#strangers from hell roleplay | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 29 days ago

Note

oh to have javi come over and seduce you when you're out at a bar and then fuck you so good you can't even think straight

tags: f!reader, mentions of infidelity, established relationship, no use of y/n, roleplaying, smut, unprotected p in v sex (be safe), any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 2k w/c - gif cred

a/n: you guys must be stopped! leaving me sexy prompts like this! i have no choice but to write themmmmm! i got an ask a few weeks ago talking about roleplaying with javi and well... i had to incorporate it somehow. also, that one scene in narcos (hence the gif…) hehe enjoy cariño 🖤

You sit hunched over your martini glass, idly swirling the ice. The air in the bar is warm and hazy, filled with laughter and conversations you’re barely aware of.

It’s been a long week—the kind of week that crawls under your skin and leaves you in desperate need of a drink.

You had left work with no destination in mind, eventually finding your way here, hoping your favorite cocktail would smooth out the edges before you had to face the quiet of home.

You take the last sip of your drink just as the bartender places a fresh one in front of you, her lips pulled into a knowing smile. “Courtesy of the cute guy down there,” she says, jerking her head toward the end of the bar. Instinctively, you turn to look.

And he’s… well, calling him cute feels criminally inadequate.

He’s handsome as hell, with dark, captivating eyes and features that would look more at home on the big screen than here, in the half-light of this neighborhood bar.

He smirks like he knows exactly the effect he has. You meet his gaze, lift your glass in acknowledgment, and take a careful sip.

That’s all the invitation he needs. He slides off his stool, weaving his way through the scattered crowd until he’s beside you, easing into the empty seat with a smoothness that feels almost practiced.

The confidence only adds to his appeal.

“Didn’t know people still did this,” you say with a wry smile, though you’re subconsciously reveling in the attention.

You shift your hand subtly, so the glint of your ring catches the light—a reflex, a reminder to yourself and a warning for him.

His gaze sweeps over you with an unapologetic gleam. “Did I come off too strong? Couldn’t help myself, especially not with a beautiful woman drinking alone. Feels like fate.”

You laugh, the sound escaping you before you can stop it. There’s something invigorating about his brazen confidence, and he seems to notice, leaning a little closer.

“He must be out of town or something,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to the diamond on your ring finger. “No way he’d let you sit here all by yourself.”

You tilt your chin up a little, defiant. “I’m perfectly capable of going out on my own, thank you very much.”

He hums, a low, amused sound as he lifts his glass and takes a slow sip. The scent of bourbon reaches you, mingling with the subtle notes of smoke and black teakwood radiating from him.

“So you’re married,” He murmurs, more of an observation than a question.

“Three years,” you reply, and when his brow arches with playful curiosity, you can’t help but feel the tiniest thrill. There’s something intoxicating about a stranger’s interest, especially one with beautiful brown eyes that linger just a second longer than they should.

“Three years… Happily?” His words are gentle, teasing, yet they strike a nerve, and you can’t help but tip your head back and giggle, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and his presence loosening something inside you.

“Is this your thing?” you ask, feigning suspicion as you lean toward him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Chasing after lonely, married women at bars?”

His head tilts slightly, intrigued. “Lonely?” he echoes, the word rolling off his tongue like a test. His brow lifts just a fraction. “Now, don’t tell me he’s not taking care of you.”

You straighten, getting a little defensive. “He does, trust me,” you say, and though you mean it, there’s a flicker of something—a crack in the polished surface you present. “It’s just… his job. He works long hours, and it’s been hard, not seeing each other as much as we used to.”

You’re definitely tipsy, venting to this stranger that’s hitting on you about your marriage and how it’s fallen into a rut recently. To keep yourself from digging yourself a deeper hole, you drink more of your cocktail.

As if sensing the vulnerability behind your words, he leans in closer, his attention unbreakable, drawing you in like a force of gravity. His eyes move, tracing the shape of your lips against your glass, dipping down to the glimpse of lace beneath your blouse.

He lets out a low, exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as he lifts his drink again. “Shame, really,” he murmurs, eyes flicking back to meet yours. “If it were me, no job would keep me from a wife as stunning as you.”

His words hit you like a warm gust of wind, filling you with a sudden, startling awareness of how long it’s been since anyone looked at you like this, made you feel desired. And you can’t really blame your husband, you knew what you were getting yourself into when you said yes to his proposal—how demanding his job is.

But all of your logical reasoning seems to disappear entirely in the presence of this rugged, attractive man.

Your cheeks heat, and instinctively, your thighs press together. He notices, a spark of amusement lighting his face as he leans just a bit closer.

And then, his hand lands on your thigh, his fingers spreading out over the fabric of your pants. It’s a daring move, but there’s something about it that thrills you, and you feel a low hum of excitement settling in your core.

Oh, he’s bold.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, though there’s no true bite in your voice.

“Just testing the waters,” his hand inches slightly higher, fingertips grazing your skin. He leans in, breath warm against your ear, and your skin curls. “Seeing if I’m readin’ things right.”

“Are you?” The words are barely audible, more of a breath than a question, but he hears you.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles that send electricity up your leg.

You swallow, feeling a surge of reckless abandon taking over as you ask, “What’s your name?”

“Javier,” he answers, “Call me Javi. Or whatever you want, really.”

“And what makes you think I’d throw away years of my relationship for one night with you, Javi?”

His smile morphs into a cocky smirk, confidence radiating off him. “Because,” he whispers, eyes glazed over with a heat that makes your pulse race, “I’d make it worth your while.”

For a second, you consider letting him take you on this bar in front of all these people. His hand squeezes your thigh gently, the pressure igniting a spark low in your belly.

He leans back, his gaze fixed on you as he studies your face, waiting, watching for any sign of permission.

At last, you let out a breath, reaching down to place your hand over his. With a polite smile, you slide it off your leg. “I can tell that handsome face of yours always gets you what you want. That won’t be the case tonight, but I’m flattered. Thank you for the drink, Javier.”

He drags his thumb across his bottom lip, a slow, almost contemplative gesture as his gaze rakes over you one last time. “No problem,” he says, voice dripping with an almost playful disdain. “Have fun with your husband.” His words dance in that gray area between teasing and tempting.

You know better than to stay any longer, aware that another moment with him will get you in trouble. It’s already dangerous that you let his hand linger on you, already a risk that your mind wandered to how blissful a night with him would be. You’re not the kind of person who cheats—or at least, you didn’t think you were.

He downs the rest of his drink, his eyes fixed on you with that lingering, dark curiosity before he finally pushes back, letting the warmth of his presence slip away like a tide retreating, leaving you almost breathless.

You can’t believe yourself, how part of you feels ready to throw caution to the wind for one more minute in his attention.

A surge of longing—a need to feel desired, to feel seen—overcomes you. Before you can stop yourself, your voice slips out, soft but clear. “Actually…”

He halts, that cocky smile curling at the edges as he turns, his eyes glinting as he faces you, slowly, like a cat stalking back into a room. His grin grows wider, a spark of victory there as he watches you, waiting for what you’ll say.

“I think I could use another drink.”

Your body is flush against Javier’s, his skin hot and slick beneath your fingers as you straddle his lap on the couch. Every inch of you feels alive, heightened, as you move with purpose, grinding down on him like the cock starved woman that you’ve turned into.

He fills you perfectly, stretching and pressing in ways that make your toes curl and your mind blur. Sweat slips down your spine as you cling to him, feeling his mouth on your neck, trailing heated kisses that turn into little bites on your chin, each one sending another jolt of pleasure through you.

His hands are rough and possessive, gripping your ass and guiding your movements, matching the frantic, hungry rhythm you’ve both built together.

There’s nothing but him—the heat, the pressure, the way he’s burying himself in your cunt.

You’re mindless, every thrust bringing you closer to that tipping point. You can feel your pussy tightening around him, already on the edge.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s coaxed you to release tonight. On his tongue, his fingers—each one drowning you in white heat and leaving you gasping.

This one on his cock, though, is building with a tantalizing pressure, leaving you almost immobile as you near it.

Your body is already feeling sore.

“Look so pretty bouncing on my cock.” His praise, laced with his own need, sends you over.

You shudder, your walls clenching around him as you gush your creamy release all over his cock. Your head falls back while another orgasm surges through you, crying out his name.

He growls in response, shifting you beneath him, your back hitting the cushions as he moves over you. His hips snap forward, each thrust sending another shock of pleasure through your oversensitive body until he pulls out with a grunt, fist jerking his cock until his milky release paints across your skin, warm and sticky.

You’re both panting, bodies sated and tangled together in a haze of lust and satisfaction.

He leans his weight onto you, pressing close without a care for the mess between you as he buries his face in your neck, letting your heartbeats slowly calm in sync.

“Lonely, huh?” he murmurs, his voice gravelly, breaking the cozy silence.

You can’t help but snort softly, fingers finding their way into his dark hair and giving it a playful tug, a gentle reprimand. “It’s true.”

Javier pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes tender and filled with that unmistakable love, deep and unguarded. “I’m sorry, baby,” your husband whispers, shifting up on one arm while his other hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “I promise it won’t always be like this.”

His words settle into you and you nod, still feeling the lazy warmth in your body from his touch, his kiss. Your legs wrap snugly around his waist, pulling him close. “I know, Javi. I don’t always feel like that, and I see how hard you work to make it home to me.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. You close the distance, pressing a light kiss to his still-swollen lips, savoring the feeling of him so close.

After a beat, he chuckles, a playful glint flickering in his eyes. “Gotta say, the whole ‘strangers at the bar’ thing was kind of hot. Had me wondering just how many guys try their luck when you’re out there alone.”

Your lips curve into a smirk, mirroring his. “Likewise. You’re a natural flirt without meaning to.”

He scoffs playfully, shaking his head. “Other women haven’t existed to me since we met, mi amor.”

Then he goes and says things like that, a reminder of all the little ways he shows you how much you mean to him.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @angiewatson . @sunshinefive . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @dinanabuu

#💌 you’ve got mail!#javier peña smut #javier pena smut #pedro pascal #kat's writing.

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deliciouskeys · 2 months ago

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I threatened to write something for Butchlander week and well... I have written, uh, something. *skulks back into the abyss*

Written to accompany this wonderful art I commissioned from @semains whom I love dearly-- thank you for indulging my requests for setting and exact pose as well! Commission them!

Butchlander Week NSFW Saturday prompt: Roleplay/Roles. Because it might be the role of a lifetime for Butcher, but you know Homelander is having the time of his life pretending he can't escape / pretending it hurts sooo much.

(yeah, double dipping) Cozy Corner Kinktober prompt #5 Buttplug (sort of. I can't explain myself. I have no excuses. It might be disturbing, so apologies in advance. Pure Id, aka wtf).

My header is getting longer than the ficlet, gdi

"Harder." Homelander's tone is haughty and whiny all at once– so grating that Butcher wishes he could deliver on the request. Who'd have thought that this grandiose straightedge little cunt would get so hard having a stranger smack him over and over? Who'd ever guess that this supe celebrity– maybe the world's most famous person, and definitely the darling of the American public– would be into this kind of shit behind closed doors? That he wouldn't be bloody ashamed of himself whisking Butcher off to his bizarrely decorated apartment every single night. Bypassing all of Vought security, so that Vought's public enemy number… if not #1 then at least top 10… could make himself comfortable sitting on his bed. Not all that comfortable, since the bed is a strange upholstered leather number and stiff as hell, but Butcher supposes a supe might not feel the difference between this and a Tempur-Pedic.

He brings him here every night, and every night the script stays largely the same. Homelander plies him with some alcohol, sometimes a glass of whiskey, but more often just a bottle of Heineken. Butcher sits down, Homelander eagerly drapes himself over his lap, pulls and folds his cape underneath him, as if he doesn't trust Butcher enough to spread it out next to him. wiggling his hips, insisting Butcher pull down his pants and spank him. And Butcher obliges every time, even though it's clearly hurting his hands much more than it hurts Homelander– they alternate sides every night but Butcher suspects he already has stress fractures that don't heal because his hands ache all the time and never quite recover between sessions. But despite the pain, and despite the very little to no pain he's actually inflicting on the spoiled brat who always asks to be hit harder, there's just something irresistible about it. About finally being allowed to take out his aggression on the man he hates most in the world. The man he hates most in the world, who also happens to have a surprisingly perky ass that jiggles hypnotically if you hit it hard enough and just right, so Butcher hits him with his full strength not because of the cunt's whiny demands, but because he just wants to see the flesh wobble.

"I said harder!" Homelander's voice cuts through Butcher's thoughts, and Butcher can't help it any longer.

"You want me to hit you harder, you're gonna have to find a paddle."

Homelander's breath hitches and he says nothing in reply. No, this sick cunt clearly craves skin on skin contact to get off, Butcher already knows this, which is why he knew what to threaten him with to get him to shut up.

But he does wish he could hurt him. The achy joints of his hand plead he stop. Butcher stares down at the well defined muscular globes, skin turned a nice blush color where he's been hit but Butcher wishes he could turn it black and blue. Purple and green. He wants the cunt to really feel the intensity he's supposedly asking for, just to prove how wrong he is.

"I'm waiting," Homelander reminds him.

"Just taking a breather, alright? Enjoying the view." Butcher tries to squeeze a handful of flesh, but it's never as soft as it looks. "Look like one of 'em marble statues you got out in your lounge area."

Butcher hears Homelander's breath hitch and sees him take a peek at the mirror above, clearly checking himself out. This is all a game to him. It flatters his vanity that Butcher does this for him. Butcher would like nothing more than to turn this around on him, make it less of a game and more of an actual punishment.

A strange idea creeps in. Butcher leans back to reach for the Heineken bottle he emptied earlier and put on the nightstand, always on a coaster Homelander insists he use. God forbid he get a water ring on the antique looking furniture, with the creepy little cameo portraits of people who died last century. The beer is mostly just to take the edge off before Homelander lies down over his legs– he and Homelander mutually figured out the session goes better if he's slightly buzzed and maybe just a little numb to the pain in his hand. And they figured this out because Homelander happened to whisk him away right after he stumbled out of a bar on a late Saturday night, after which point Butcher understood that Homelander would come and find him wherever he was– even if he wasn't at home past midnight. It's sexual slavery, is what it is. Butcher would resent it more if he didn't somewhat enjoy getting to beat this cunt on a nightly basis before being dropped off at home.

Homelander shifts, growing impatient while waiting for another round of spanking to start after the breather. "Come on!" he says through gritted teeth, and he sounds angry, and fucking self-righteous, as if he's complaining about customer service he's paid for. It's not Butcher's fault that the cunt only seems to come after he's gotten spanked for minutes straight, at some point his body finally deciding that this is such an enjoyable moment that his hips start grinding forward into Butcher's leg and he comes, the same pathetic little hitched moan escaping his lips every time, the same toe-curling Butcher can see because the cunt does take off his boots to lie on the bed. Thank god he never pulls his pants far down enough, because he never gets any jizz on Butcher's jeans. Homelander seems to think Butcher doesn't notice, or at least they both pretend they haven't. As if Butcher can avoid noticing his leg being humped violently, wondering if this is the night the cunt breaks one of his limbs out of pure excitement. As if it's not clear what just happened from the flushed face and glazed over eyes the supe has when he rises off the bed, finally satisfied. But if no one tells and no one asks, it didn't necessarily happen, and both seem content to keep it at that. Homelander takes a quick shower and suit change before dropping Butcher off at his apartment, without any further ceremony or pleasantries, and by morning Butcher is half in denial about any of it even happening.

"Are you fucking deaf? Why did you stop?" Homelander says and starts to turn his head to look back at him, but Butcher shoves his face back to face forward.

They have an unspoken agreement not to look each other in the eye when they're doing this, ever. Homelander almost broke the agreement, but obediently looks away again after the lightest push.

"Shut your fucking trap already. I heard you the first ten times just fine," Butcher growls under his breath, and his mind is made up about what he was hesitating to do. He forces the neck of the empty bottle into the cunt's tight crack, moving it around, looking for give.

Homelander's back arches, clearly not expecting the sensation. "The fuck are you doing?"

"GIving you something harder, like you were whining for, you spoiled brat." Butcher gives up doing it blindly and pulls one of the cheeks towards him. "Now where's your fucking chocolate starfish? You even have one?" And as if to punctuate that last word, Butcher finds the place and breaks the initial resistance resistance, the bottle neck beginning a slow slide in.

Homelander breathes harder. "I don't like it," he mutters, and his ass flexes in protest.

"You better like it and accept it, or else you're going to end up with a pile of glass shards inside you."

Butcher is skeptical that glass could really do anything to this supe's internal organs, but it seems Homelander wants to avoid the mess anyway, and his muscles relax.

"That's right. Now stop whining and take your punishment."

He tries to push the bottle in even further, feeling more and more protest.

"I don't like it," Homelander repeats, sharply this time, as if it means something.

"You ain't supposed to like it," Butcher says and decides to finally smack him on the ass with his other hand after keeping him waiting. Butcher doesn't anticipate that Homelander's body will convulse, shatter the bottle, grind into him, and come all at once.

"The hell was that?" Butcher asks, pulling back the jagged bottle's bottom half that survived. Homelander's body is still twitching underneath him and he's panting. Maybe this was going to be it. Butcher overstepped the line. Homelander was probably immersed in some unresolved childhood trauma or fantasy or whatever the fuck about having a father figure who would discipline him with a firm but loving hand. This must have ended the illusion for him. Maybe enough that Butcher is about to meet his end– sometimes it's hard to remember that the whimpering quivering pathetic mess draped over his knees is the selfsame terrifying force of nature that can take out an entire army if he ever just chose to do so.

But the cunt won't even pick his head up. He's buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Is he fucking crying? Butcher wonders for a second if it's possible that he's actually fucking done it. Actually hurt him. Maybe a plug of C4 won't kill him but maybe it'll make him feel the hurt? A whole assortment of images races through Butcher's mind. He wants to try everything now. His crowbar, a bat studded with rusty nails, maybe the same bottle but a Molotov cocktail this time. Payback for thinking he can just force Butcher to indulge him, to make every night about getting him off. This opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

But Homelander stirs and starts to sit up, and Butcher winces and his teeth are set on edge when he can hear the crunching sound of glass grinding against glass, and tiny green shards start dropping out of him as Homelander tilts to sit back on his heels.

"That was— amazing…" Homelander whispers, breathless. His hands are folded demurely in his lap as if he didn't just orgasm to being diddled with a bottle of Heineken. "You want another beer?"

"No!" Butcher says, sounding more emphatic and more disturbed than he intendedto let on. "No, you sick fuck."

"Does your hand hurt?" Homelander asks, and it's without any impatience in his tone, maybe even a note of real sympathy, completely ignoring the insult just lobbed at him. Before Butcher knows what's happening, Homelander leans down and licks the hand that had just been spanking him. Butcher jerks it away defensively, but Homelander follows it licking it, laving each finger with his tongue before leaning into it with his brow ridge, then his nose, rubbing himself into it. It feels soothing and takes away some of the sore feeling, Butcher is loath to admit.

But he needs to regain what little control he has in this arrangement. "You want me to pet ya? Then lie back where you belong," he says. It's gratifying to see the supe cunt immediately obey him. He stretches himself back into his former position, and Butcher kneads the flesh of his ass.

"We can do the bottle again if your hands hurt," Homelander says, sighing contentedly and breaking the rule– looking back at Butcher with a look that is disturbingly similar to fondness.

"We can," Butcher agrees, trying to ignore the glass that's spilled out on the sheets and forget the crunching sound the bottle made when it snapped in half at the neck.

(AO3 link)

#butchlander #butchlander week #cozy corner kinktober #fanart #billy butcher #homelander #tw .... glass?#unsafe you-know-what practices #the boys tv #the boys #commission #written on mobile please excuse any errors #cozy corner kinktober 2024

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cherubfae · 25 days ago

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𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫, 𝔟𝔞𝔟𝔶 {𝔩𝔢𝔬𝔫 𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔡𝔶}

Happy Halloween, my loves! And a blessed Samhain to my fellow pagans! Please have a safe and lovely holiday no matter what you do or don't celebrate! Now then, care to spend some time with Mr. Kennedy? Please, mind the tags! Thank you!! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

|| 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐅𝐀𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ||

tags: ghostface!RE4!Leon, fem!reader, masturbation, voyeurism, unprotected sex, fear/domination roleplay, consensual, fake home invasion scenario, Leon is kinda mean, dirty talk, pet names, breeding kink, perverted call trope, killer x victim trope, consensual dubcon (just in case), predator/prey dynamics, dumbification, dacryphilia, aftercare

"Bend over, sugar. I wanna see that pretty little pussy." The modified voice growled with a fiery hunger. The stranger's words made you wet soooo easily. You shift forward, hiking up your skirt and wiggle your ass in the direction of your window. He growled with pleasure, breathing trembling. Faint slick noises echo from the mysterious caller's line. Was he...?

"Yeah.. Fuck.. Look at that cunt. You're so sweet, doll. Your panties barely cover your pretty lil' pussy lips... Just beggin' for a fat, thick cock inside ya, huh?" The man snarled. "Say it. I wanna hear my pretty prey beg me to fuck her."

Heat rises to your cheeks, your teeth worrying at your lip. "P-please, mister... Please, come fuck me. I wanna feel you stretch me open."

"Fuckkkkkk..." He drew out the word with a deep, breathy growl. You could practically feel his breath tremble through the receiver. Curiously, you seem to find yourself grinning at the conversation. Hell. You were enjoying it. You liked the idea of this stranger jerking off to you. You wanted to be used by him. Defiled.

The old floorboards creaked behind you. "Don't mind if I fuckin' do, dollface."

You quickly turn with wide eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden imposing male in your living room. The rubber mask he wore was shrouded in black, like a hood, the face was stretched in a ghoulish, eternal scream. The empty black eyes were soulless and terrifyingly hot. Through the thin silver of mesh that covered the eyeholes, you could barely make out stormy ocean eyes; the pupils large and black.

The rest of his attire wasn't too impressive, but his stature was. Broad shoulders and muscular arms stretched the polyester inky robe taut, well defined pectorals and, fuck, even his abdomen was perfectly sculpted. Every hard angle of him outlined against the slightly shimmery fabric like tiny silver stars splashed onto a pitch black night sky.

"Fuck, you look even sweeter in person." His head cocks to the side, huffing deeply through the mask. He lowered his face to you, the mask cool against your heated skin. "Looks like I caught myself a willing pup."

Heavy, wet smacks of the masked stranger's swollen balls thudding against your ass rings round and round in your ears. Tears drip down your cheeks, your thighs burning under the strain of having them tucked to your chest for so long. You vaguely hear him chuckle cruelly, his large hand keeping you pinned to the coffee table--which had been nearest surface.

"Fuck, look at ya, doll. You're not gonna be able to see just how I wide I'm stretchin' ya if you cry too much... Not that I mind one fuckin' bit. You're the real Halloween treat, aintcha? Sweeter than any candy." He pressed his mask face against your heated cheeks, the rubber cool on your skin.

You're almost painfully lying at an angle against the low wooden table, unable to think of anything but his impossibly thick cock pistoning in and out of your wet channel. You've gone numb to your own lewd noises, you crying, your moans, the wet squelch of your pussy. Faintly, you can hear the wood creak and groan beneath the added weight.

Slowly, your eyes lift to the stranger, your mind clouded with a dense fog, slowly dragging them down the muscular outline of his shoulders and torso, to where he'd yanked up the hem of his robe and bared the slightly tanned, taut muscular skin of his stomach and his neatly trimmed pubic mound; the girth of his flushed cock a centerpiece in the course curls of ashen blond hair.

The stranger's muscles flex tightly, too enraptured in his own movements to notice your stare. The hazy, lustful admiration you send his way. He'd pulled his cock free from his pants. Of average length, beautifully flushed, and already glistening with pre. His cock was deliciously thick and heavy. Like it weighed him down. Like it hurt to be gifted such a perfect cock.

He fits inside of you so well. It's overwhelming in the most pleasing of ways, how he seemed to be able to stroke places inside of you that you'd never seemed to reach. The second he slipped inside, you knew you were a goner.

Sound rushes back and crashes into you like a tidal wave, like you'd been plugged back in. Your moans and sobs bounce off the walls of your living room. The stranger's laugh resounds in your ears, pulling you out of your own mind for a second.

"Pftt.. You even moan like a little slut, don't you? Hear now needy this puffy pussy is for me? Pathetic, princess, really... If I had been any other killer, would you have put out for them as easily as you did for me? No?" He mocked the last word, breath coming out in deep, shuddering pants. "Tell me why I don't believe you, princess."

Swallowing thickly, you arch upwards into him, loosely rolling your hips to meet his pounding thrusts. "No one... No one makes me feel this good, Mr. Ghostface, sir..."

"Ghostface?" The stranger cooed, full of faux sweetness. "Oh, I like that. I think I'll use that for the next pretty kitty I spray against the walls. Why the long face? Nothin' to get upset about. This is the only cunt I am interested in." He bowed over your body, hips snapping with visceral force.

You grunt, eyes closing as his cock repeatedly nudges at your cervix. "Everyone else is swine as far as I'm concerned. But you, sugar, you're the real fuckin' deal. Gonna make me marry you, huh? Is that it? Gonna make a filthy fuckin' killer marry you because of you and your sweet pussy?"

Everything was starting to feel a bit too much. He was hitting a bit too deep, talking a bit too much, and your mind was spinning like a top, way too fast, and about to topple over.

A pained whine leaves your lips faster than you realize and you feel the man above you stutter, his movements stilling for a second as he looks down at you; deep blue eyes more visible in the soft glow of the table lamp. His facade was slipping, little by little.

He's waiting, you realize, waiting silently for you to give him the go ahead. Asking a million questions with just one look at his crystalline eyes. You nod your head, feeling a bit like jelly with how numb your legs have gotten.

"Words." His tone brooked no argument. Swallowing thickly, you shift up the table a little. Your bare, sweaty skin squeaking against the polished wood.

Managing a soft, reassuring smile, you nod again. "You can move, Leon. I'm okay."

With a fierce growl, Leon yanked off the mask, his hair sweaty and disheveled, and scooped you up and off the table, carrying you through the hall towards your bedroom. The mask lay forgotten on the sofa cushions.

Curling into his embrace, you softly nuzzle him noting how your roles were most definitely forgotten by this point. Leon wasn't fond of accidentally hurting and even in roleplay, he would never do so intentionally.

"M'not gonna risk that again." Your boyfriend grumbled, tucking your head under his chin. "We're gonna do something different, baby."

"Okay, honey." You nuzzle him, sweetly. He looked down at you with a slight smile, his eyes visibly softening and pupils slowly widened. "I really was okay though."

"I know. But that was more than enough for me." Leon grunted next to your ear and splayed his warm palm across your back. Your delicious cunt is still snuggled tight around his thick length, every jostle sinking you down deeper.

Kicking the bedroom door open, his heavy stomping echoes as he hurls his boots off of his feet and settles your naked body atop the crisp sheets. Holding himself above you.

"I'm gonna make it up to you. Gonna let me taste you, baby?" Cupping your cheek in his large hand, his touch is sweet and reverent. You smile and lean into his touch, giving him a little nod. Leon's lips quirk upwards. "Good."

Leon kisses a trail between your breaths, mapping out a path across your skin. His lips slide gently over your stomach and finally lower to your aching core. Parting your folds with two fingers, he dives in.

He's a messy eater. Lapping and sucking and moaning against your skin, furiously swiping the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves; two fingers knuckle deep inside of you the entire time, curling into a language 'come here' motion. And you know he won't be stopping any time soon.

It seems like hours have passed when Leon pulls himself from your warm cunt. He replaced his tongue and fingers with his cock. The soft, plush tip sliding to part your lower lips for him, gathering your spilling nectar with a rapt moan.

"This pussy was made f'me, wasn't it, baby?" Leon looked down at you tenderly. Easing his hips forward, it's not long before his thick length sinks into you fully. Leon settles into an easy push-pull motion, rocking himself into you. His hand grappled for your hip, hiking your leg slowly to rest on his shoulder. And then the other one.

The bed rocks and creeks violently under the animalistic motions. Leon's snarling is borderline feral, you have half a mind to wonder if he was actually a werewolf this year. Round, heavy balls snap wetly against your ass and the coarse hairs surrounded dick feel like heaven as he fucks you dumb.

"Give it to me... come on, baby. I know you got in ya." Leon stroked his hand down your tummy to toy with your wet clit. Making tight, quick circles, Leon sends you careening off the edge and crying out his name.

With a loud shout, Leon's hips snap flush to yours. He's cumming, cumming, cumming. Cock throbbing as he gives you every last pent-up drop he has to offer. Until you're dripping in his seed and it overflows; leaking out of your poor, soft hole. Sweeping his tip across your clit, Leon prolongs both your pleasure for a couple more seconds. His softened cock slides between your folds, guiding himself back in to feel your nice, warm heat around him once again.

"Did it feel okay? It wasn't too much?" Leon asked, gently running a warm washcloth between your thighs. He tenderly cleans away every drop of your combined fluids. Aftercare was something he enjoyed just as much as the main act itself. "I felt like, maybe, that I was getting a little too into it at times..."

"No, no, I'm so glad you had fun. I promise I had fun too. I was a little sad that we ended it so early into the evening." You smile and shake your head. "It was perfect. You were perfect. Thank you for trying it out with me."

Leon chuckled, the corner of his lip crooking into a smile. Leaning down to you, he kisses your head and gently runs his knuckles down your cheek. He finished up and helped you slip into some extra comfortable pyjamas. It was still Halloween for a few more hours.

"Well, maybe we'll continue it next year?" A hint of hopefulness glimmered from his words. Guess the tough-guy agent really did enjoy letting loose and being the big, bad guy sometimes. Especially if it meant he was balls-deep inside of you.

You lay back among the strewn pillows and messy sheets, humming in agreement. Leon settles against your side on his tummy, propping his chin on your shoulder.

"I didn't realize ghosts were non-binary."

Leon's statement came completely out of the blue. You snicker softly and look at your boyfriend confused. Raising a brow, you motioned for him to continue. "I'm sorry-- they what?"

He grinned, "Ghosts. No matter their gender they're all wearing dresses!" He waggled his eyebrows, clearly impressed with his joke.

You groan, tossing your head back in mock exasperation. "Leonnn!"

Leon's laughter echoed throughout the house, full of mirth, more than content to be in his own little bubble with you while the town enjoyed the hauntingly fun festivities.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

#resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #re4 leon smut #SoundCloud

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drdemonprince · 9 months ago

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Is "safe sex" even real? Never done it so idk but you mentioned risk profiles once. I feel like demographically I've got a higher risk profile and the anxiety about that really prevents me from going and trying anything. Do you think that's overly anxious in a negative way?

"safe sex" is a really misleading and binary term. There is never any guarantee of safety in anything we do. Every choice we make comes with risks. Hell, choosing not to connect with other people sexually (if you have any desire to) does ITSELF come with its own risks and costs over time.

The chase after perfect, guranteed safety will only lead to us feeling powerless and afraid, because it is an impossibility. All that we can do is inform ourselves of the risks, mitigate the risks we are the most concerned about and that affect others, and then knowingly accept what risks we still face as the cost of leading a full, enjoyable life.

When we inform ourselves about risk mitigation, we learn there are certain steps that we should probably take to protect ourselves and others if we are engaging in behavior that carries risk. If you're having sex with a complete stranger, it's probably smart to use a condom. If you have sex regularly you might want an HPV vaccine or to be on PreP to prevent HIV transmission. When you meet up with people you should get tested for COVID. You should get vaccinated against COVID. If you want to get suspended in rope from the ceiling don't use a hardware store $3 carabeener, get the good shit from the rock-climbing supply store. Things like that.

But even if you use a condom, you might get herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. Even if you never have sex, you might already have herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. I've had several of those things, including some of the "scarier" sounding ones, and they're really not that big a deal. They're just a thing that happens in life. Most people have them. You pop a Valtrex when you have symptoms, you shove a suppostiory up your vulva when it itches, you sleep without underwear on, you communicate with partners, you move on with your life.

Sure, I do what I can to avoid the risks I am most concerned about. I take PreP right now because not getting HIV would be preferable to me. But I could still live if I got it. I am informed about the realities of living with HIV today, which makes that fear more manageable. It is easier for me to make carefully considered and yet realistic decisions surrounding my risk profile because I can confront the realities that scare me and learn more about them.

The body is not separable form its environment. We are connected to our surroundings and the people around us, and our bodies get sick, catch viruses, grow old, get messy, and die inevitably and return to the earth. With our one life, we each have to choose what is most important to us and what potential costs we can stand. But with each year that passes, a cost to our bodies is already incurred, and there's nothing we can do to prevent aging and death from coming our way.

So what would you like to do while you are around? Would you like to have sex with condoms? Go on PreP? Get the HPV vaccine? Take random loads in a glory hole? Make out and dry hump with a cutie at a party and catch her cold sore? Cross the street in the dark after looking both ways? Go out dancing so late that your sleep is disrupted for the whole week? Get your heart broken? Have a great all-consuming love? Have children? Endure a torn labia while giving birth? Try psychedelics? Go on a swinger's cruise? Get a UTI from spermicide? Roleplay online instead of meeting in person? Fuck people with a strap-on?

The choice is yours. And no choice you make will be perfect or come without risk. No life is safe. Accepting loss is one of the necessary tasks of leading a life. But you can educate yourself, reflect on what you most want out of life and what you fear, and then take steps to demystefy your worst fears and mitigate the risks that loom largest to you and the people you care about.

Whatever you decide, I hope you have some fun.

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saltstarzz · 4 months ago

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“ 𝐋𝐚𝐩𝐝𝐨𝐠. ”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: cultleader!geto x AMAB reader, SFW + NSFW. SFW: dark themes + stalking + manipulation + brainwashing + extremist ideology + cult activities + violence + mentions of violence + minor gore + possessiveness. NSFW: cock warming + leashes + extreme edging + BDSM + brief spit play + slapping + bondage + riding (power bottom!geto) 𝐚/𝐧: this one is hella freaky, and god bless bottom!geto.

・❥・ 𝐒𝐅𝐖

it starts off normal at first.

let’s say you’re like a grade two sorcerer who’s never even heard of cultleader!geto. you’re strong enough to be considered a sorcerer, but not strong enough to be respected by your peers. people don’t outright call you weak, but the suggestions to consider becoming an assistant manager are hard to ignore. you fight curses non-stop, and still can’t get any respect…

now imagine this handsome young man with the prettiest black hair and sharp golden eyes comes to you one day, singing your praises. you’re so distracted by his smile and the way he carries himself that you don’t even notice the groups of strangers that have been tailing you for close to an hour now.

“you’d be better off with me, where your talents would truly be appreciated.” and just like that, he’s got you hook like and sinker.

cultleader!geto has a way of making you feel special. hushed little whispers and tasks he entrusts specifically to you. quick smiles and sweet praises. you’re feeling so appreciated that you hardly even notice how he’s begun calling you “lapdog”.

and about those tasks… oh boy. you find very quickly that cultleader!geto has no interest in peace when it comes to “monkeys”, or non-sorcerers. one minute he’s preaching to a crowd, and the next there’s a room full of corpses aside from the three or four sorcerers who might have been able to fight him off. they’re usually indoctrinated and cultleader!geto tasks you the job of cleaning up his mess.

it’s okay though, it’s cultleader!geto. your talents are needed here. why else he keep you around?

soon enough, you’re his most devoted follower. you’re not the strongest, nor the fastest, nor the smartest, but you’re his and cultleader!geto protects what’s his. soon you’re his shadow, always by his side.

the only time you ever have second thoughts is only when cultleader!geto leaves a village near the coast of Japan is ruins. hundreds of people deceased in absolutely vicious states. men, women and horrifyingly, children. he barely bats an eye, and it keeps you up at night.

you confront cultleader!geto one evening. probably not the smartest thing, you know he could kill you easily for this kind of insubordination. but he doesn’t. when you rant and tell him how jealous you are, he smiles. the same exact smile he gave you all those months ago.

“they’re meaningless insects, you know that." he’d say. you know he’s telling you what you want to hear. you should leave, but he’s pulling you in.

“they mean nothing to you or i. you’re my champion. i need you, and you want to leave me?"

WARNING: NSFW AHEAD: MINORS DNI, Thank you.

・❥・𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖

unsurprisingly, being cultleader!geto’s number one follower inevitably gets you into his bed. Such devotion should be rewarded, and cultleader!geto is an absolute freak.

absolute bondage warrior. red or black ropes, i don’t make the rules. cultleader!geto’s got you tied down, hands and feet to each bedpost, absolutely naked.

and all that praise cultleader!geto gives you during the day? gone. you go from his little ‘champion’ to ‘lapdog’ real quick.

“how pitiful, even in bed you’re nothing but a lapdog. aren’t you ashamed of yourself?"

and I feel like cultleader!geto is no stranger to roleplay, I mean this dude is freaky as hell, are we surprised 😭😭? he’s got this expensive black leather collar for you, equipped with a silver nametag with your name on it and an expensive matching leash. he tugs on the leash to hear you bark, whine and gasp for air like the lapdog you are.

and the edging… lord save you, he is a nightmare when it comes to edging.

cultleader!geto’s not the kinda guy to edge you with foreplay. sure, he’s got a cute little bullet vibrator nestled inside of you, but that’s not even close to enough.

no, this man is evil through and through. sat nestled on your cock, all the way to the hilt, and cockwarming you for hours at a time. cutleader!geto soft and warm and he knows he’s fucking tight and he takes advantage of that.

“oh, poor thing. look at you tearing up. you want to fuck me so bad, but you can’t. what a dilemma…”

and when you do get to cum, cultleader!geto makes a game out of it. in the hours that he’s sat on your throbbing cock, he’ll pound himself onto it, babbling hushed nonsense while you’re practically melting into the bed. just as you’re about to cum, cultleader!geto will slam himself down and look back at you as tears trickle down your cheeks.

absolute menace. life without parole!!

and finally, when a shred of mercy enters cultleader!geto’s heart, he finally lets you cum. facing you, riding your cock so hard the bed is creaking, he lets you cum. of course not inside him. never inside of him, you’re not worthy of that. no, he pulls off just as you’re about to cum and lets you paint your own stomach white. a mess.

“to think you’d last longer. a shame.” he’ll say, his own cock throbbing. such a liar.

there’s no aftercare. cultleader!geto is a busy man and these few hours together should be treasured. he’ll put his clothes back on, undo your bindings and leave you there like he’d never been there in the first place, fucking you silly.

“Please…”

You can hear the blood thrumming in your ears, and your bodies strung tight like a spring. How much longer is he going to toy with you like this? Bouncing on your cock, fucking himself down onto you like a toy, keeping you hard enough to touch every spot he fucking loves. While you’re suffering, Geto’s got his hands on your chest, mewling at how your cock stretches him, his hips moving on instinct, fucking himself onto you.

“Please, Geto, please—”

YANK!

The air in your lungs is forced out of you, your head lurching forward with a sharp tug as Geto pulls the leash back, sharp golden eyes trained on you like an insect crossing his path.

“Who said you could speak, dog?” he laughs, incredulous.

“No one,” you breathe. Anything to get this man to go faster. To let you cum deep inside of him like you’ve been dreaming of. If only your hands weren’t bound and getting bruised, you’d grab his hips and fuck him down onto you. Maybe fuck the cruelty out of him if you were lucky.

“Open your mouth.”

Your fingernails dig into the red ropes binding your wrists, and you peer up at him. He’s sparkly with sweat, just like you, his cheeks flushed and his lips bruised and raw from biting at them. Fucking sexy. If you could commit him to memory, you would in a heartbeat.

You open your mouth, watching him lean forward. And with little warning, he spits into your mouth, his fingers digging deep crescent marks into your cheeks, his other hand holding your leash.

And you cum like you never have before. Rope after rope leaves you, burying each pulse of his cum into him. Geto jumps, his eyes wild and alert. He pulls himself up just as you paint your stomach and his ass with your cum. You’re so dizzy from the heat, you don’t even realize he’s speaking to you.

“Consider yourself fortunate, Lapdog."

His hand slaps against your cheek, leaving a stinging blow that brings you back to the moment.

“Next time you cum inside me, we won’t be having a conversation…”

#jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #jjk smut #geto suguru #geto x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #tw: dark content #tw: cults

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scaredyspooks · 2 months ago

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BG3 Kinktober 2024

Because I'm a perverted conduit that the void speaks through, I'm doing a Baldur's Gate 3 themed kinktober this year on here and AO3. As I publish the fics I'll be updating this list with links to them, and so y'all can gauge your interest here's the list!

Astarion (spawn) - roleplay - what's an innocent magistrate to do when his assistant propositions him when they're staying late at work?

Gale - pegging - growing bored of the wizard's endless accounts of how he and his goddess' bodies once intertwined, you notice there's one pleasure she never showed him.

Shadowheart - sensory depravation - life's greatest pleasures can be found in loss and darkness.

Lae'Zel - leather - peeling the leathers from your lover's body are one of the greatest rewards of battle.

Wyll - chastity - just because he wants to take things slow, doesn't mean you can't torment him a little.

Karlach - temperature play - attempts to cool her down end up having an interesting result.

Minthara - bondage - an interrogation goes south as you try to get to the bottom of the Absolute's cult.

Halsin - olfactophilia - after almost a tenday of not having time to bathe you head to the river, only be blocked off by a large elf.

Mizora - public - shrouded in the cloak of the hells atop a secluded pedestal, only to find it is in fact a stage.

Rolan - electro - someone's ego boost at getting a new tower has him coming out of his shell.

Zevlor - glory hole - the commander and the cleric need a release, things get interesting when the stranger behind the wall ends up being far too familiar.

Ikaron - semi-public - tensions are high in The Hollow, but you think you can help.

Raphael - naked platter - the devil has made a patisserie of you for his guests, though they seem to fade from existence as he grows distracted by the meal he's making of you.

Haarlep - size difference - the succubus is shocked that you want to see their true form, turns out they're a lot bigger than their master.

Rugan - impact play - the Zhentarim seeks to punish you for trying to skip out on your deal, he doesn't get very far.

Gortash - power play - your relationship has always been somewhat of a dance, one that you're determined to lead.

Dammon - edging - the forge's flames illuminate more than the smith realises, but you're happy to "help" once things quieten down.

The Emperor - hypnosis - the ilithid believes he can still get through to you, with one last attempt.

Aradin - hate fuck - your competitor, the thorn in your side, but damn if he doesn't have good stamina.

Abdirak - sado-masochism - two priests of Loviatar aid in each other's prayer.

He Who Was - free use - his ability to travel the shadowcursed lands unhindered has him popping up everywhere, making you pay for his insatiable desires.

Lia - wax play - after the first few drops, it's hard to tell what's blush and what's burn among the giggles in the Elfsong.

Cal - play fighting - a little extra training won't do any harm, though the proximity may prove... challenging.

Gale - findom - what starts as a simple shopping trip to Sorcerous Sundries takes a turn as you drag the wizard to more and more shops.

Astarion (ascended) - biting/marking - your last night as a mortal will be one to remember.

Shadowheart - human furniture - god's favourite princess needs a throne.

Wyll - roleplay - the son of a duke has a duty to mingle at these important events, though it usually shouldn't lead him to a cupboard with a handsome stranger.

Lae'Zel - predator/prey - your heart races, your breathing to quick to catch, and you know the more you sweat the easier it'll be for her to catch you.

Karlach - human ashtray - she's been making fun of you all evening for your drunken confession about her cigars, but once the other's go to bed she's happy to indulge you on the Elfsong's roof garden.

Halsin - breeding - ever the beast of nature, with your perils finally at an end he lets himself run loose with you and you realise it’s going to be a long night until he’s done filling you.

Minthara - body worship - the drow isn't keen onbeing nursed after but with injuries so severe you need to make sure she's alright.

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darkdoverpseeker · 2 years ago

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🕊️

Hi there! 20+m here who recently got into the kdrama Strangers from Hell/Hell is Other People, and I’m obsessed.

Specifically looking to rp Moon-jo/Jong-woo, with me playing Moon-jo. I think it’d be fun to play out Jong-woo’s stay at the studio and flesh that out a bit more perhaps, or do a different ending with the two of them - but I’m open to plotting and figuring it out together! I could potentially be swayed into playing Moon-jo against an oc, depending on the dynamic.

I write novella style, minimum of 4 paragraphs to 2000+ words. I’m a student and employed, so I can’t do fast replies but I’m so down for chatting ooc! I love plotting, sending edits and songs and pet pics and whatnot - not necessary of course, but I enjoy it:)

Tl;dr: looking for someone to play Jong-woo/a male/nb oc (trans characters welcome!) against my Moon-jo! 18+, novella style, dark themes in line with the show - murder, stalking, etc. I rp on discord and will reach out here first!

like if interested!

#cc x cc #1x1 rp #1x1 rp search #rp ad #rp promo #strangers from hell rp #strangers from hell roleplay #hell is other people rp #hell is other people roleplay #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #murder tw #stalking tw #discord rp #rp #roleplay

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kerubimcrepin · 4 months ago

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An analysis of That One Moment from Wakfu OVA - Book 2, Ush

Technically, this post is a part 4 of my liveblog, but still...

Today we will be talking about the interaction that I am most mentally ill about in the entirety of Wakfu.

Before I go completely off the rails: I think it's cute that despite everything, Keke still cares a lot about Ecaflip and Ecaflipus, and Atcham still cares about killing people for wronging him.

Things have changed after six centuries, but they're still just themselves. Anyway.

There is so much happening here. SO much. Let me break it down point by point:

The most obvious one: by addressing them as kids, he pulls his "I am roleplaying as your father for these strangers who don't know anything about our weird familial situation, and you will obey me" card. This is important because:

Kerubim and Atcham know how much Joris cares about the Brotherhood of Tofu and their opinions of him, to the point of going a little bit crazy at the thought of offending Yugo and Adamai.

So, even if him pulling the "I'm your dad" card is a bit egocentric, they can't say anything about that openly — because Joris would be so, so sad if everyone in this room knew he lives with his dad for 600 years now. He'd be so mad too, because "papychaaa, chaaaoncle stop embarrassing me in front of my friends!"

We KNOW Kerubim cares about not embarrassing Joris — because in the Dofus MMO he won't shut the hell up about his 20-30 dead loved ones from 200 years ago, says a Singular Thing about Atcham, and absolutely nothing about his very much alive son/fake dad, at best managing a little "we all want someone small in our lives..."

In my opinion, while some families are built on mutual roasting, the Crepin-Jurgen household houses three people with very fragile senses of self-esteem, so anything resembling roasting is usually light, exclusive to when they're all alone, and never about things that they actually hate about themselves ("short, weird, ugly, hypocrite, weak, overthinker"; "ugly" (some bald jokes allowed, but it depends on the mood); and "narcissist who kept his son in a hazardous environment for the first 7 years of his life and gave him 30 mental illnesses").

Besides the fact that Keke and Atch care about Joris making friends, — for the three of them (but especially Joris and Atcham), feeling belittled is the easiest way to ruin a relationship irreparably. If you insult them, it's just over. And I don't mean it in a funny-haha cutesy way. Sometimes, people actually dislike when they are insulted repeatedly about something they legitimately hate about themselves, and, y'know, hate everyone who hurts them this way? And you will not believe it, but people who actually care about them know and respect that. Because they love them.

So yeah, the three of them are all creatures of pride, and they respect that about each other, — which is why would never put each other in a position where they might get laughed at. (like suddenly revealing the Dad Roleplay and "600 years of living with his dad" sort of interpersonal lore)

However, being creatures of pride, I don't think Kerubim and Atcham are happy about Joris doing this. Especially because of the next point: Joris uses his position as their roleplay-dad and Asocial Son/Nephew Who Needs To Impress His Friends to essentially force them to let him go into a battle alone. Essentially, this line is translated as "you have glass bones and paper skin. you can't follow me because I said so, and you can't protest without looking weird." into Normal Human Tongue.

Joris does this for a very simple reason: they are weak (though so is he), and he's scared — he loves them! It's normal that he doesn't want to see them be hurt! Even if they have multiple lives, but they're not infinite lives, and it doesn't make every time they die NOT scary and traumatizing! He wants Kerubim and Atcham to go and rest, and he's also excited that they're finally meeting his friends.

However, unlike them, he only has one life — and they hate to see him hurt just as much, if not more, considering how much more danger he's always in:

They would really rather not leave their p'tit Jojo Joris alone with things they know are dangerous, — like Ush, — while Joris is weakened. No matter how much he wants to fight Ush one-on-one.

So, they refuse and even joke about him in the most subtle and funny way: using his own little game to make fun of him, and completely refuse his offer of leaving to rest in Sadida Kingdom, — coupled with an overexaggerated little shrug, and rubbing their statuses as so-called "sons" and "father" in his face.

These three come up with very elaborate rituals to communicate things that take normal people like ten seconds.

#ro liveblogs dofus #krosmoz #dofus #wakfu #wak3 #joris jurgen #kerubim crepin #atcham crepin

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