a grin.  

“I told you, I plan on fucking you all over this room.” You grin and Becky’s back arches as you duck your head down and take her nipple between your teeth.  

Becky moans, throwing her head back as you knead and play with the mounds of flesh on her chest, tweaking, nipping, and sucking at her pert nipples.

“You know...” You whisper against the stiff bud as you pull away from the woman’s breast. “I brought something for this very occasion.” You wink and Becky’s eyes widen as she watches you riffle through your suitcase.  

You turn around and Becky shivers when she sees the familiar strapless dildo in between your legs.  

You spread her legs, standing between them with a grin her arms slipping around your neck as she pulls you closer, her lips meeting yours in a firm, sloppy kiss.  

Becky inhales sharply when she feels the tip of the dildo prodding against her dripping wet sex.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask worriedly and Becky smiles as she spreads her legs further before leaning in and giving you a soft kiss.  

“No, don’t stop.” She whispers, her forehead resting against your own as you look down at the appendage between the two of you.  

“I’ll go slow...” You whisper as you pull Becky closer, her legs hanging from the table as you press the tip of the dildo against her.  

Becky shivers as the tip slips into her tight channel and she whines softly when you rub the tip against her clit.

You look at her uncertainly and she leans up, kissing your forehead before nodding her consent.  

“I’m okay.” She whispers as she leans her forehead back against your own, the two of you watching as you slip the dildo nearly all the way in, Becky throwing her head back, brow furrowing as she gets use to the fullness.  

You run your nose along her jawline, peppering the sharp edge with kisses that have Becky smiling.  

“Are you sure you want to do this? I understand if you’re to ti-

You’re cut of when Becky wraps her legs around your waist and pulls you closer, the toy slipping into her the rest of the way.  

Your irises darken as you stare at the woman who’s biting her tongue between her teeth. She leans towards you, her lips brushing your own as she whispers.  

“Now, fuck me.” She smiles as she nips at your bottom lip and you groan.  

Slowly, you slip the dildo out before thrusting it back into the woman, earning a breathy moan from Becky who’s arms skip under your own, her nails digging at your back.

You start a slow rhythm slipping the appendage in and out of Becky, who can do nothing but moan and sigh as the toy slips deeper and deeper into her with each thrust.

“Oh god, Y/N…” Becky whimpers as you thrust harder into her.

“F-Fuck…” Becky cries, throwing her head back aa you pull the toy all the way out before rutting back into her.

Becky digs deep ridges into your back as you thrust into her, her breasts bouncing slightly with each thrust.  

You bury your face in her neck, grunting as your own release creeps up on you, the toy rubbing against you in just the right way.

“Fuck Becky…” You sigh, the woman shivering as you brace yourself on the wall behind her, allowing you to thrust deeper into her.

Becky’s brow furrows, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream as she orgasms.

The shuddering and shivering of the toy inside her stimulates your clit to the point that you’re cumming too with a raspy groan.

“Yes…” Becky sighs as you pant against her neck, your body twitching slightly after such a powerful orgasm.    

“I never expected ya'd be dat good with dat thing.” Becky breathes out, her accent thick and you grin.  

“Well, maybe after we’ve taken a break, I can show you what else I cab do with it.” You arch a brow with a smirk and Becky groans.  

You smirk as you again lift Becky, though this time you’re sliding the door to your balcony open and sitting down, pulling her into your lap.  

“What if someone sees us?” She whispers through clenched teeth and you smirk.  

“It’s secluded enough, I suppose you just have to be quiet.” You wink as you grab the dildo, stroking it once, twice before you place your hands on Becky’s waist.  

“Do you want to keep going?” You ask with a wink and Becky’s pink tongue swipes against her bottom lip before she’s hovering over you and holding the dildo in her hands, lining it up with her soaked entrance.  

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when she sinks, impaling herself on the toy. She buries her face in your neck, grunting softly as the toy fills her.  

You let out a groan as the toy shifts deep within you when your girlfriend settles in your lap.  

You run your hands up her abdomen slowly, tracing her defined muscles with your fingertips before you get to her breasts.  

You squeeze and knead the flesh as Becky begins rolling her hips into you.  

You lean forward, burying your face between her breasts and biting at the soft flesh, leaving teeth marks in your wake.  

“Fuck Y/N.” Becky sighs as you nip at an erect nipple, earing a breathy moan from the woman who now begins to bounce in your lap.  

You throw your head back, clenching your teeth to stave off your groans as the strapless dildo drags against your most sensitive spot inside you.  

Becky’s breasts bounce with each roll of her hips, and Becky leans forwards, burying her face in your neck.  

“Oh Y/N...” She whispers as she rolls her hips, shifting the toy within you and dragging deliciously against your clit. She places her hands on the back of the chair on either side of your head as she throws her head back, her bouncing slowing.  

You grin as you slap her ass, earning a loud whine from the woman who bites down on your neck, hard, to muffle her moans.  

“Jesus.” You hiss as Becky bounces harder, faster, her hips rolling each time the toy is fully inside her.  

The toy shifts within you and you groan, your release about to wash over you.  

Becky grabs your face roughly and slams her lips against your own, tongues sloppily swiping at one another as she crashes over the edge.

“Oh my god... Yes. Yes. Yessss.” Becky whines as her body shakes, her brows furrowing in pleasure as her thighs quake.  

“Go-Goddamn I’m... I’m going to...” You growl out, your own body shuddering as you cum moments after her.  

Becky watches you with her dark brown, basically black orbs her tongue swiping at her lips as she watches you come down from your high.  

You lean back, eyes closing as you pant hard.  

“Fuck that was...” You mumble tiredly and Becky grins as she leans down, kissing and nipping at your neck.  

“Fantastic?” She whispers as she licks up your neck to your ear.  

“How’s it feel? Da toy so deep inside ya?” She purrs in your ear and you bite you lip, brow furrowing as Becky slowly rocks her hips.  

“F-Fuck...” You stammer as the toy shifts, rubbing against your front wall.  

Becky’s hand slips between your bodies where she begins toying with your clit, rubbing small, tight circles over the over stimulate bundle of nerves.  

“Right, right there.” You growl as Becky ceases her bouncing and focuses on your clit.  

Suddenly she stops all movement and you let out a needy whine, that is until Becky lowers herself back onto your lap, straddling you, the dildo now pressed against her clit as she rolls into you, the toy dragging against your clit and g-spot at the same time.  

“Ye-Yeah...” You moan as Becky kisses you, lips meeting gently as your nethers roll wildly in search of another release.  

This time, release comes much too early for your liking, the stimulation of your clit rubbing along the toy with each roll of Becky’s hips and the toy dragging against your inner walls send you crashing over the edge, throwing your head back with a rather lengthy groan.  

Becky peppers sweet kisses to your neck as your body shakes your body tensing as you cum. Becky whispers sweet nothings in your ear as your body twitches, she continues to rock gently helping you come down from your high before she stills, slipping the strapless dildo out of you.  

You gasp as the toy slips out of you, panting heavily as you grin.  

Becky buries her nose in your neck, panting heavily as the two of you take a  

“I’m gonna be sorer from this than da match…” She mumbles and you grin cockily.

“After I’m done with you, you’ll be limping down to the ring.” You wink.  

And true to your word, the following night Becky is waking gingerly down to the ring, aching from everything but her match the night before.

I’m curious to know if you guys enjoy the smuttier fics like this one... 

[wistfulcynic]

Self-Promo Sunday: Four Christmases

Merry Christmas everyone! I wrote this fic last year for CS Secret Santa so I thought I’d share again. Enemies to friends to lovers with family moments and ice skating!  

SUMMARY: When Emma Swan first meets Killian Jones at her sister’s Christmas party, she is not impressed. Over the course of the four Christmases they spend in each other’s company, Killian does his best to change her mind. 

On Tumblr: The First | The Second | The Third | The Fourth

On AO3

-

THE FIRST: 

They say first impressions are important, and Emma had always been a believer in this. It was essential for her job; if the skips weren’t convinced that she was there for a date with them, they’d never fall into her honey trap.

Of course, in her line of work she never spent enough time with anyone for there to be a second or third impression, so the first was pretty much all you got.

Her first impression of Killian Jones, formed about two hours into Emma’s sister Mary Margaret’s annual Christmas party, was not favourable. Of course she noticed his handsome face with its bright blue eyes and very kissable lips, but at the moment of their meeting those eyes were fixed on the naked breasts of her friend Ruby as the lips descended to latch onto her nipple and suck it hard as Ruby leaned back against the bathroom sink and moaned.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” shouted Emma.

“Ems!” shrieked Ruby, pushing Killian away and yanking up her dress.

Killian turned to glare at her, clearly displeased by the interruption. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he growled. “Barging in like this…”

“‘Barging in’? To the bathroom of my own apartment?”

He regarded her more closely, interest sparking in his eyes as he took in her habitual honey-trapping outfit of tight red dress and sky-high heels, her blonde hair in loose curls tumbling down her back. (“It’s— maybe a bit much for a friendly Christmas party?” Mary Margaret had said, but Emma knew that if she were going to survive a whole night with her sister’s very friendly friends then she needed her armour very much intact.)

“Ah, you must be Swan, then,” said Killian, his blue gaze now fixed on her as though Ruby and the party and the entire rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Emma Swan, yes.” She resisted the urge to squirm under his intense regard. The accelerated heartbeat and sudden hot flush across her skin she attributed to outrage. She simply wouldn’t allow them to be due to anything else.

“And do you not knock on bathroom doors here in your apartment, Emma Swan?” he inquired mockingly.

“I did knock,” hissed Emma, unconsciously moving closer to him. “You clearly didn’t hear me.”

“Well, I was rather occupied, love,” he said with an arrogant smirk that made her blood boil.

“I am not your love!”  

“No, indeed. Although that could certainly be remedied, should you wish it… Swan.” His smirk turned lascivious as he leaned into her space, his gaze roaming her body. His tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip and Emma actually shivered, suddenly overcome by images of that tongue and those lips on her skin.

What is wrong with me?

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed.

“Bit harsh, love.”

“Coming on to me in front of your— of the—” she gestured angrily at Ruby, who had been watching the interplay between Emma and Killian with extreme interest.

“Chill, Ems, it was just a bit of fun,” she said, “I took the opportunity to get some hot pirate action, but now that you have completely killed the mood, I’ll be getting back to the party. Maybe another time, Captain.”

“Aye, love,” replied Killian, his eyes still locked with Emma’s.

Ruby shook her head and squeezed behind Emma to get to the door, forcing her to take another step closer to Killian, who favoured her with a smile she would have found charming on a man she didn’t loathe.

“Now then, Swan, care to pick up where she left off?”

“I would rather rip out my own fingernails,” she retorted, the breathiness of her voice revealing the lie of her words. Why couldn’t she breathe?

He laughed, completely unperturbed. “I’d heard you were a tough lass.”

“Woman.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lass means girl, right? I’m not a girl.”

The smirk returned. “That you certainly are not,” he purred, his voice dark and velvety and dripping with sinful promise.

There was that shiver again. Emma ground her teeth, struggling to think over the pounding of her heart, barely aware that she was biting her lower lip and shifting on her feet, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to quell the tingling between them. What the hell was happening? There was no way she could be physically attracted to this jerk.

Killian closed the remaining distance between them, leading with his hips, one thumb tucked under his belt. With the other hand he reached up to grasp a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.

“So what do you say, Swan…” Maybe, she thought wildly, maybe I could… just this once… “…shall we see just how much of a woman you are?”

And the spell was broken.

Ugh, he was the worst, and now she was furious. Furious with him for ruining his gorgeous face by being such an asshole, with herself for being prepared to overlook it. How could she ever have even considered letting him touch her?

Quick as a flash, she grabbed his hand from her hair and whipped him around, twisting his arm behind his back, smiling in satisfaction at his grunt of pain.

“I would not fuck you,” she hissed in his ear, “If you were the last man on earth and the last hope for continuing the human race.” She wrenched his arm higher. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” he replied, through clenched teeth, “You needn’t press the point, Swan.”

She released him, and he immediately stumbled away from her, wincing as he reached up to massage his shoulder. He turned towards the door, twisting the knob and opening it a few inches before suddenly pausing and closing it again.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

He turned to look at her for the first time since she’d released his arm, his expression free of suggestion or innuendo. Instead he looked… ashamed?

“My behaviour just now, it was… uncouth. Bad form. I apologise.”

“Oh.” She had not been expecting that. “Uh, fine. Thanks. Still not gonna fuck you.”

The smirk returned, this time merely a wry twist of his mouth, an eyebrow slightly quirked. “I’d never dream of suggesting you would,” he said. “See you around, Emma Swan.”

And with a small, slightly mocking bow, he was gone.

She saw him several more times that night, watched him actually, if she was honest, as he chatted and laughed and charmed his way through her friends and acquaintances. She waited for him to slip up, to show them the nasty, leering side of himself she’d seen in the bathroom, but he never did. In fact, they all seemed to love him.

It really pissed her off.

“So who is this Killian guy anyway?” she asked Mary Margaret when they went to the kitchen together to get drinks for everyone.

“Uh, he’s a friend of David’s.” Mary Margaret was distracted, trying to remember all the drink orders.

“Yeah, but how do they know each other? They seem… kinda different.”

“They met during David’s year abroad. You remember he studied in London? Killian was there too, I think they met in a pub or something.”

“Yeah, he seems like the kind of guy to hang out in pubs,” said Emma, wrenching the cap off a bottle of beer with perhaps slightly more force than was strictly required.  

Mary Margaret gave her an odd look. “Killian is definitely a character, but David says he was miserable in London before they met. Killian helped him feel more at home, introduced him to his friends, invited him to parties and stuff. He’s really a nice guy, Emma.”

Emma snorted. Nice guys didn’t come on to strange women in bathrooms.

“David’s been trying to get him to Storybrooke for Christmas for years now, but he’s always busy. He has to leave again tomorrow, actually. Something to do with his work.”

“What does he do?” Why was she interested?

“I don’t know exactly, he works on some kind of ship. Modern piracy, or something, David said.”

Ruby had called him a pirate too.

As she helped Mary Margaret carry the drinks, Emma found her attention drawn back to Killian, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa talking to… well, everyone, it seemed. He was telling a story, illustrating it animatedly with his hands —nice hands, she noticed, damn it— obviously coming to the punch line just as she arrived because the entire room burst into laughter.

Emma gritted her teeth as she handed him a beer.

“Thank you, Swan,” he said, with a polite smile. She nodded brusquely and turned away. She did not stomp off. She didn’t.

“So you’ve met Emma then,” said David.

“Aye, though I fear I’ve made rather a poor first impression,” Killian replied.

“Yeah, that’s not hard to do. Emma can be a bit prickly. She wasn’t my biggest fan at first either.”

“She’s Mary Margaret’s sister, you say?”

“Half sister, yeah. It’s a sad story. Their dad had a fling with Emma’s mom right after Mary Margaret’s mom died. When Emma’s mom found out she was pregnant, she freaked out and ran away. Their dad tried to find her, but she’d completely disappeared. Emma was found abandoned on the side of a road when she was less than a day old, and no one ever saw her mother again. She got swallowed up by the system then, spent years in foster care before their dad finally tracked her down.”

“Bloody hell.”

“You said it.”

Killian watched as Emma distributed drinks to the rest of the guests. Although she wasn’t unfriendly, her body language was decidedly closed off and unwelcoming, a clear warning to anyone who might try to get too close. Yet she couldn’t quite hide the yearning in her eyes as she watched the easy way the others interacted. She wanted affection, he realised, longed for intimacy, she just couldn’t open herself up to it, couldn’t bring herself to let anyone in.  

Fascinating.

He wished he could tell her that he understood, that he’d also been abandoned by a parent, and that after his brother’s death followed closely by his girlfriend’s he’d closed himself off from people too. It was hard to let anyone in when your only experiences with intimacy had ended in loss and betrayal, no one understood that better than he. Unfortunately, he feared he’d destroyed any chance to connect with her before he’d even really known he wanted to.

Killian kicked himself mentally for what must be the hundredth time in the past hour for having been such a boor in the bathroom. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

Although no, that wasn’t quite true. The problem was that he hadn’t been thinking. At least, he hadn’t been thinking with his brain. With his body already worked up by his dalliance with Ruby and his wits dulled by alcohol he had simply not been prepared for Emma, for the sharp green eyes that had pierced clear to his soul even as her soft gold hair had begged for his fingers to sink into it and pull her mouth to his. Immediately Ruby and the party and the fact that they were in the bloody bathroom had flown right out of his head, leaving only Emma and the hitch in her breath that he could feel on his cheek, the way her eyes had darkened as she bit a bright pink hue into her lower lip completely overwhelming his common sense and all his filters.

Oh, and he was a complete arse. That hadn’t helped matters either.

If only he didn’t have to leave early the next morning, he thought in frustration. Given enough time, he might be able to salvage the situation —salvaging wrecks was his job, after all— but instead her negative opinion of him would only solidify in his absence, and she’d probably spend the rest of her life thinking he was a creepy jerk.

He had no idea why this troubled him so much. All he knew was that he’d never felt so drawn to a woman before; even beyond the sexual attraction he sensed a kindred spirit in her and he couldn’t bear the idea of her despising him. Even if they never saw each other again.

He managed to speak to her once more, as he was leaving the party. She had fetched his coat for him (at Mary Margaret’s request and clearly under protest, he couldn’t help noticing), and he allowed his fingers to brush hers, lightly, as he took it from her.

Her sharp intake of breath and the way she snatched her hand away was balm to his soul. Whatever else, she wasn’t indifferent to him.

“So, you’re leaving tomorrow,” she blurted out, as he was shrugging the coat on.

“Aye. I have to get back to work.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

“Much of my work is… time sensitive. And I’ve no family anymore, so there’s not much point in taking the time off when I’d just be spending it alone.”

He had no idea why he’d told her that.

Perhaps he just wanted her to know that he too knew what it felt like to have no one.

Understanding and a hint of sympathy flashed across her face. “You could spend it with David,” she said, in a friendlier tone. “The holidays, I mean. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Aye, so he keeps telling me. But I don’t wish to impose.” He hesitated a moment before adding “Perhaps next year.” He zipped up his coat and slung his satchel over his shoulder, then turned and smiled at her, offering his hand. To his surprise, she took it.

On impulse, he lifted hers to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, licking her lips as she did, and Killian cursed the gods and the fates, and his own idiot self for ruining whatever chances he might otherwise have had with this woman.

“Happy Christmas, Emma Swan,” he said.

-

[luxexhomines]

You have an amazing writing style!!! I hope more people find your blog but I also hope you don't get too stressed about it :) I was hoping for an imagine with kokichi, saihara, kiibo, and chihiro with a male s/o that gets into trouble for crossdressing too often? Good luck with your blog! I'd love to talk to you one day!

First of all, thank you so much, sweet sweet anon!! I deeply appreciate the kind wishes and words. I’d love to talk to you sometime, too! Feel free to send me a message or another ask any time. I’ve had a sudden influx of requests today, which I suspect is due to saishuhara, so if the mod for that blog is reading this, please take my thanks! That was basically a promo when you reblogged my post, haha. I managed to get two of them done today, which is pretty good for me, personally. Requests are still open for now! Although I got around six of them just today.

Secondly, I wasn’t sure when you said that the male s/o gets into trouble for cross-dressing too often whether you meant the reader got in trouble with the character or a third party, so I kind of did both. Hopefully, this is okay! Also didn’t do bullet points…if you don’t mind… and it’s a bit cheesy!Icon credit to danganwlw!

Without further ado, here you are, under the cut bc it’s long:

Kokichi, Saihara, Kiibo, and Chihiro x Male S/O that Gets in Trouble for Crossdressing Too Often

Kokichi Ouma

Of all things to walk in on today, he was not expecting to see a high school girl with a white dress shirt tucked neatly into a plaid skirt, her legs stuffed in thigh-high black tights.

But he didn’t blink or freeze. It was a normal occurrence by now, after all. He strolled on over to the girl and tapped on her shoulder as she sat at the cafe table by the window, dreamily staring out into the streets.

“Hey, I’m here now. Did you order yet?”

She shook her head, her hair shifting slightly as she did so.

“No, I was waiting for you.”

Kokichi sighed inwardly. Again, with that voice, too. But he didn’t comment, only lifted the menu to take a look at the selection of items. He could see the girl shrinking in her seat out of the corner of his eyes, and decidedly to pointedly ignore her and try to make her squirm some more.

What? This was a classic case of boys bullying the girl they like, you say?

Except for one thing.

The high school girl was, in fact, a boy. It was hard to believe, looking at his softly curving lips and slightly sloping chest, or even the delicate shape of his face. But without a doubt, Kokichi knew his s/o was a boy, even if he chose to dress like a girl all the time.

Kokichi set down the menu with a loud snap as it hit the table, and his s/o winced.

“So, are you ready to order?”

You reached to your collar and adjusted the ribbon around your neck nervously, avoiding Kokichi’s direct gaze.

“A-Are you mad at me?”

Kokichi was stolid before offering an apathetic expression as he looked at his trimmed nails.

“No. What gave you that impression?”

You sighed, your shoulders sinking miserably.

“You’re lying, aren’t you. Why are you mad at me?”

He looked back at you, and his dark eyes, shimmering with something you couldn’t quite make out–irritation? disappointment?–bore into you.

“Why do you think, my dear s/o?” Without waiting for an answer, he plunged forward. “Because I’m dating a very handsome boy, yet somehow only this girl always shows up for our dates. She’s pretty, sure, but she doesn’t match up to my boyfriend in the least.”

Your head droops as you slump in your seat, looking away from those eyes.

“I… Sorry. I feel better when I’m dressed like this,” you whisper, feeling shameful.

Kokichi reaches across the table and grabs your hands in his, tugging on them lightly.

“Look at me, s/o.”

Your eyes meander up the white buttons on his uniform and meet his eyes.

“Yeah?”

You can feel him squeeze your hands warmly as he says his next words, a rare display of genuine, pure affection.

“I’m not saying you can’t crossdress or that there’s anything bad about it. I just want to see my boyfriend make an appearance once in a while. Is that so wrong? You’re beautiful both ways, but I like you better when I see you in yourself.”

When was the last time you heard such honest words from him? No beating around the bush or overt lies, just the truth. You supposed this really did matter to him. And knowing that you, the plain you, was wanted just as much or maybe even more than the female version of yourself was unbelievably comforting. You felt your eyes water slightly as you nod shakily.

“Okay, Kokichi. I’ll come to our dates dressed as myself in the future.”

Kokichi seemed to gain an idea upon hearing you say this, and you swear you saw a lightbulb pop up above his head and a pair of devil horns grow on his head.

“Why don’t we go dress you as yourself now?” he smirks.

He drags you off to your home, and stumbling into your bedroom, he pulls off your clothes with almost childish excitement, plum eyes vividly glowing with amusement.

“Wait, Kokichi! Not there!”

You can imagine what happens next, smexy times or a comforting show of love & affection!

Shuichi Saihara

Shuichi was out on a date with his boyfriend. At least, he was pretty sure the beautiful girl walking beside him was his boyfriend.

Shuichi didn’t really mind the cross-dressing, but he did feel on edge whenever someone catcalled you because it was completely possible that someone could follow you home or attack you, even though it hadn’t happened yet.

“So–wait, Shuichi. Are you listening to me?”

Your voice, pleasantly in the countertenor range, interrupted the detective’s thoughts. He opened his mouth to reply but was promptly stopped by the sight of a delinquent sliding an arm around your shoulders. He could feel his senses bristling with danger and anger.

“Hey, sweetie… If your boyfriend isn’t paying attention to you, why don’t you come and spend time with me, instead? I’ll make sure to pay plenty of attention to you,” the guy leered, and Shuichi had to stop himself from throwing a punch at the man Kaito-style.

“Please take your hands off of my boyfriend,” Shuichi gritted his teeth.

You both saw an expression of confusion overtake the man’s ugly features as he grimaced.

“Wait, did you say boyfriend? Do you mean to say that this girl is a cross-dressing pervert?” But before either of you can say a word, he continues speaking. “Nah, you must be trying to throw me off the trail. I’m not going to let go of such a good catch so easily,” he licks his lips, and you shudder as you slip out from under his arm, grabbing Shuichi’s arm tightly.

“I’m a ‘cross-dressing pervert,’ as you put it. If you don’t believe me, I’ll take off this shirt in front of you,” you reply, glaring at him ferociously.

Your reply doesn’t faze him, and he just smiles, unbelieving.

“Then show me.”

You let go of Shuichi and rest your hands on your shirt, ready to pull it off of you, but Shuichi’s hand rests on your own, to stop you and in order to protect you.

“He doesn’t have to prove anything to you,” Shuichi says. You’ve never heard his voice like this before: dark, unforgiving, cold.

The guy stares at Shuichi hard, but seems too pusillanimous to do or say anything in response to Shuichi’s hard tone of voice, and walks off.

You feel yourself let go of a breath you’d been holding, and Shuichi lets go of your hand, creating a strange emptiness inside of you.

He turns away and starts walking away, so you jog over to catch up.

“Thanks for protecting me, Shuichi,” you say gratefully. But he doesn’t respond, and his gold eyes seem much more turbid than usual as he continues walking forward forcefully.

When you call out his name, he doesn’t respond, only keeps walking, and you can only follow after him like a lost puppy. He felt so distant from you as he stormed ahead of you, less than a foot away physically, but so far away in heart and mind.

Finally, the two of you enter your shared apartment, and once inside, you tap him on the shoulder lightly. He turns to face you, and you see what he’s been hiding from you.

Shuichi’s eyes are full of conflict and sorrow, and the corners of his lips edge down as his eyebrows slant toward the center of his face in exasperation.

You’re afraid to look at him, but you do, anyway.

“I-I’m sorry, Shuichi,” you stumble over your words as you wring your hands anxiously. “I didn’t mean to get us in trouble, honest…”

His features soften, and he steps toward you.

“I’m not mad at you, really. It’s just that I’m tired of worrying about you being followed home by some stalker or being attacked by a creep. I feel like the level of danger you’re put into elevates when you’re dressed as a girl,” he says quietly.

You nod, and involuntary tears come to your eyes.

“D-Does that mean…” your lower lip wobbles, and you try to regain control as you wipe away a tear. “Does that mean you want to break up with me? Because you’re tired of me?”

He shakes his head almost immediately, placing firm hands on your shoulders.

“No! That’s not what I meant at all. I just wondered if maybe we could compromise and have you dress normally now and then. I worry about you, even more, when I’m not with you,” he replies, a note of desperation in his voice.

“Okay, Shuichi,” you sniffle. “I’ll crossdress less, then. I don’t want to make you worry any more than this, and getting into situations like that isn’t fun, either.”

He lets his arms fall to his side, and you embrace him, leaning into him and taking in his scent. Clean, with a hint of soap and mint. His voice buzzes warmly in your ear when he speaks.

“I love you, s/o.”

Kiibo

Kiibo didn’t really understand why you crossdressed so often, but he knew it made you happy, and that was all he really needed. That is until you got in trouble with the teacher for cross-dressing to school almost daily.

“What have I said about school uniforms and properly adhering to the dress code at school?” your teacher asked strictly. Well, rhetorically. “This is unacceptable behavior. If you come to school dressed as a girl one more time, it won’t just be detention this time. You’ll be suspended from school for at least two weeks.”

You pouted, pursing your pink, glossy lips defiantly.

“Why must I conform to social norms? I’m not harming anyone by cross-dressing, so I don’t see why it’s such a problem!”

Your teacher smacked a textbook down on the desk in front of you, making you jump in your seat in alarm.

“It’s indecent, young man! This is where you learn to be a working member of society, and you’re doing a pretty shoddy job of it right now with your tomfoolery.”

You crossed your arms, annoyed.

“I can be a working member of society while cross-dressing! I’m the person who gets the highest grade in this class; I always set the curve, and I clean up the classroom when my classmates are too lazy.”

Your teacher only pushed up their glasses.

“Regardless. You must come to class tomorrow in the mandated attire. You’re dismissed now.”

You nearly leaped out of your seat, and ran out of the classroom with your bookbag, almost running straight into Kiibo’s metal frame.

“Whoa! Sorry, Kiibo. Are you okay?”

The robot nodded.

“Perfectly fine. I suspect bumping into me would cause you more damage than it would to me,” he states matter-of-factly.

You laugh, carefree despite just being lectured by your teacher.

“Sure would! Where should we go hang out today? My house?”

Kiibo agreed, and walked with you to your house, listening to your idle chatter.

However, when the two of you sat in your bedroom and you ranted about being scolded for cross-dressing, Kiibo interjected.

“Sorry to interrupt, but why do you crossdress every day, anyway?”

You hadn’t expected such a direct question from Kiibo. Then again, you supposed all of Kiibo’s questions were to the point. You ran your fingers through your hair nervously.

“Well… It makes me feel better about myself. And it’s fun to dress as someone else.”

Then Kiibo asked the question.

“Why do you need to feel better about yourself?” he questioned.

You were about to answer, but Kiibo continued talking. “The way I see it, you are already more than good enough. You as your normal self is better than any girl you could crossdress as, even if it is fun. You could crossdress on your own personal time if you just wanted to do it for enjoyment.”

Taken aback, you don’t respond for a moment, only staring at the robot. At this, Kiibo flusters, his blue eyes averted from yours.

“Did I say something weird? Sorry, s/o…”

You shake your head, an abnormally joyful grin spreading across your face like Nutella across toast.

“Nope. I think that was just what I needed to hear, Kiibo.”

You stretch your hands out and take his own metallic hands in your own warmly, and Kiibo flushes red.

“W-What are you doing? Is this what humans call a reward?”

You chuckle at his innocent question.

“Naw, I just did it ‘cause I felt like it. Because I love you so much, Kiibo,” you smile radiantly, your eyes sparkling with delight and affection for the roboboy sitting in front of you, who was currently blushing an even deeper red.

“Sometimes I wish Professor Igarashi hadn’t installed blushing functions on me, so I wouldn’t be so transparent… But it does make me feel more human, so I like it. I can feel my love for you more deeply this way.”

Chihiro

It wasn’t uncommon for you and your boyfriend to be mistaken for a pair of girlfriends when out and about, especially seeing as both of you crossdressed almost all the time. And now was one of those instances.

A pair of those grody guys were hitting on the two of you, telling you two that they could give you a good time and inching way too close for comfort. Polite rejections didn’t work, and you were rapidly losing your temper.

Then one of them put their hand on Chihiro’s shoulder, and that was the final straw. You lost it and flew at him in a rage, punching him solidly in the jaw, and you swore you could feel your knuckles bruising as the guy staggered back. They threw dirty looks at you before leaving the scene, the man clutching his jaw.

“Shall we go home, s/o?” Chihiro asked, looking worried as he glanced between your furious face and the furiously red knuckles of your fist. “I think it’d be best to ice your hand.”

You grind your teeth, thinking about how you hadn’t wanted those goons or your temper to ruin this date, but acquiesce, seeing his anxious face. You knew Chihiro definitely wouldn’t be able to relax or enjoy the date if he was worried about your hand.

“Let’s go, then.”

On the walk back, you rant to Chihiro about the men, and he pitches in here and there but seems too distracted by your injury to make a meaningful contribution to the conversation.

Once home, Chihiro has you sit down on the couch in a surprising show of firmness, and in a flurry leaves and returns with a first aid kit, which he opens to reveal cloth bandages with space for ice that he’s brought in a box to ice your knuckles. He’s quiet as he works, and you don’t want to distract him from treating your injury, but you feel the need to say something.

“Hey… I’m sorry I ruined our date. I was really hoping to spend more time with you outside, doing something fun together,” you say softly, feeling guilty.

He raises his head from his kneeled position in front of you, and you see surprise and equal amounts of guilt on his face.

“It’s not your fault… I’m sorry, too. If we weren’t both cross-dressing like that, maybe they wouldn’t have stuck to us for so long.”

You shake your head, tightening your mouth into a line before opening it to reply.

“Don’t apologize for their brash behavior. You know what? I think I’ll dress normally more from now on. I want to be able to protect you before it comes to me punching some jerk in the face.”

Chihiro blushes momentarily, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well, but I don’t want you to have to compromise like that, either. Although I’m honored you’d do something like that for me.”

You smile affectionately, and put a hand to his face, cupping his cheek and placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“It’s not a compromise if I’m doing it for you. You know I’d do anything to protect you, and I’ll be less on edge too this way.”

He smiles back shyly.

“If you say so. Thank you, s/o. You’re too good to me.”

[kalluun-patangaroa]

Suede: All That Glitters

England’s new Band of the Century hits a glam slam

Rolling Stone, May 27, 1993 

By Steven Daly 

Photo by Denis O’Regan

Brett Anderson puts his bare feet up on a Columbia Records conference table and rakes back his lank fringe. Suede’s gaunt frontman wonders why no one back in balmy London troubled to mention that he’d be arriving in New York on the heels of an early spring snowstorm. In the corner of the room, a pair of sodden moccasins pays mute testament to his climatic misjudgment.

As befits its neo-glam reputation, this month’s English Band of the Century travels with only carry-on luggage. Suede’s glamour, though, is of a distinctly seedy stripe. Anderson’s leather bomber jacket is peeling quite badly, and his black needle cords have seen better days, while bass player Mat Osman’s pin-stripe jacket, desert boots and suede appliqué shirt are equally unlikely to spawn a collection of designer rip-offs.

With its triptych of instantly classic singles – “The Drowners,” “Metal Mickey” and “Animal Nitrate” – Suede announced a changing of the guard in British music, powerfully confirming it with a debut album, Suede, of formidable grace and authority. Anderson’s sterling writing partnership with guitarist Bernard Butler lends much-needed gravitas to the singer’s arch vocal style, a pained cockney whine that recalls London pop lineage from the Small Faces and David Bowie through the Sex Pistols. If Suede has done anything to deserve the mark-down tag of glam, it has been introducing the post-acid-house generation to pelvic posturings.

The trajectory that dumped these threadbare dandies in New York has been a sharp one. Brett Anderson grew up in Haywards Heath, a glorified stoplight between London and Brighton, and after the standard-issue alienated adolescence he lit out for the bright lights of the capital with fellow Smiths buff Osman. They placed a small ad seeking a guitarist for their “eminently important band” and reeled in Butler, at 22 three years their junior, who was later joined by drummer Simon Gilbert.

The nascent Suede slogged around lowly London stages until its penchant for preening drama got the band members laughed out of town. They slunk off to spend the last half of 1991 in squalor, a siege mentality shrouding intense bouts of writing and rehearsal. “We started out with the idea that we wanted to be in a great band, but it was a while before the musicianship caught up,” Anderson now admits. “We began listening to classic songs like ‘A Day in the Life,’ more for their sense of elegance than anything specific in the chord structures.”

When Suede emerged, the turnaround was alarming: Melody Maker anointed it Best New Band of 1992 before one new song had been committed to vinyl. So strong was the avalanche of media that the band’s publicist garnered an industry award for “campaign of the year.” For once, though, the press hype has a toehold in reality.

“We’d have been birched on the streets of Bermondsey if people didn’t think we’d got it after that,” says Anderson. “But it was the new year, and people were getting bored. London was overrun by these shoegazing bands, and there was a feeling of ‘I’ve had enough of this. . . .’“

And sure enough, the nation was soon gripped in the throes of Suedemania. The band’s turn-on-a-dime dynamics not only counterpoint Anderson’s falsetto flights, they put a jut in his strut that provokes followers to hysterical displays of worship at live shows. So violent are these reactions that Suede has actually had to tone down its stagecraft of late.

“This group appeals to people who are isolated in some way,” says Osman of Suede’s dramatic rise. “Geographically or socially or sexually or fashion-wise.”

“Or biologically,” says Anderson with a laugh. “I think there’s a section of music lovers in Britain who are in certain dead-end situations who flock to certain sentiments in music. And I think for that to happen, the artist has to have felt them themselves. That’s probably where a lot of the Smiths comparisons came from. I think there’s a parallel to be drawn.

”One early Suede convert was in fact Morrisey himself, who sent the group perfumed regards before covering its stately, decadent anthem “My Insatiable One” (from the B side of Suede’s first EP, The Drowners) on his world tour. Like Manchester’s Nabob of Sob, Anderson has been the subject of intense sexual speculation. An oft-quoted – and much-regretted – remark about being a bisexual man without homosexual experience only furthered an impression given by lyrics slathered with NC-17 imagery, where a third person of transient gender nibbles freely at the whole carnal buffet; now he leers, “She’s a luvverly little numbah!” (from “Moving”) and now “we kiss in his room to a popular tune” (“The Drowners”). Before you can say, “It’s Pat!” this switch-hitter is imploring, “Have you ever tried it that way?” (“Pantomime Horse”).

“I think I’ve got scope as a writer, so not everything I write is completely autobiographical,” explains Anderson thoughtfully. “I feel vague when it comes to where I stand sexually; I don’t know what to say – I’m willing to be persuaded, whatever.”

In a climate clogged with infantile techno-novelty records and TV-marketed oldies, Suede has rushed through the British charts like a hormone shot – even if no one knows which type of hormones. As one of the most subversive stars ever to taste Top Ten action, Anderson’s seamy subconscious terrain bears greater resemblance to the world of, say, the Sixties playwright-provocateur Joe Orton than it does to the lazy lexicon of contemporary rock, with its calcified sentiments of indolence, infatuation or “rebellion.”

“My mind has always been much more encased in reality than that,” says Anderson. “And the reality that everyone knows involves a certain amount of sexual failure. Not everyone’s stomping ground is Venice Beach – I can’t think of anything more boring than Baywatch set to guitars, which is how a lot of music treats the idea of sex.

“Most music is lazy; it speaks in pop-speak, prodding your memory about things you’ve heard before,” Anderson adds. “I’ve never wanted to write like that. I wanted to do something with a bit of tension, look at things through different perspectives. It’s the Oscar Wilde thing of lying in the gutter and looking at the stars. Life has always been cinema to me, even when I’ve been sitting in the dole office. That’s the only way to do it sometimes.”

The following afternoon sees Suede visiting the influential alternative radio station WDRE in an office block in suburban Long Island. The band is, it seems, coming to terms with the New York weather. Six-and-a-half-foot Osman has scored some inexpensive socks at J. Chuckles, while Anderson has economically stuffed a plastic bag inside his shoes.

Suede might find America’s cultural climate a little harder to accommodate. Several U.S. record companies tend, bizarrely, to set their clocks by British hype (Suede’s reputed $500,000 Sony pact is unexceptional), as does a significant cohort of media Anglophiles. When the bicoastal greeting parties are over, however, things can get a little sticky. The freeways of the Midwest are littered with the bones of pale, snaggletoothed hopefuls who came to grief on America’s punishing concert circuit.

As Osman takes the Columbia promo man’s rental Ford Taurus for an unscheduled spin around the DRE parking lot, he muses. “We’re completely aware that we’re a bunch of insects over here compared with even Screaming Trees or Soul Asylum,” he says, “a horrific thought, but one we recognize.”