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yannawayne · 7 months ago

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not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce.

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor.

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream.

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air.

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest.

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy.

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles.

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged. He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind.

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said.

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope.

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear.

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you.

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate.

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face.

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

#requests are welcome!#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #kinda lackluster TT #bruce wayne #batman

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aeraminth · 7 days ago

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fluff - mention of sex + marriage + pregnancy - 700 wc //

“good mornin’ sweetheart.”

caleb brushes hair out of your face, watching the sunlight’s rays shimmer on your cheekbones and decorate your lips with radiance. you slowly adjust to the morning sun, your eyes trailing to the clock on the nightstand. it’s set a few minutes early—something your husband can’t find out about, or else he’d be late every time he stops to kiss you before he leaves.

you’re a few minutes ahead of schedule, and caleb’s ready to savor all of it. he marvels at the adoration in your eyes, and the way they flutter shut when his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. he can’t tear his eyes away from how you lean into his touch, your bodies tangled under the blanket as you let him hold you without fear.

it makes his heart beat a little faster, and he feels his ribcage tighten with the sight of your loving gaze only for him. you reach out to fix some of the hair that threatens to obstruct his line of sight, and he can’t help but fall even deeper for you the more you dote on him. he sees the glint of your wedding band sparkle in the sun, and he wonders what you'll look like as a mother. in due time, caleb thinks.

“you should get up—big day ahead of you, colonel.” you like to use the nickname on him sometimes, and it’s his reminder that you trust him to protect you. and as your husband, he’s devoted to doing just that.

he murmurs under the early glow of the day, not wanting to ruin the gentle domesticity of his time with you. “keep sleeping, love. i’ll get ready.”

he knows that you won’t listen. he knows that you still slip out of bed, often with his shirt or a thin robe on, meeting him in the shared bathroom of your home to place a slow, meaningful kiss on his shoulder blade. he knows that you’ll sometimes tell him to lean down, taking the comb from his hands to fix the yanking and tousling to his hair from the night before. you pay the memory of intimacy no mind, but caleb’s cheeks dust pink and his mind strays to darker places when remembers the way your body responds to him, completely jelly in his strong arms.

you slip away to the kitchen, getting a glass of water and opening the blinds to welcoming the light into the living space. before he gets dressed, however, he makes sure to flip a stack of three golden pancakes, smeared with apple jam and oozing with honey. with a kiss on his cheek and compliment to his cooking from you, caleb retreats to your room, coming out minutes later with two things in his hand.

it’s ritualistic, how you grin at him with that utterly heart-wrenching smile of yours and take quiet steps in your slippers to reach for his tie. a loop here, and a couple tugs and tucks later, he’s all set, the fabric perfectly in place as you put on the pin from the fleet as a final touch.

“and your hat, colonel.” you say softly, reaching for it. he lets you run your fingers through his hair (as if he doesn’t already let you do anything else you want to him) and secure the cap, taking a step back to give him one last final look.

his gaze holds a softness only reserved for you, one that you can never resist as you lean up to kiss him before he leaves. you’re carefully not to mess up your hard work, so instead of pulling at the collar of his white button up like how you do when you undress him, your hands loop around his neck. you only pull away to push at his nose teasingly, smiling once again to tell him he needs to hurry. “can’t be late again because of me. you can only tell the fleet you were saving a cat so many times before they start to question things.”

with mirth in his laughter, he chuckles quietly—so so enamored and amazed and in love with you.

“come home early this time, yeah?” and your voice is hopeful, your cheeks warm with embarrassment from asking so much from him.

“always, sweetheart.” and caleb never breaks a promise.

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neil-gaiman · 1 year ago

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I'm sorry Neil, although I love your writing and agree with your opinions on most subjects I have to disagree with you on the writers' strike. No-one should have a more privileged life as a result of being clever and creative. I worked from the age of 15 to the age of 65 in low-paid jobs, taking 1 year off to go to drama school and 3 years off to get a fine art degree. I worked in terrible but necessary jobs, labouring, stacking boxes, unloading trucks, running errands, filing, going to work on a bicycle at all hours of the day and night on shift work in all kinds of weather. Even when I was a student I was still working in part-time cleani8ng jobs and even during periods of unemployment I worked in volunteer jobs for charities and social services.

According to Mensa I have an IQ of 160 and according to Plymouth University I have a BA hons in Fine Art but I cannot accept the idea that writers and other creative people should avoid normal jobs like driving an "Uber" or working in an office/shop/factory/construction site. To accept that idea would be to create a new aristocratic class when we should abolishing the old princes and aristocrats.

What we need, I feel sure, is a redistribution of labour so that everybody who can do so would spend some time each year in blue collar work and everybody who can would get higher education and a chance to make art of one sort or another.

The idea of doing other jobs to supplement writing or drawing shouldn't be seen as a terrible thing, a punishment or a suffering. Sharing the jobs around should be seen as normal.

I mean, I've done my half century of sweat labour and it didn't hurt me too much. I'm retired now and still making art of various kinds and I've never asked anyone to pay me for any art piece I've made. making art, writing, drawing etc. is the fun stuff which we get to do in exchange for the blue collar stuff which puts food on the table.

The worst pop song ever written was Sting/Dire Straits song "Money for Nothing" which ridicules the working class from a position of educational privilege.

So what's my question? My question is: What's wrong with a writer doing other jobs to make ends meet? Sounds perfectly fine to me.

Nothing's wrong with a writer doing other jobs to make ends meet. Writers and artists have been doing that since the dawn of time. Actors too.

But by the same token, there's nothing right about assuming that writing isn't a blue-collar job, or that writers and other people who make art can only make it for love and that thus they need other jobs to subsidise their craft.

I like living in a world in which the people who make the things that make the world worth living in get paid for their work. For me, that includes the people who make films and TV, books, art and music and comics.

Having spent a lot of time on film and TV sets, it's a blue-collar world on set, and everyone is working long and hard to make the shows you love. I'm never going to suggest that the riggers or the gaffers or the make-up team or the focus-pullers should drive ubers in order to have the privilege of being on the set and working there.

Or to put it another way, from the most blue-collar writer I ever knew...

youtube

#wga strike #wga strong

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dksfml · 3 months ago

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Love 119 [Part Two]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part one] [part three]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: enemies at work, lovers at home. secret dating. jungwon is hot when jealous, suggestive, fluff summary: your coworkers think that you and niki look cute together while jungwon, your boyfriend is literally standing next to you and it's driving him insane. word count: 3.5k author's note: hey everyone! as promised, i'm here to serve another paramedic jungwon brainrot because it's not fair to just devour this cutesy alone. enjoy and leave some notes <3 read part 1 first and reply if you want to get tagged for the next parts!

You’re midway through a lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria when your coworker leans in, voice low and eyes gleaming with intrigue. “So…” she starts, drawing the word out slowly, “who’s the lucky guy?”

It takes you a second, but the question sinks in just as she tilts her head, nodding toward your neck with a smirk. Your hand instinctively rises to the spot Jungwon’s lips had claimed last night, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—a parting gift as you’d curled up together, something you didn’t think twice about until now.

A blush surges to your cheeks. “What? Oh, no, that’s… I scratched it too hard,” you say quickly, heat rising not only from the surprise but the memory of last night—Jungwon’s sleepy grin, the way he’d pulled you close, whispering in your ear as he pressed soft kisses down the curve of your neck.

“Sure you did,” she teases, crossing her arms as her smirk widens. “You’re going to need a better excuse than that. So… is it Niki?”

“What?” you laugh, the idea so out of the blue it’s almost comical. “Niki? Why would you even think that?”

She shrugs, the smugness on her face never faltering. “You always have a soft spot for him. You never scold him like the rest of us. Plus, everyone’s seen the way he hovers around you in the halls, he’s clearly smitten.”

Your eyes widen at the notion. Niki, your young, eager junior who fumbles his way through shifts and who you can’t help but look after because he’s new and a little too starry-eyed for his own good? It’s laughable. “It’s not like that,” you manage, shaking your head. “He’s just… young, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” she says with a knowing chuckle. “Sure, if you say so.”

Before you can protest further, your phone vibrates. Glancing down, you find a message from Jungwon: a photo of his lunch, neatly arranged with a sweet message beneath it. “Eat well, ily.”

The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip, and you feel an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You quickly swipe away the notification, hoping she didn’t see the smile or the faint hearts in your eyes.

The day unfolds in the usual rush of patient check-ins, chart updates, and emergency calls. You busy yourself to the point where the cafeteria conversation drifts from your mind—until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the break room mirror and spot the faint outline of that now-infamous hickey, the concealer having barely managed to mask it. You tug your collar higher, hoping to hide it through the rest of the shift.

The afternoon in the ER has been a blur of movement and urgency, leaving you barely a moment to breathe. Every time an ambulance pulls up, your heart skips a beat, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’ll be Jungwon walking through those doors.

But each time, it’s someone else, and you return to the steady rhythm of your work, instructing Niki at your side as he follows your lead. Despite the tense environment, he’s attentive and focused, learning from you as he manages each step of the patient’s treatment with remarkable ease.

Afterward, you and Niki head back to the department office, the adrenaline settling as you both chat lightly, unwinding from the chaotic pace. As you enter, you spot Jungwon down the corridor, heading the other way with a stack of documents.

It’s almost comical how, even amidst the bustling hospital, his presence stands out so starkly to you. For a split second, he glances your way, and the fleeting moment feels charged, pulling your attention and making it impossible to look away. But as soon as your eyes meet, you glance down, hoping no one notices how that brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

Once back at your desk, you feel your coworkers’ eyes on you, their curious glances flickering between you and Niki. You try to brush it off as nothing, settling into your usual seat, with Niki across from you. Just as you’re starting to sift through some files, Jungwon’s familiar stride enters the department office.

His easy confidence fills the room, and he greets everyone with that understated charm, heading to a nearby colleague to ask for specific documents. You’re not even looking at him, but his presence is impossible to ignore. You focus on your papers, hoping that looking busy might steady your nerves, but the pages blur in front of you, your mind too distracted by the fact that he’s just a few steps away.

Then, just as you’re juggling a pile of documents, you accidentally knock over your iced coffee. The mostly empty cup clatters over, spilling what’s left onto your coat. The moment the coffee splashes onto your coat, Niki and Jungwon are both at your side in an instant. Niki’s quick to pull out a box of tissues, while Jungwon silently holds out a pristine handkerchief, a touch of annoyance already flickering in his gaze.

Caught off-guard, you instinctively reach for Niki’s tissues, leaving Jungwon standing there with his handkerchief, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches you dab at the stain.

Your coworkers notice the scene and immediately latch onto it, their laughter filling the room. "Oh, come on, you two," one of them teases, grinning at the pair of you. "Why don’t you just date already?”

Another chimes in, "Yeah, it’s obvious there’s something going on. I mean, look how attentive Niki is—always ready to help you out."

You wave them off, laughing it away, but the teasing only grows louder. Someone else playfully nudges Niki. "What’s next, bringing her coffee in the morning?"

Niki laughs, scratching the back of his head, visibly flustered. "Come on, guys, we’re just… coworkers," he insists, though his blush only adds fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, you can feel Jungwon’s gaze on you, sharper and more intense than ever. His silence speaks volumes; the usual relaxed confidence he carries seems to be tinged with something harder, a jealousy that simmers just beneath the surface. It unsettles you, tugging at something guilty inside as the teasing around you grows.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps forward to you, interrupting the chatter with a clipped tone. "Enough with the tissues,” he says, leveling his gaze at you, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Stop fussing with that coat—you’re only making it worse. Change into something clean, or the smell will stick with you all day.”

The room falls silent, your coworkers exchanging amused glances. You roll your eyes, unwilling to let him get the last word.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Practicality. I can handle a few drops of coffee,” you retort, folding your arms and meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of your chin.

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

"Right, because dealing with a coffee stain is something you’re well-prepared for," he says dryly, folding his arms to match yours. "Clearly, practicality isn’t your strong suit."

You scoff, refusing to back down. "And since when did you become an expert in coffee stain management? It’s barely noticeable, and I’m perfectly fine with it."

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, the challenge sparking between you both as he leans in just a fraction, his voice lower. "Just because you’re fine with it doesn’t mean everyone else is." His eyes flick down to the stain and then back up to yours, a knowing glint in them.

Your coworkers are watching with raised brows, amused but also visibly intrigued by the tension between the two of you. "Are we interrupting something?” one of them jokes, breaking the silence. "Honestly, the way you two bicker is like a married couple."

The comment makes you blush, but Jungwon doesn’t flinch. Instead, he holds your gaze, his smirk deepening. "At least one of us knows how to handle these little emergencies,” he quips, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something raw behind his eyes—a hint of jealousy that only you can catch. The way he’s looking at you, there’s no mistaking it: he’s anything but amused by the teasing around Niki.

But before you can respond, Niki steps forward, awkwardly placing his coat over your chair. “Um, here,” he says, clearly trying to ease the tension. “You can wear mine for now if the coffee’s bothering you that much.”

The room erupts into more laughter, someone nudging Niki with a grin. "See? He’s a gentleman. Really, you two should just make it official."

Another coworker teases, "Or maybe they already have, and they’re just not telling us."

Jungwon’s expression hardens as he watches the exchange, his eyes narrowing. His gaze flickers from Niki to you, a frustration simmering beneath his calm facade.

You feel the tension growing, an almost tangible weight of jealousy in the way his jaw clenches, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

Finally, he speaks up, cutting through the laughter with a controlled but slightly irritated tone. "Enough of the matchmaking." His gaze falls pointedly on you, something possessive flickering there, though he masks it quickly. "And you should change. That coffee smell won’t just vanish."

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to back down. "If it bothers you so much, why don’t you bring me a change of clothes yourself?"

"Thanks," he says shortly, taking the stack of paperwork with a polite nod. He turns back to you and your coworkers, offering a quick, “See you all later. Take care, everyone.” His voice is casual, but as his gaze lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer, you feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

With that, Jungwon strides toward the door, his usual self-assured calm back in place. You watch him leave, but just as he reaches the exit, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, your pulse quickening as you read the message from him:

“I have something you can change into in the back of the car.”

It’s simple, yet there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You glance up just in time to catch Jungwon’s silhouette disappearing down the hallway, feeling the tension of the moment linger in the air long after he’s gone.

The rest of your shift rolls by with its usual demands, and you brush off the incident from earlier, deciding against getting the change of clothes Jungwon offered. By the time you finally clock out, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the nearly empty parking lot. Just as you step out of the hospital doors, Jungwon’s car pulls up in front of the exit.

You feel a small smile tugging at your lips as you walk over and slip into the passenger seat. “Hey,” you greet him, but his focus remains straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel, his paramedic uniform clinging to his form. The sight of him in that navy blue uniform, complete with the badge and patches, usually makes your heart race, but today his expression is unreadable. A flicker of surprise hits you. Jungwon, who is usually quick with a playful remark, doesn’t even turn his head as you settle in, leaving you feeling a bit deflated.

You tilt your head, watching him closely, noticing the slightest crease of annoyance in his brow. With a slight pout, you try breaking the ice, “So, how was your day?”

He answers, but his tone is clipped, barely more than a few words. "Busy. The usual."

You blink, feeling a hint of tension in the air. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes or filling the car with easy chatter, but now he’s focused on the road with a seriousness that feels almost uncharacteristic.

Leaning back in your seat, you give him a sideways glance. “Is this about the clothes?” you finally ask, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Are you upset I didn’t change into them?”

A quick denial. “No,” he says, a bit too fast, but still refusing to look your way.

You can’t help but smile a little, noticing his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t sound like you’re not upset,” you tease, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.

“I’m not upset,” he repeats, but he’s biting his lip, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead as if he’s hyper-focused on the road. His brow furrows, and he lets out a soft sigh.

“Come on, Jungwon, it’s cute when you sulk,” you say, your smile widening at the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly, revealing his irritation in the most subtle way.

This finally gets a reaction. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing just a little. “I’m not sulking,” he mumbles, but the denial lacks its usual conviction.

“You look pretty sulky to me,” you murmur, enjoying the rare moment of catching him off guard.

Just then, the car comes to a stop at a red light, and you glance over to find him holding a long breath, his expression somewhere between frustration and fondness. The tension in the air shifts slightly as he turns his gaze towards you, and in that moment, you feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his right hand gently on your lap, rubbing small circles with his thumb. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, igniting that familiar spark between you two. It’s a simple gesture, yet it feels so intimate, especially with the way he’s staring at you as if he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say out loud.

He resumes driving as the light turns green, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his voice softens, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the usual bravado. “I’m not upset,” he assures you, though the sincerity behind his words hints at something deeper, something he’s wrestling with beneath the surface.

You can’t help but smile at him, the weight of his earlier mood lifting slightly. “Then what’s with the whole silent treatment? You know you can just tell me, right?”

Jungwon shakes his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face despite his mood.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, his voice maintaining a lightness that’s undercut by an earnest edge. “I don’t want to be the guy who gets all worked up over people assuming you and Niki are a thing.”

You bite your lip, the realization sinking in that his jealousy is more about their perceptions than the spilled coffee earlier.

“Well, I’m definitely not dating Niki,” you reply softly, trying to ease his tension. “He’s just a good coworker. You know that.”

He glances at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile as he focuses back on the road.

“Good,” he mutters, his hand still gently rubbing your thigh, sending tingles coursing through you. The intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race.

He passes another intersection and accelerates, the car moving smoothly through the streets.

“But you know,” you continue, trying to keep the mood light, “if you were just a little quicker with your offer, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this teasing.”

Jungwon lets out a soft chuckle, the tension in the car easing slightly. “I thought I was quick enough,” he says, a playful tone returning to his voice. “How was I supposed to know you’d be so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Me? Never,” you tease, rolling your eyes dramatically.

He shakes his head with a laugh, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh, a subtle reminder of the unspoken bond between you two. As he navigates the streets, the silence stretches comfortably, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic.

“Hey, you should know,” you add after a moment, “if you want to make sure I’m not wearing Niki’s clothes, maybe you should just… keep me in yours.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Is that your way of saying you want me to dress you?”

“Maybe,” you reply coyly, biting your lip again, the playful banter making you feel bold.

He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls into a quiet parking lot. “You really know how to make me feel like I’m the jealous one, huh?”

“Just speaking the truth,” you say, leaning back into the seat, enjoying the rhythm of the moment.

As he turns off the engine, the atmosphere shifts slightly, the playful banter fading into a more intimate silence. Jungwon finally meets your gaze, his expression earnest. “Just so you know, it’s not about Niki. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I want to be the one you lean on, the one you trust.”

Your heart swells at his confession, a warmth spreading through you. “You are, Jungwon. You’re the one I always want to lean on.”

He smiles, a genuine light returning to his eyes, and in that moment, everything feels right.

When you arrive at your apartment, Jungwon opens the door for you, the familiar scent of your space washing over you. As soon as you step inside, he follows closely behind, and before you can even set your bag down, he closes the door and turns to face you.

In an instant, the air between you shifts. Jungwon steps forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. You barely have time to react before he captures your lips with his in a deep, passionate kiss that takes your breath away. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you and the electric tension that crackles in the air.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that surprises you, and you feel your heart racing, responding instinctively as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his mouth coaxing yours open as he explores the sweetness of your taste. It’s intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the moment, your worries and doubts melting away.

In the midst of the kiss, he breaks away for just a moment, breathless and looking down at you with those soft eyes. “I can still smell the coffee,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You giggle, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the reminder of the earlier incident making you giddy. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan for that to happen,” you reply, your voice teasing but breathless.

“Maybe I should get you a proper change of clothes next time,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. But then he adds, more seriously, “You should probably take those off; the smell will cling to you.”

His suggestion sends a thrill through you, and you find yourself biting your lip in excitement. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want me to take them off?” you tease, your heart racing as you lean closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He chuckles softly, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish,” he admits, his breath ghosting over your skin as he moves in even closer.

With a playful grin, you decide to indulge him. “Fine, but only if you do too,” you say, your fingers finding the buttons of his uniform. You start to unbutton it, your hands trembling slightly with anticipation. Each button that comes undone reveals more of his toned physique, and your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him.

As your fingers glide over the fabric, Jungwon watches you, his expression a mixture of desire and admiration. “You know, this might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” he murmurs, his voice low and enticing.

You finally push the uniform off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. In that moment, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intimate. He captures your lips again, and you feel the heat between you both intensify as you pull away the last barriers that had been keeping you apart.

Just when you think it can't get any more intense, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he admits, his breath mingling with yours, creating a palpable tension that thrums in the air.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice teasing yet filled with warmth.

“You know I can’t let everyone find out I’m dating the hottest doctor in the hospital, or else…” he argues, a playful grin breaking through his earlier seriousness.

“Oh, please,” you bite back with a smirk, playfully nudging him. “Like they wouldn’t notice that the ‘sexiest and charming paramedic’ is completely smitten.”

With a smile that could light up the room, you lean in for another kiss, feeling the world around you fade away once again as you get lost in him.

[part one] [part three]

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wolfythewitch · 5 months ago

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Typing into Google: if someone is electrified and metal collar brands them and gives 2nd degree burns, and then healed magically, and then electrified again. Will the resulting burn also be 2nd degree. Do burn damage stack in this hypothetical situation

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butchpillowprince · 1 year ago

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Butch4Butch Porn Catalogue

Written erotica

The Holy Grail, required reading: George's Boi by greyhyms on AO3 - butch/butch, Daddy kink, stone butch

Set in Stone: butch on butch erotica (2001) at openlibrary.org

The entire Jess/Lupe A League of Their Own tag on AO3

Sinclair Sexsmith - butch4butch and butch4femme: website

Orlando Silver - butch4butch and T4T: Substack

Dev Ill/thedevilisadyke: AO3

kind to be cruel - butch/butch - dignification kink, Daddy kink

bad guy - butch/butch - sadism and masochism, blood play, bondage

in the alley - butch/butch/butch - orgasm control, pain kink, public sex/in an alley, Daddy kink, Sir kink, threesome

fangs4fur - butch/butch - vampire and werewolf, breeding kink, pain kink, blood play, sadism and masochism

Bite, Burn, & Sting - butch/butch, needle play, pain kink, piercings, genital piercing, Daddy kink, impact play, masturbation

Solder & Flux - butch/butch, power bottom/service top, hatefucking, enemies to lovers, pain play, Daddy kink, knife play, blood play, gagging

Smoke and Flame- butch/butch, smoke play, marijuana, Daddy kink, choking

Forgive Me, Father - butch/butch, blasphemy kink, masturbating in a confession booth, wax play, spanking

dykediaries: Literotica

Bois' Night - butch/butch, a friend helps a friend get over a breakup

Meet Me After Work? - butch/butch, a butch gets picked up by a customer at their job

One Night Stand - butch/butch, two butches get set up on a blind date

Reconnecting - butch/butch, two old transmasc friends meet up post-transition

Welcome Surprise - butch/butch/femme, threesome, a butch/femme couple incorporate another butch

basicbutch: Literotica

Arm Wrestle - butch/butch - The reigning arm wrestling champ at the dive bar meets her match.

One Bad Night - butch/butch - A terrible night out results in unexpected romance.

(my stuff) Leo Wilder/ butchpillowprince: AO3, website, instagram, linktr.ee

Yes, Sir anthology (paperback, ebook)

Coming Home novella (paperback, ebook)

Charlie & her friends series

Poker Game - butch/butch/butch/butch/butch/butch group sex - Charlie and her friends play poker and find a new way to place their bets.

Halloween Party - butch/butch/butch/butch/butch/butch group sex - Charlie and the gang throw a Halloween party and play truth or dare.

Camping Trip - butch/butch/butch/butch/butch/butch group sex and three butch/butch pairs - Charlie and her friends go on a camping trip together after the Halloween party.

New Year's - butch/butch/butch/butch/butch/butch group sex - Charlie and her friends go to a kink party for New Year's Eve.

One-shot originals

Against the Ropes - butch/butch - Tensions run high in the boxing ring between rivals.

Amateurs - butch/butch/butch/butch - Some butch friends film amateur porn in a parking lot, and get caught.

Bittersweet Rivals - butch/butch - Two basketball rivals meet at the bar and work out their rivalry on the dancefloor.

BOY TOY - butch/butch - A couple explores a "BOY TOY" collar fantasy together, and acts it out in the bedroom.

Butch Bros - butch/butch - Two butch buds hang out and have a good time on the couch.

Butch Cocksuckers - butch/butch/butch - A set of roommates work on their communication together.

Chastity - butch/butch - A closeted, repressed baby butch gets corrupted by a filthy, greedy butch top.

Gym Rat - butch/butch - A gym bro follows a silver fox to the showers.

Library Stacks - butch/butch/butch - Two students find a creative way to study in the library, and they get caught.

Oil Change - butch/butch - Jack's friend needs some help in the garage.

Road Trip - butch/butch - A country boy and a city boy take a road trip together, and the city boy misbehaves.

Suit and Tie - butch/butch - Two butches get dressed up for the opera and don't make it out the door.

Tough Guy - butch/butch - A heartbroken butch goes to the bar, flagging black on the right.

Use Me - butch/butch - A drink on the couch becomes more when the boy learns how to ask for what he wants.

Audio erotica

Dev Ill/thedevilisadyke: butch4butch audio library

Closer Than Ever and Game Time on Dipsea (paid or 7 day free trial) - masc lesbian friends have a Dyke Night that starts with a friendly massage / They go to a bar and realize their prospects aren't as hot as each other

Masc for Masc on TryQuinn (paid or 7 day free trial) https://www.tryquinn.com/audio/masc-for-masc

The entire butch4butch tag on Gone Wild Audio Sapphic (/r/gwasapphic)

Video porn

Fagdyke Cruising

Shutter

Blue Room

Butch4Butch Daddy boy scene

Butch vs butch lesbians

Butch & Butch

Sid Blankovich and Jiz Lee

Adina and Saffron

Daddi Dice and Red Jackhammer

Dallas and Syd Blakovich

Two lesbian butches having anal sex

Butch on fire

Real girlfriends

The rest of the butch4butch tag on PINKLABEL.tv

Am I missing something? Reblog and link to it!

#butch4butch #butch bottom #butch #butch top

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tadpal · 3 months ago

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literally adorable i did it again

i need to think of something romantic and delicate to wear to the romeo and juliet ballet

#waiting for the bathroom to be empty post show for a quick little outfit #details include earing stack of dark red heart and stars + pearl lovers cameo necklace and dangle star collar pins #red bow in the hair too!#irls will know that im obsessed with this jumper + this shade of red in general its THE colour and it suits me so well idc #so y'all have seen this jumper + the matching wool waistcoat a LOT this season... mind your business

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ghostaholics · 1 year ago

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

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TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon

fem reader

Thinking about massive beefcakes again...

Big, brawny warriors who're carved with both muscles and battle scars – who still have some blood on their hands they couldn't bother washing off before claiming their pretty little war prize.

Oh, but he's so gentle with you. No threats on his lips, just a smile as he lets his large hands do all the talking – that, and the bloody axe he left leaning against the wall of your humble hut. So big, you wouldn't even be able to carry it if you used both hands.

And speaking about needing to use both hands...

You straddle his lap while working his massive cock – trembling as you wrap your fingers around the base, one hand stacked on top of the other, fingertips curling around his shaft – unable to reach around it while rubbing over fat veins that pulse beneath your soft touch.

He coos at you – tells you you’re doing so, so good for him, how he’s going to reward you real soon – how he won't hurt you so long as you do what he wants.

Oh, and you're so scared – so very scared of those large scathed paws holding you steady at the hips as he rubs his thick manhood against your stomach – throbbing between your ribs – a good measurement for how far inside he would try to push.

There’s just no way you can possibly cram all of that inside you, is there?

You hadn't even noticed you were crying. Fat tears slip from brimming in your eyes, sliding down your cheeks and splattering on the hair of his broad chest.

He told you to breathe, and you realized you’d been holding it in. He told you to relax – but tears only kept falling when his hand reached under to cup your scared little sex – his calloused fingers a strange type of friction on the lips of your pussy, ticklish in a sense, sending energy splurging through your core.

Oh, but ain't you just the sweetest little thing. “You’re so wet, baby~” He hummed, voice thick with heat as his finger slid playfully through the slick pooling from your slit.

You whimpered at his teasing, and he hushed you – cooing at you while his fat fingers started prepping your tight little hole for him with a thumb rubbing over your clit – still nothing harsh – just grazing the slit, letting your body know to prepare itself for him.

You almost wished he would just push you down, tower over you, and do it all swiftly – because you weren't sure just how much of this your poor heart could take. You heard its pitter-pattering in your head, felt it drum in your fingertips, in your toes, thumping where his hands were taunting your tender flesh – petting the silk as it wept for more.

You felt something curl – coil – wind like an adder in your gut along with butterflies. Soon, glossing his entire hand with arousal.

You heard the chuckle as he filled you up with one of his digits – long and thick with muscle, bumpy at the knuckles as it eased inside you – swirling around your velvet walls, all wet and fluttering for him – then followed by another – still with his thumb drawing sweet circles into your swollen clit, making you clench around the two fingers tightly with an ever-so-sweet moan spilling from your lips.

He groaned at the sensitivity – the stimuli and response at his fingertips – how impressionable you were for him. So sweet and pliant – knowing you were but a sheep caught on wolf claws.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, a sloppy grin showing teeth as his lips brushed up your collar with wet praise – his tongue hot as he licked up your throat with warm breath ever so very intimately – puffing like a hound as he bit your earlobe playfully, letting you know with thick rust, “I think you’re ready to take me.”

Oh, how he loved the way you tensed – knowing he had you completely in his palm – hooked right on his fingers – and soon on his cock.

BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji, AFO, All Might, Mirio

JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku

DS – Doma

HxH – Uvogin

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jjslaybank · 2 months ago

Text

mine - rafe cameron

warnings: porn WITH plot, use of degrading language to describe reader ("fucktoy," "slut," "bitch"), unprotected sex

i recommend listening to "it's no good" by depeche mode or "come undone" by duran duran while reading :)

omg this has been in my drafts for probably a MONTH atp 😭 hope you guys like it <3 OH and imagine s2!rafe while reading

please read till the end for a few more notes from yours truly 🥰

🏷list: @slut-4-gojo @booklover-6665 @amel1ee @riaras-everthroner

ward is going to kill him.

fuck it, rafe thinks to himself as he enters a strip club. he clutches the money his father had given him to escape the outer banks tightly to his chest as he surveys the scene in front of him.

he squints his eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. the whole place smells heavily of sweat and cigarettes. he believes it's the perfect place to find a little fucktoy to help him forget the intense pressure he's currently under.

it was then that he spots you — dancing and humping and grinding against the pole as men throw you money.

"holy shit," rafe mumbles softly to himself, his feet carrying him near to the pole you're dancing with before he even knew what his body was doing. a few men shoot him dirty looks. he never noticed them — his eyes are solely on you.

you're wearing your favorite pair — black, lacy underwear and a matching black pushup bra which pushed your tits higher than normal, deepening your cleavage.

as you notice rafe staring, you give him a wink. his eyes darken.

he needs you.

and he's willing to do whatever was necessary to have his way with you.

"hey, asshole!"

he turns to face one of the men who had rudely greeted him.

"eyes off my damn property."

"what?" rafe asks, squinting at the man. "what do you mean? she's like... like your girlfriend or something?"

the man scoffs. "hell no. just my property for the night."

he holds up a keychain with a singular key attached and a small, white jade stone.

the man nods his head to where you were dancing, oblivious to the conversation. "jade's my little slut for tonight, so i better not see your lousy ass around her. got that?"

rafe growls. no way in hell was he losing this pretty girl to an asshole like him.

"hell no."

the man stands up, slamming his fist down on the table to emphasize the motion. others look on at the commotion.

"i think you oughta learn some manners, boy."

"how much did you pay?" rafe asks, sighing and rolling his eyes as he rubs the bridge of his nose. he had been in too many fights recently. the poor guy just wants to empty his balls into some willing, pretty slut.

"more than you can comprehend."

rafe raises an eyebrow, squeezing the wad of bills ward had given him.

"number."

the man tilts his head, confused. "what?"

"give me a number."

"more than 1k."

"1k," rafe echoes to himself as he shakes his head, the tone in his voice almost mocking. "i have so, so much more than that... that lousy amount you're paying her. hey jade!"

you turn towards him, responding to your stripper name.

"if i pay you more, will you let me fuck you instead of him?"

"depends on the amount," you reply, batting your eyelashes at him as you continue dancing around the pole.

you can barely see his face as you converse, but you can make out the curtain bangs, hunched back, and the furrow of his eyebrows as he flips through his stack of bills.

"5k," rafe says.

your eyes light up and you shrug at the other man who had "bought" you for the night.

"sorry, i'm going with this fine young gentleman tonight." you gesture at rafe.

"you made a deal, bitch!" the man yells. rafe's eyes flash with anger. he grabs the man by his shirt collar.

"she said she's going with me! back the fuck off!"

rafe pushes the man down and he collides with a nearby table. he then frantically fishes a sizable stack of bills from his stash. as he hands it to you and you take it from him, his fingers reach to grab yours - effectively sandwiching the money between your hand and his.

he begins to run but you pause, picking up the key the other man was holding earlier. rafe takes the key from you and heads to the back of the club with you in tow.

the back is a hallway with doors - somewhat like what you'd see at a hotel. names of available women were attached at the top of each door.

"jade," he murmurs, looking at the names of the doors.

"jade," you repeat as an agreement. a good look at the man reveals to you his set jaw and conflicted eyes. you can feel something brewing beneath the surface, but you push it aside. you were told not to be nosy. you were lying if you said you didn't find hin sexy. in fact, to say he was attractive was an understatement.

you pull him to the door marked with your name. you grab the key from his hand as he lets you go and open the door.

the room inside is lit by a single small lamp perched atop a dresser. a bed sits in the middle, taking up most of the small room's space.

"shit," rafe sighs, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "just wanted to empty my balls, dammit. no confrontations, no fights..."

he begins to pace around the room. "everyone's fucking after me. like... like everyone wants me gone or dead – or just out of their life. i'm not doing good, man. just gotta... just gotta push it aside and focus on the now, though. like... you know? just gotta man up!"

"hey," you begin calmly. "it's all good. i'm yours for tonight, 'kay?"

rafe sits down at the edge of the bed. you follow suit.

"calm down. i'm here. thanks for the money."

he nods, trying to calm himself. you take his hand. he looks into your eyes with what you think is a hint of vulnerability, but it immediately gets replaced with hunger. his eyes darken, and you liken it to a predator about to pounce on its prey.

rafe grabs your shoulders and lifts you, throwing you face down into the bed. your makeup stains the white sheets.

he paces around the bed, a low hum sounding from his lips. "don't fucking move, jade. you understand?"

"y-yes..." you reply meekly, feeling your panties dampen. being manhandled was something that turned you on more than you realized.

"just be good for me, okay?" rafe asks, his voice trembling slightly as he undos his pants. "such a pretty fucking ass."

you jolt as he slaps the meaty flesh. rafe chuckles lowly.

"i did everything i could to have you, and now you're here. and i'm about to fuck you."

you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle as it hits the floor. your heart skips a beat, your anticipation at its peak.

"but i'm gonna be nice about it," he mutters more to himself than to you. "gonna prep this tight fucking hole."

your bottoms come off with one swift tug, and rafe inhales them deeply, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"fuuuuccckk," he gasps shakily, his nostrils full of your scent.

he puts his middle finger into his mouth and wets it before slowly sliding it into your wet hole. his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head as he feels your hot, warm walls envelop his finger.

"oh, fuck," you moan, your back arching. the fact that you couldn't see what he was doing turned you on even more.

"give it to me, baby," rafe says, pumping his finger in and out of you faster.

he adds another finger and you gasp.

"that's it," rafe coaxes. "so fucking tight and wet, you slut."

he removes his fingers and positions his cock near your stretched hole, hissing at the contact.

"shit." rafe groans. "fuck, it's gonna feel so good filling this tight cunt up."

he takes a deep breath as he removes his finger and enters you. your eyes roll to the back of your head as you moan loudly.

"fucking hell," rafe growls. "shit, you're so fucking tight!"

he rocks into you, his cock filling you up completely.

"such a pretty fuckin' cunt," he murmurs, leaning down to bite the shell of your ear.

"this cunt," he continues, accentuating his words with harsh thrusts, "is all mine for tonight."

he pants, speeding up his thrusts. "i hope you're on the pill because i'm cumming inside this greedy fuckin' cunt."

you nod, your mind hazy with lust. "mhm, i'm clean and take the pill."

"good girl. see how she fucking sucks in my fat cock, she was made for me. fuckin' cunt was made for me," he mutters through clenched teeth.

suddenly he slips out of you. you cry out.

"fucking turn around. lemme see that pretty face as i fuck you."

you obey immediately. he lands a gentle slap on your ass as encouragment.

"pretty fuckin' girl," he compliments, leaning down to kiss your lips. you kiss him back, savoring the taste of sweat and marijuana on his lips.

as he pulls back, he re-enters you. you both hiss at the feeling.

"i'll never get enough of this fucking cunt, jade," he groans as you feel his balls slapping against you.

"mm," you whimper, about to moan out his name when you realize he never told you what it was. "wh-what's your name?"

"rafe," he answers, accentuating the one syllable with a deep thrust, making you see stars.

the name falls from your lips as a high-pitched moan. it sounds almost natural. he groans at the sound of his name and he thrusts into you faster, feeling his balls tighten.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum, you slut," he hisses through clenched teeth, the words coming out clipped as he revels in the feel of your pussy.

"cum!" you repeat, your brain going blank as you feel the knot in your stomach close to snap. "cum inside my greedy cunt!"

at that rafe thrusts forward, groaning in ecstasy as his cum shoots deep into your pussy. you cry out as you spasm around his cock, milking it for every last drop.

"fuck," he mutters breathlessly, slowly pulling out to marvel at the mess he made. "would you look at that - a properly bred fucktoy."

you're gasping for breath as you come down from your high.

"fucking shit," you mutter, your thighs soaked with rafe's cum as it slides down from your pussy.

"pretty good, eh?" rafe asks, a low chuckle leaving his lips. "i like it messier, though."

"me too," you admit with a small smile, moving your messy hair out of your face.

"i like you," rafe says, lying down beside you. "maybe i should keep you around. what do you think about coming to wilmington with me?"

charm's notes:

first of all, tysm for reading! <3 i've been working on this for so long lmao. anyways, i have this thing on my blog called "horny hours" where you can hope into my inbox (anon is on, dw) and send me horny thoughts you may have about any of the obx boys! feel free to add links to pics/vids/whatever too! don't forget to read my request rules tho to know what i vibe with. lastly if you want to read more of my work, you can check out my masterlist for my previous works as well as others i'm working on.

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bbokicidal · 3 months ago

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"What is That?" | SKZ | [B.C.]

Notes: Based off of the selfies Chris has sent on bubble in the last few days after their Tokyo concerts - and how he said he acquired the Wolfchan hat. ;]

Warnings: None Genre: Fluff Pairing: Bangchan x Reader Word Count: 900

"...Christopher." The speed at which your boyfriend whips around to face you seems like it should've given the poor man a broken neck. With his cheeks full of sandwich and the food itself tucked into his hands near his chest, dark eyes stare in circular saucers at where you stand in the living room. "What is that?"

"Babe!" He peeps, the word muffled with his mouthful of ham and cheese. "I thought you went out with a few friends for lunch, so I made myself a sandwich." Chris' eyes fall to his hands before he decides to carefully set the food on a small plate lingering on the island.

Your brow cocks in interest. "I wasn't talking about the sandwich."

Wide eyes blinking in confusion, the two of you hold eye contact for a good few moments before his head tips curiously as if asking what you were referring to. Your hand lifts to your temple, the tip of your index finger slowly tapping along your hair. As he swallows down his food, Chris lifts a hand to mimic the action but pauses when he feels something soft that definitely is not his hair.

He realizes then that you were talking about the hat currently tucking down his curls; Grey, fluffy - Wolfchan ears.

"Oh!"

A smile blossoms over your lips. Your arms cross over your chest as if waiting for an answer and your boyfriend doesn't hesitate in beginning to explain. "It's a hat I wore at the concert in Tokyo last weekend when we did our outfits SKZoo themed! Do you like it? Isn't it cute?~"

And you giggle, carefully shaking your head at just how adorable your boyfriend can be. Hard to believe he's the one taking his shirt off at every concert he performs in. "Very. But aren't those wardrobes for concerts only? How'd you get them to let you have it?"

The silence that follows - along with the way Chris' eyes slowly widen one more time - seems to give you the answer you were asking for.

"...Christopher."

Lips rolling in and pursing shortly after, he slumps forward a bit. "I stole it."

"That's what I thought." You chuckle, turning your back to him to continue folding the laundry you'd just taken from the dryer - You know, what you were doing before he decided to make his presence known. "It is very cute though. I can't blame you for taking it."

And with that, you think the conversation would be over. But Chris seems to recognize that there's something still lingering in the air - like words left unsaid floating just above your pretty little head. So he makes his way over until he can wrap his arms around you from behind, fingers teasingly squeezing at your sides. It was a feeling you'd never get tired of; Being cozied up in strong arms and giggling under wandering hands.

"Are you... jealous?"

His teasing accusation makes your shoulders bounce with laughter, and his head bobs along to the motion with his chin resting along the collar of your shirt. You can feel his breath fanning over your ear as he giggles out, "You're jealous I have a cute Wolfchan hat and youuuu don't.~"

Forcing your laughter down in your chest and pursing your lips although they still form a smile, you manage to shake your head. The towel in your hands folds neatly as you regain focus, confident in your words. "No, absolutely not. I'd never be jealous of a silly little hat."

"So..." Chris starts softly, beginning to sway behind you and smiling to himself when you join in on the sweet motion. "You wouldn't be excited if I told you I snagged an extra one for you, too...?"

You pause, dropping the towel down upon the stack already folded before turning to face him with curious eyes. Chris pops a brow and hums out, loosening his hold on you so his hands can rest comfortably along the small of your back. "Mm?"

"Is it also Wolfchan or is it a different character?"

A smile paints plump lips, your boyfriend stepping back so he could bend down and grab the black backpack leaning up against the couch you'd been folding laundry on. It unzips, the sight too beautiful to behold as he plucks out another grey beanie with Wolfchan ears - Yes, another one he secretly snagged just so you could match.

And with grinning, giggly expressions and rosy cheeks, the two of you take a few pictures cheek-to-cheek so he can have a new wallpaper for his phone. Yours too, of course. He also makes a note to send them to the group chat later on, met with the puking emoji from Minho almost immediately in response - then a thumbs up so he knew it was all in good fun.

Though seeing the pictures of the two of you in the group chat made Chris think. Maybe he could post them to Instagram, or send them on his Bubble. Maybe it was time to make things... publicly official.

It's a wandering, shy thought at first, unsure if it's a safe thing to do or if he'll be scolded for it by the company. But he decides it's the right time when he peeks over at you folding laundry still, now wearing the Wolfchan hat with the cute ears poking up from the top of your head.

Yeah. He definitely wanted the world to know you were his.

Tag List : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie @inlovewithstraykids @seungminsbest @edit-me-prettyplease @butterflydemons @satosugu4l @jeonginsleftcheek

#skz imagine #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan imagine #bangchan fluff #skz fluff #stray kids fluff

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misc-obeyme · 7 months ago

Text

Demon Brothers as Doms Headcanons

Here it is, as requested by anon! I don't know if these are better or worse than the demon bros as subs version... I honestly can't tell lol. But hopefully you guys enjoy them. I will be doing the side characters, too, so stay tuned for that.

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Side Characters as Doms Bros as Subs

NSFW MDNI

Note: We got another paragraph of warnings. Some of them are a little more detailed, but most of them are just mentioned.

Warnings: Sub!MC, bondage, blindfolds, gags, multiple orgasms, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, manhandling, begging, praise, degradation, dirty talk, spanking, collars, dacryphilia, tailfucking (and related tail stuff), drooling, jealousy, cockwarming, mirror sex, exhibitionism, toys, aphrodisiacs, magic stuff, blood kink, biting, size kink, food play, somnophilia, wet dreams, semi-public sex, after care, cuddling, and kissing. HOO BOY. I hope that's all of it, if not lemme know and I'll add stuff.

Lucifer

He has intense dom vibes and he knows it. He will be strict and harsh with you if that’s what you want, but if left to his own choices, Lucifer becomes a pleasure dom. All he really wants is to make you come over and over and over again. He doesn’t care what it takes, he’ll use his cock, his fingers, his tongue, anything and everything as long as it makes you cry out his name in ecstasy. He likes the way it makes his pride swell.

He’s a strong and powerful demon. If he wants you in a certain position, he will put you there himself. He has no problem manhandling you a little, but he’ll be careful about it. He very much enjoys tying you up and he’s a master at shibari. His other favorite thing is blindfolding you. He likes when you aren’t aware of when he’s going to touch you.

Lucifer is absolutely the type of demon that will do subtle things outside of the bedroom to make you crazy. A hand on the back of your neck, a brief squeezing of your arm, a whispered “behave” or even just a look that says everything. They’re all warnings - be careful, MC, or he’ll be dealing with you later in private.

He likes to be called sir, but he’s willing to discuss other options. He’s very bossy, though, and will give you orders constantly. If you’re good and compliant, he’ll reward you to the point where you’ll probably forget your own name. But if you’re a brat, he won’t hesitate to punish you. He likes to make you wait, so he might tie you up in his office and then not touch you while he works on his stacks of paperwork. He wants to see how long it takes you to start begging.

And begging does him in every time. Because the minute you break down and beg for him, his pride takes over. He’ll smirk and likely tease you and say something about how he’s not surprised that it didn’t take long.

But in the end, Lucifer likes to make you moan and cry and come, which means he’ll do whatever it takes to get you to do that. Do you have a praise kink? He will shower you with it while he’s deep inside you. Do you have a degradation kink? He will make a point of finding the words that make you clench around him in pleasure.

Mammon

Surprisingly good at being a dom, but far less restrained than Lucifer is. He’s going to do all kinds of things to get a reaction out of you, but the second you moan his name, he’s moaning right along with you. But not before he takes the time to get your full consent and makes sure you know all your safe words. He wants to go all out, but he wants you to feel safe with him.

Mammon is a bit too impatient to do things like tying you up intricately. He’s going to go for things like handcuffs or gags. He finds he likes the way you moan low in your throat when your mouth is otherwise occupied. Similarly, he loves when you suck on his fingers. He’ll remove them sooner than he expected, though, because he wants to listen to you beg.

He’s cautious at first, giving you easy orders to test the waters. If you’re generally obedient, he’ll push a little harder, go a little further, see just how much you can take. He will absolutely become a brat tamer, though, so if you’re more inclined to mouth off, you can expect swift punishment. He can’t take too much disobedience and he’ll get impatient with you quickly. Punishments can range from spankings to orgasm denial depending on how irritated he is. But they don’t last long because he just really wants to fuck you silly.

He’s constantly buying you things to wear. He obviously has a preference for gold, but whatever he just likes to see you on display in something nice. If you’ll wear a collar, he will absolutely be thrilled to buy you the nicest one he can find. It makes him a little crazy any time he catches a glimpse of it outside the bedroom.

The King of After Care. When things are calm again, he gets very clingy. He’s going to want to cuddle you all night, whispering in your ear about how good you were for him, asking you if you’re doing all right. If you endured punishment or any kind of pain, he’ll make sure you’re recovering from it. He just loves you so much, MC.

Leviathan

Surprises both you and himself by being a really good dom. It’s like he flips a switch and suddenly he’s all confidence, but it’s only possible with you. However, it can also get really intense really fast and he might not realize how far he’s going. Communication is key with Levi. You need it to even get him to start being more dominant to begin with, but then you also need it when he’s a little lost in the sauce.

Because he finds that dominating you makes him lose his whole mind. When you’re whimpering or begging, he just wants more and more. He loves to hear you whine his name. He likes it when you cry, so he will try to make it happen. He’ll use pain or insults or anything else he can find that will work. But if it does happen, he’ll get soft when he sees the tears on your cheeks. Then he’ll start praising you and telling you how perfect you are and how much he loves you.

He likes to use his tail for all kinds of things. He’ll wrap it around your body, pinning your arms to your sides, and put the tip of it in your mouth until you’re drooling around it. He’ll use it to spank you if he thinks you’re in need of punishment. But his favorite thing is just to fuck you with it.

To nobody’s surprise at all, Levi is a jealous dom. If you so much as look at someone else, he will notice and make you pay for it later. His favorite punishment method is orgasm denial. He’s trying to make you forget about anyone but him and he’ll ask you while he’s edging you who you’re thinking of. He wants to hear you cry and tell him that he’s the only one you ever think about.

Levi will definitely start out with degradation and some dirty talk - he’s likely going to tell you how much of a whore you are for him - but by the end of things, he’ll switch to praise. He starts to come out of dom mode and then he actually feels bad. Depending on how you react, he will likely apologize before pampering you to make up for all the nasty things he said. If you laugh at him about it, he’ll just blush. He gets embarrassed about how much he can lose himself. Don’t hold it against him, MC! He’s just obsessed with you.

Satan

By far the most balanced dom of all the brothers. He’s always so careful about keeping his wrath under control, the very last thing he would ever want to do is give in to it during a scene with you. It’s a tricky balance, but he manages to find a good middle ground. He focuses on you the most, but don’t think that means he’ll be lenient with you.

Satan is really good at interpreting how you’re feeling in the moment based on how you react to him. He’s able to tell when he should get more intense and when he should back off. As for himself, he prefers to control you with words. He’ll tie you up if you want him to, but he’s more interested in simply telling you what to do. And he’s clear about what will happen if you disobey.

Although he’s careful about keeping himself level headed when he’s punishing you, just know that he won’t hold back. There really isn’t any kind of punishment he isn’t willing to employ and he’ll find the one that has the most impact on you while still getting his message across.

Definitely prefers praise over degradation. He will be rambling the whole time he’s doing anything with you and it’s all romantic poetry. It starts out really flowery, but eventually kind of devolves into how perfect you are, how good you feel, etc. This is the guy who will spank you and recite sonnets to you at the same time, probably timing his swats with the iambic pentameter.

Satan also really enjoys cockwarming. He’ll have you sit in his lap while he reads, just to see how much you can take. Scolds you gently any time you move too much. Be good and hold still for him, MC. In the end, he’s the one who can’t take it, but he frames it as taking pity on you. You’re both probably aware of the truth, but neither of you will say anything. And anyway, you’re content to let him bend you over and pound into you if it means finally feeling that sweet relief.

Asmodeus

The most versatile of doms, he can be anything you want. You want him strict? Done. You prefer a soft dom? Easy. You just want him to make you come as many times as possible? It would be his pleasure.

If you’re too shy to tell him what you want, that’s okay, too. He’s able to feel out what will make you react the most. And that’s what he goes for. He just wants to experience you losing your mind over him.

He really can do it all, but he’s also going to bring his own flare to the situation. You have sooo much mirror sex. If you’re willing to try exhibitionism, he will really push the limits of that, too.

Asmo will also have a lot of toys, accessories, and clothing items. He’s always suggesting something new and interesting. You just won't believe what he found, MC! He likes to explore with you, to see what you’ll tolerate. This also includes things like aphrodisiacs or magic related things. He’ll always take care of you after you use something like that, but he’s often finding new things to try.

If you don’t really give him any guidelines and let him run the show entirely, he will step up to the challenge. It turns out he really enjoys making you submit to him. He finds he has a fascination with your blood. He loves the way it looks against your skin. He also loves to see it on his own lips, so you can be sure he’ll be drawing it by biting you.

Asmo really loves to tie you up and have his way with you. He enjoys sensory deprivation - blindfold, gag, etc. - he likes to keep you guessing. He wants you to react to his touch the most, loves the way you shiver in anticipation of what he’ll do next.

Mixes pleasure and pain so effectively, you almost can’t tell which one you’re experiencing. He’ll be using his fingers masterfully on your sensitive spots at the same time that he’ll be digging his nails into your back.

This is his area of expertise, so there’s no way he’s going to let you go with only one orgasm. He’s going to make sure you have multiple before he's done with you. He loves overstimulation. If you start crying, he’ll coo at you and wipe your tears, but he won’t stop.

Always doms in demon form. He can’t help it, he’s fully embodying his sin. No matter what he’s doing with you, he wants you to remember that you’re being dominated by the Avatar of Lust.

Beelzebub

The softest of soft doms. He’s not really into degradation, so he’s going to shower you with praise instead. He’s just going to mumble into your skin about how amazing you are and how lucky he is and so on and so forth. But don’t think that makes him a pushover.

Beel is a big strong demon and he will manhandle you. Probably his favorite thing is to just sit you in his lap and move you himself. You’re riding him, but he’s doing all the work.

He’ll tie you up if you want him to, but he’s more likely to use things like blindfolds or gags. Only one at a time, he doesn’t want you completely helpless. He secretly likes it when you struggle against him, so he likes to keep your hands free.

Beel has a bit of a size kink where he likes his partners smaller than him, which works out because he’s just generally much larger than most people. Even if you’re larger for a human, that’s still just a lil cutie to him. This kinda ties into the manhandling thing - he likes to pick you up and move you around himself. And he can do it, too, because of his size and strength. You might as well get used to it at this point.

He doesn't really enjoy inflicting pain. He's far more likely to use positive reinforcement than punishments. But if he has to get serious with you, it's going to be stuff like edging, orgasm denial, or overstimulation. If you're crying it's because of how he's making you feel, not because he's hurting you or insulting you. He finds it's just as effective, too.

If you ask, Beel will do pretty much anything you want. He'll work through the discomfort of hurting you if you enjoy it.

As always, Beel loves food. He'll involve any kind of food play he possibly can because he really can't help himself. It's like the ultimate expression of his sin - to involve food in these intimate moments with you.

Another one who will be incredibly attentive during after care. He wants to make sure you're okay. He will stay beside you as long as you need him. Probably brings you drinks and snacks, too. He's already been praising you all night, but prepare yourself for even more. You are everything to him, MC.

Belphegor

Kinda lazy for a dom, to nobody’s great surprise. He enjoys being one, but he tires out quickly. If he can make you do all the work, he will. Expect him to give you a lot of orders.

He really loves when you beg. He wants to see you on your knees and if you beg enough, he’ll fill your mouth with his cock. You look so good, MC.

He’ll leave you tied up and unattended, too. He’ll just sit there and watch you, see how much you can handle before he does anything.

Belphie is, of course, into somnophilia. If you give him the go ahead, it’s going to be any time he wakes up with you in his arms. If you’re still sleeping soundly, he wants you to stay asleep, he’ll just take care of things himself. But if you do wake up, he'll probably whisper quietly in your ear about how he's just making all your wet dreams come true. In fact, we also know Belphie can go into dreams, so… you can expect your normal dreams to become wet dreams if he shows up.

He likes exhibitionism and semi-public sex. He likes fucking you in places where you’re right next to other people, but you’re still trying to stay hidden. So he’ll use his hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle your noises. But it’s only because he likes the way it feels to gag you that way. He doesn’t actually mind if you’re discovered.

He likes dirty talk and degradation. He will absolutely call you all kinds of filthy names. It’s not all like that, though, he’ll also throw in some praise. Especially when you’re whimpering beneath him and he's losing control because he feels so good. That's when he starts telling you how good you are.

Belphie is kind of an after care guy by default. After he's had his way with you, even if he was really rough (which he probably was), he just wants to snuggle and cuddle and sleep. He'll also kiss you slowly and softly and lazily because he likes the way your lips feel.

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