#that post I saw made me want to clean it up and post it

[emeraldserenade]

The Better Cousin ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you agreed to be your friend's date to his cousin's birthday, it got complicated when he started flirting with a girl. You end up confiding in Joaquín when he approaches you.

tw: fem!reader, limited use of y/n, cabnw spoliers, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

This did not turn out the way I wanted it but it's whatever.

I'm just finishing up some things I have in my drafts so that way I will less guilty when I have to stop posting while I'm dealing with my family thing.

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It was as simple, accepting to be your friend's date. He was tired of his family asking when he was going to get a girlfriend. You loved him, sure, but you weren't in love with him. There was no feelings which is why you were so comfortable with it. Sure, you had to go on a roadtrip with your work friend all the way to Arizona.

It was going well, you met his family and had a good time. That's when him and some of his cousin's decided to go to a bar after the party. Which is where you found yourself, sitting alone and staring at him as he flirted and made out with a blonde.

"Hey, y/n, right?" Joaquín, one of the cousin's you had yet to talk to, asked when he sat down. "I'm Joaquín," he offered his hand and you shook it.

"Hi," you awkwardly told him, not knowing what else to say.

"Where's Richie?" Joaquín looked around and you saw the moment he spotted Richie. "Is he?"

"Making out with a blonde? Yeah," you shrugged, knowing that after this he would tell his family that you two broke up.

"You don't sound upset," Joaquín looked back at you.

"Richie and I aren't actually dating, we're friends. Coworkers mostly, he just didn't want to be hounded by your family about being single," you grabbed your drink, just a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple, the jingle of your bracelets causing Joaquín to look at them.

"Really?"

"Yeah, we had a plan. I was going to show up with him and then in like a week or so he was going to say we either broke up or come clean. Whichever he chose, I was willing to be the bad guy," you shrugged, not really caring.

"What's the plan now that he's making out with her?" Joaquín sounded genuinely curious.

"Here comes the rest of your family, so I guess I'm coming clean," you told Joaquín as his family came up with sympathy. There was a lot of comforting words from them, it made you smile knowing that even though they've only know you for a day they were willing to comfort you.

"I'll go fight his ass," Felix told you before moving to walk away.

"Wait," you called out, gently grasping his wrist. "It's ok, and I'm not just saying that. Richie and I are coworkers, friends. He just didn't want you guys to ask about a girlfriend so I said I would pretend. Truly, it's my fault, I suggested it. Well, not that I would be his fake girlfriend but that he could just lie about having one, he asked me if I would pretend. And I'm going to stop talking now," you realized you were rambling. Everyone around you just nodded and you realized how they weren't in the least bit shocked.

"Oh, thank goodness," one of the female cousins, Angeline, laughed. "No offense, but you could do so much better than Richie. Trust me," he smiled at you and you smiled back. Everyone dispersed from around you, minus Joaquín.

"They weren't shocked," you stated in slight disbelief.

"Every time he was asked something about you or talked about you, he sounded so disinterested. Everyone thought this was once sided and didn't want to hurt your feelings," Joaquín told you and you raised your eyebrows.

"Oh, I guess I never thought about how bad he was at acting," you mumbled.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Joaquín had been talking for hours, both of you hadn't been drinking. You were approached a few minutes ago by various cousins saying they were headed home. You two were only still there waiting on Richie to either go home with the blonde or come over staying he was ready to go.

"So you're the new Falcon?" You were leaning close to Joaquín, the music in the bar had been turned down a little but it was still relatively loud.

"I am, I just have to finish healing before Sam will let me do anything," Joaquín told you. He had told you about what happened at Celestial Island.

"That's cool," you're eyes tracked Richie as he walked over.

"Are you two ok with me going with Ginny?" He pointed his thumb over to the blonde he's been talking to all night.

"That's fine with me," you looked over at Joaquín who nodded.

"Well, see you two," Richie ran over to Ginny and you looked back at Joaquín.

"Ready to go home?" Joaquín stood and offered you his hand, which you accepted.

"I hope you mean back to your family home because I live all the way out in DC," you joked.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín and you carefully walked back into the house, most of the lights were off which is why you both slightly jumped when you ran into his mother in the living room. You stepped closer to him while he wrapped his arm around your shoulders in fear.

"Oh, Quino, y/n, you two are home," she gave you a smile. "The others told the rest of us all about the plan you and Richie had, my dear," her smile shifted into a knowing one.

"I'm sorry about lying to all of you," you hung your head slightly.

"It's ok," you missed the way her eyes went between you and Joaquín. His arm still around your shoulders and you stepping even closer. "I understand wanting to help a friend, plus maybe there's come good in this after all. We did get to meet you," she smiled and you looked back up at her with one of your own. "Oh, I hope you don't mind but we moved some people into the room you were supposed to stay in. I hope you don't mind having to share a room with Quino."

"Oh," you are Joaquín shared a look. "I don't mind if you don't," you told Joaquín.

"I don't," he told you.

"Good, we moved you things in there. Now run along to bed you two," Joaquín's mom told you, both of you wishing her a good night before going upstairs to bed.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"You two know," Richie started talking, it had been a few years since you first went with him to his cousin's birthday. You and Joaquín had been dating for 2 of those. "You two wouldn't be together if it weren't for me," Richie gloated, you were sitting on Joaquín's lap laughing. You felt his arms tighten around your waist.

"Hm, and you wouldn't be single if you just listened to me and asked Ginny out. Yet here you are, single and moping because you're a coward," you gave Richie a bitchy smile.

"You win, this time," he told you.

"I win every time, how else do you think I got the better cousin?" You leaned back into Joaquín as everyone laughed.

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Masterlist | Requests

[semisasseater]

STUPID MOVE

pretty girl.

SUMMARY ‘ trying to escape was a stupid move.

𓊆 黑星 𓊇 x gn!reader 㞫⠀⠀ ִ ⠀ 2,008 obsession stalking kidnapping abuse forced captivity threats emotional manipulation violence yandere themes — 类型 dark romance psychological thriller horror yandere

✴︎ LIBRARY ✴︎ part 1 part 2

‧˚⠀⠀ 🤍⠀⠀ ɞ 作者注 : posting another fic then leaving again.

Two Weeks Later

The air outside the basement felt suffocating.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were no longer trapped underground, no longer bound by ropes in a damp, dark room. Heeseung had finally deemed you “ready” to leave the basement. But only under his watchful eyes.

You thought it would feel like freedom.

It didn’t.

Your body felt dirty, your skin sticky, your hair tangled from weeks of being confined in that cold, miserable space. You wanted nothing more than to scrub yourself clean, to feel human again.

“…Can I take a shower?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet, barely masking the disgust curling in your stomach as Heeseung gazed at you with those infatuated eyes.

His entire face lit up at your request, as if you’d just told him you loved him. “Of course, darling!” He practically beamed, rushing to guide you to the bathroom. “I bought you some clothes that I think would look beautiful on you.”

You swallowed the bile in your throat as he handed you a neatly folded outfit. The way he looked at you made your skin crawl—so lovesick, so hopeful.

You forced a nod, biting down your revulsion. “Thanks…”

The second you shut the bathroom door, you exhaled shakily.

The mirror reflected a hollowed-out version of yourself—pale, tired, a ghost of the person you once were. You ignored your reflection, stripped down, and stepped into the steaming shower.

Water cascaded down your skin, washing away weeks of filth, but not the sickening feeling of Heeseung’s eyes on you. You scrubbed harder, rubbing your skin raw, as if you could erase his touch from your soul.

And then you saw it.

The window.

Open.

Your heart pounded violently against your ribs as you turned off the water, wrapping the towel around you. You had no plan, no idea where you were, but it didn’t matter. This was your chance.

You climbed onto the sink, reaching up to hoist yourself through the window. Just a little more—just a little higher—

The bathroom door swung open.

“Love, are you—”

Silence.

Dread flooded your veins as you turned, meeting Heeseung’s darkening eyes. His entire body stiffened, his expression unreadable.

You moved faster, scrambling to push yourself through, but before you could, a pair of hands grabbed your ankles and yanked you down.

You crashed onto the cold, hard floor with a sickening thud.

“N-No…” you whimpered, crawling backward as Heeseung loomed over you.

His expression twisted into something monstrous. His jaw clenched, his hands trembled—but not in sadness. In fury.

���What. The. Fuck. Were. You. Thinking?” His voice was eerily calm, his head tilted slightly.

Your lips trembled. “H-Heeseung please—”

The first blow struck your face before you could finish. Then another. Then another.

Pain exploded across your body—punches, kicks, hair yanked so hard your scalp burned. You screamed, sobbed, pleaded, but it didn’t stop. The world blurred, your mind slipping in and out of consciousness.

Then, finally, it stopped.

Your body felt weightless, your ears ringing. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Heeseung’s heaving chest, his wide, trembling eyes staring down at your battered form. His hands shook—blood on his knuckles. Your blood.

“…Shit” he whispered.

Then, gently—so, so gently—he cradled your broken body in his arms.

“I’m sorry” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your bruised cheek. “I didn’t mean to hurt you so much… I just… I just got scared baby. You can’t do that. You can’t leave me.”

His voice wavered, desperate, trembling with something between guilt and obsession. His fingers brushed your blood-matted hair away from your face as if he hadn’t just beaten you unconscious.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry, to claw at him, to do anything—but your body wouldn’t move. Everything ached.

Heeseung lifted you carefully, carrying you like something fragile. His breath was shaky, his heartbeat erratic against your skin.

“I’ll fix this” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You faded in and out of consciousness, barely registering the feeling of soft sheets beneath you. The scent of Heeseung’s cologne clung to them, suffocating you.

You weren’t in the basement anymore.

You were in his bed.

—

When you woke again, everything hurt. Your arms, your ribs, your face—every part of you screamed in pain. Bandages covered your skin, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air.

And then you felt it.

The weight of an arm draped over your waist. A body pressed against yours. Warm breath against your neck.

You stiffened.

Slowly, you turned your head, your pulse hammering violently in your chest.

Heeseung.

Asleep, curled around you like a child clinging to his favorite stuffed animal. His grip was loose but firm enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere.

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to shove him away, to rip yourself from his grasp. But you were weak, exhausted, and the fresh bruises decorating your skin told you what would happen if you tried again.

Tears welled in your eyes. What were you going to do?

Then—movement.

A soft hum vibrated against your shoulder. Heeseung stirred, his grip tightening, his nose nuzzling into your neck as he let out a content sigh.

“You’re awake” he murmured sleepily. His voice was thick with drowsiness, but when he opened his eyes, they glowed with something far more alert—something possessive.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay still. “Y-Yeah…”

A smile stretched across his lips, and for a second, he looked normal. Just a boy waking up next to the love of his life.

But this wasn’t love.

Love wasn’t this.

“I was so worried” he whispered, his fingers brushing against the bruises he had left. His smile faltered, something dark flickering in his gaze. “I got angry… I didn’t mean to hurt you so much, love. But you scared me.”

You stayed silent, your fingers trembling against the sheets.

Heeseung’s expression softened. “You understand, don’t you? I had to do it. You made me do it.”

A lump formed in your throat.

He shifted, hovering over you, his face inches from yours. “You won’t do that again right?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a threat.

You forced yourself to nod. “I… I won’t.”

His face lit up, a wide, lovesick grin spreading across his lips. “That’s my good girl.” He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Your stomach churned.

He pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around you like chains. “I’ll take care of you, baby. I’ll make everything perfect for us. You’ll see.”

His voice was dreamy, filled with devotion.

You stared at the ceiling, your heart pounding with one single thought.

You had to get out.

Before it was too late.

@semisasseater

[chasingfigments]

Wheel of Time, Season 3, Episodes 1-3

Some scattered thoughts about the first three episodes of the season, including vague full book series spoilers.

(Why vague, you ask? Because I've only read the series once, and a majority of that was over twenty years ago at this point, and I am disinclined to do in-depth research for this post beyond googling spelling.)

1) I appreciate that they're having Siuan lay the groundwork for her own destruction. I'll admit, the coup caught me entirely off guard in the books, but here I can see the very careful build up:

Barring one Ajah's Sitters from the Hall.

Revealing that only 11 people (a simple majority) are needed for a vote to pass.

Siuan did not deny Liandrin's charges, and instead dodged them with the Black Ajah reveal, while still admitting that if Liandrin were telling the truth, Siuan could be deposed for what she did in Cairhien.

A number of Sitters were killed in that fight, and between that and the four that jumped to Liandrin's help, the Hall is going to have a chunk of (probably) new Sitters who may not be inclined charitably toward Siuan.

Sending Tsutama out with (presumably) seven of Tsutama's hand-picked Reds, leaves Galina and Elaida behind for power grabbing. This is extra bad for Siuan given that Tsutama seems opposed to Elaida from the start (by refusing that gift).

2) I think the show is going to keep masking/inverting weaves as a thing, primarily because Egwene did not see any of Lanfear's weaves in the "mirror" bubble of evil. We were firmly in Egwene's POV in that scene, so the audience should have seen something. Nynaeve also didn't see what was happening with the playing cards and Mat. (Then again, it's possible that the weaves were small/subtle enough Egwene/Nynaeve didn't spot them...but I'm not willing to do a frame-by-frame rewatch looking for that)

3) This is contrast to the very clever split-second pauses before Rahvin used compulsion on a BUNCH of characters in episode 2. No one in Tar Valon was capable of seeing him do that, so the audience didn't see it either. I do hope the show continues to play with POV like that now that more of the Forsaken are out.

4) LOLing over the Forsaken meetup where they point out that last time they were all fighting each other only for Rahvin to turn around and be dealing with Moghedien behind Lanfear's and Sammael's backs. And we've got confirmation that Nae'blis is still a thing.

5) Yesssssss, we're keeping Semirhage. Given the Forsaken statues we saw in season 1, sounds like we're getting Asmodean. I'm not sure if I want Semirhage fucking about with the Seanchan (we saw Ishamael doing that last season) or if I want her to take over Mesaana's plot. Maybe she can have a cold open of murdering the Empress and then jaunt over to the White Tower.

6) Mazrim name drops! Is Taimandred not happening? Or are we getting Mazrim's ascension much sooner? Either way, I hope this means Shara doesn't come out of left field in the last battle because that made no fucking sense. Taimandred did, and I'll never not be angry that it didn't happen. XD

7) Thank god they changed the Morgase + Rhavin plot, btw. I'm glad that in 2025 we're not going to have "competent queen destroys her queendom by going crazy over Some Guy" + slutshaming that happened in the books. I like that we saw Morgase murder her formal rivals to secure her power because when she starts cleaning house in Andor (we got that Bryne name drop, so there's some alienation going on already), it's not out of character for her to do this--she's purged folks before. This also makes Elayne's eventual succession crisis have even higher stakes, because like fuck is anyone going to want to fold to her once they've made their own claim because they remember what her mother did when she won.

8) It does not seem like the Choedan Kal + access keys are going to be a thing. We'll miss out on some great visuals without the giant statues, but we also won't get the Amayar's mass suicide, so that's fine with me.

9) Mat's slow build-up of annoyance with Galad and Gawyn was hilarious and made his eventual beatdown of them immensely satisfying.

10) We've already got Galad's disdain for Aes Sedai! (Though that does not stop him from fucking Novices/Accepted. XD) I wonder if we'll actually see his recruitment to the Whitecloaks in the show.

11) The Gray Men are horrifying (and also I hope we see some actual female Soulless because those were allegedly a thing we never got to see on page). Let Moghedien take a lady apart in a horrifying manner!

12) Awww, I want Mat and Min to make up eventually. Her new viewing of him was horrifying (but fun! because of course that was going to happen I do not understand why so many people thought we'd totally miss the Snakes & Foxes in the leadup to this season??? why was that even a serious worry).

13) I'm not necessarily opposed to Aiel taking in outsiders (though Tigraine was a pretty notable exception, from what I remember?), but I'm a little surprised they're repurposing Melindhra and using that as backstory for her. I doubt they'll have Lan hook up with her, but I guess this hint of a connection to Malkier could serve as a way to get her close with Lan (since Mat's off to Tanchico).

14) Very much appreciate that the show is not glossing over Egwene's PTSD or Mat's--PTSD from prior lives? (I'm not sure how to classify it, but he's also having a hard time right now.)

15) Awww, Bain and Chiad flirting with Loial was very cute. I do like that they're following Loial here, and I'm going to assume Aviendha fulfilled her toh to Perrin in the battle at Falme.

16) Ryma is free! 😭😭😭

17) ON THAT NOTE, I think we're actually going to avoid the endless the-black-Ajah-and-Seanchan-don't-exist-or-if-they-do-they-aren't-threats nonsense in the books. The White Tower was so infuriating in the books under Elaida's rule, but they've got the attack in the Hall, they have Ryma and her testimony, and the show is putting its work in to make its antagonists competent instead of caricatures, so I doubt they'll backslide and deny those things.

18) Not at all worried about not seeing Egwene and Elayne's Accepted tests--we got the "full length" version of Nynaeve's last season, and we'll certainly get flashbacks to Egwene and Elayne's as they are relevant. We had other things that had to be covered first.

19) Elayne and Aviendha hooking up is the best change they could have made to Rand's harem plotline.

20) Liandrin rescuing that child bride was both very nice and also horrifying, but hey, mind wiped and alive is probably better than dead? XD

[piracytheorist]

Damian Desmond, the bully and the victim

I'm prefacing this by saying I was bullied as a kid at school. It was not the worst bullying story you'll ever hear, but that makes no difference in bully victims, cause no amount of "It could be worse!" can heal the life-long scars bullying leaves in you. I'm not saying this to evoke pity or sympathy, but to give context for my point of view in this analysis.

My two most prominent (and persisting) bullies through my school years were two boys, unrelated to each other and in different times (one was in elementary school and one in high school), who both had divorced parents and lived with their mothers. I don't know the full details of what their relationships with their fathers were, but I can easily guess that there were unfulfilled wishes in their lives, and once they found me they were like "That's who I'll burst out my frustrations on". As if I didn't have my own issues at home, but why would my problems matter from their point of view?

The thing with bullies (and abusers in general) is that, for the most part, they don't understand the pain they're causing - and if they do, they think their victim needs (tough love situation) or deserves it. Everyone is a hero in their own story - I regrettably made fun of a classmate a few times, out of my own need to feel superior for once after having been on the receiving end for so long. And I can tell you that my justification for doing so was something like "I am smart and this kid should listen to me, if he does he will become smart too!". It was only much, much later that I realized that didn't hold and the kid was actually hurt by my uncalled-for behaviour. Usually, bullies don't have the empathy, or if they do they simply don't put it to use, to see things from their victim's perspective.

And in all the praise I have to give Endo for writing Anya very realistically as a child, I also have to give it to him for how realistic the bullying is. It starts immediately, uncritically. It persists and the stupid excuse of "Just ignore them" doesn't work at all. Anya gets angry and upset at it, to the point of violent outbursts and tears (though thankfully presented in such a way that the audience doesn't blame her). Combined with his conflicting emotions about her, Damian has found the perfect victim for his bullying; Anya is an outcast (aside from having Becky, thank god), has physical attributes he can make fun of, and because of her wanting to help with Operation Strix she just constantly presents herself to him, when normally she would try her damnedest to avoid him (like Becky always advises her to).

Everything Damian does is an outburst of his own feelings of neglect. I know manga readers know more about the family dynamic, but as an anime only I've also been given enough to understand it's very, very problematic. But that's not an excuse. Having trauma on your own does not excuse thrusting trauma upon others. I mean, you think Anya, the orphan from the lab who didn't have anyone to give a damn about her happiness until she had to manipulate both her ways into getting a father and then a mother, has less trauma than Damian does???

It's not an excuse, but it's a dynamic for Damian to become better. Damian's behaviour problem doesn't only stem from him being neglected; it's also from the fact that he hasn't been taught sympathy. Which, like, makes sense. His father is an ambitious politician who genuinely believes that it's impossible for humans, even relatives, to understand each other, and had no qualms saying this right in front of his kid.

When it comes to Damian's behaviour, it does not matter that those words hurt him terribly. He doesn't have the emotional maturity and empathy yet to understand that he's only perpetuating the same toxic behaviour with his classmates. The fact that Donovan felt so comfortable saying those words in front of both his own son and a total stranger shows that it's something he's used to; and such traits can very easily be passed on from parents to kids without even consciously trying.

Meanwhile, while Anya had a much worse time while being used as a science subject, she was taught the idea of peace; in the first episode flashback, the scientists talk about how they can use her powers for world peace, to justify cutting her play time short in favor of whatever they were doing with her. When Twilight thinks that understanding her will lead to world peace, she immediately starts complying with that. And when she hears his thoughts about how he wants to create a better world, she decides to stay with him as his daughter to help him in the mission, despite understanding the risk and knowing that whether the mission fails or succeeds, Twilight will walk away in the end. She understands the idea of kindness and good. Maybe the way she was introduced to it wasn't the most noble - after all, the scientists were using it as an excuse to practically abuse her - but she still knows and understands enough about what it means for someone else to be happy.

Damian… doesn't. For the grand majority of his presentation he doesn't do things for someone else, in fact, he's so used to others doing things for him that we always see Ewen carry his backpack for him.

I do not doubt that Ewen himself, being the bootlicker he is, offered to carry it, but the fact that Damian never once went like "Nah it's okay man I can carry my weight today" is very telling about how not used he is to doing things for others.

However, his dynamic becomes interesting and receives redeeming qualities because of the times he does show altruism. First when he stops the ball from hitting Anya in the face during the dodgeball game, (though he instantly and openly regrets doing that). And it wasn't from conscious thought - it was an action purely out of protective instinct. Then, when he's the instigator of consoling George Glooman when the latter thinks he'll be moved out of the school. That one he also regrets doing, but it's much more understandable and it doesn't take away the sympathy he showed him.

There is something he constantly does, however, with someone else in mind; he studies hard and tries to excel at school to receive Stellas, in order to get his father's attention. His way of getting that attention has been so messed up by his upbringing that he thinks the only way of getting any positive interaction with his father is by working hard to not be a "failure". And even that hides some personal motives behind it, because the poor kid longs for some affection from his family. Donovan's character and the distance Damian has from him, his mother (when he calls home, he talks with their butler, not her), and his brother all combined do not allow the kid to understand the concept of doing something to make someone else happy, even (or especially) if there's nothing in it for him.

That's not selflessness; that's a neglected kid pushing himself to prove to his abusers that he's deserving of their affection, something he naturally craves and obviously misses from his life. Tough "love" is so prominent in the Desmond family that Damian had no hopes of growing any differently.

He has the potential to become better and has only been held back because of his family's toxic environment. But he needs to develop a conscious understanding of altruism first if his character is to grow into a morally better area.

You can't just give a character a painful backstory and expect audiences to automatically root for their happiness. You need to show your character also has grown empathy because of said painful experiences. We see it with all three mains. Anya was treated as a lab experiment; you start rooting for her when you see that she wants to help bring peace. Twilight went through a war as a kid; you root for him when he says he wants to create a world where kids won't go through the same thing. Yor lost her parents when she was very young; you root for her when you learn that she took care of her brother and gave him opportunities for education and a better future that she rejected for herself in his favour.

So yeah, I do feel sorry for Damian. But right now I only root for him to understand the meaning of making someone else happy — the meaning behind his own protective action over Anya in the dodgeball game and the sympathy he showed George. When he does that, and he realizes he has more in common with Anya than he dares to accept, it's only then that he'll grow from a layered but still toxic bully into a character audiences can root for.

It's also not the responsibility of Anya of all people to take up all the abuse from him and be the one to help him build up some character. It has to be him making the realization, and Anya can choose to be a friend to him as he does that, but in no way can his development depend on her.

(Again, anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[acrobattack]

i think it’s fun that blossom and buttercup butt heads the most vs brick who targets boomer and more or less gets along swell with butch

[crossbackpoke-check]

nosy anon again making a return because i think what my brain did was read that i helped find some kind of writing and then did not fully process what the writing was?? but upon rereading i am very intrigued if you ever get the urge to share i will be all eyes/ears/senses required to enjoy things!!

I GET TO DO WIP WEDNESDAYYYYYY!!! the writing exists mostly in the form of a tag (fantastic! 'verse) and also a thirty-two page doc of snippets and planning, so the sense you will be using most is imagination:

don't think i have ever actually formally written out anything about fantastic! 'verse but! the tl;dr of it is that it's a semi-college au: joel is still a hockey player for the lv phantoms, but morgan is a college student-athlete. it's incredibly relevant to the plot that joel falls in love with morgan in the check-out line of a wegman's, lies a little bit, and ends up going back to get his degree.

most of it is just good fun about college kids growing up, but i think there's a lot of parallels between making your way through a development system where traditional "success" isn't always guaranteed (ahl -> nhl, completion of higher education -> pursuit of a career) because that development system isn't always designed for you to "succeed" or have opportunities. heavy quotation marks around success because part of that struggle is learning what you want in life and how you define success. are your dreams achievable? are they still the same dreams you always used to have? it's infinite branching universes of would you still love me if i was a worm (ahl player forever) (a college dropout) (a college graduate) (older) (realizing the fallibility of your body) (uncertain of the future) (human).

silly little snippet:

[spaceratprodigy]

speaking of plans for 2024

after the holidays when things start calming down a bit I'm gonna make a new/better commission post and start promoting comms more frequently again!

If that were of interest to anyone or if anyone wants me to let them know when I'm ready to take comms again. Thank you to those who commissioned me this year btw! Those are some of my favorite pieces I've gotten to work on :]

Also reminder for myself to go through/clean up/be better at promoting my ko-fi bc I've been neglecting it for months along w my other social media accs and I don't think many people besides old friends realize I have a tip jar and draw rewards

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Okay actually following what I said earlier I see that anyone who writes about this man is performing a service to the community

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[mystra-midnight]

The Devil and I

summary: logan might have looked like an ordinary man, but the weight of his metal-laced bones pressing against your back was intoxicating—deliciously so. and he knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the earth revolved around the sun.

warnings: 18+ only. dom!logan. rough sex. messy sex. spanking. tiny hint of anal play.

words: 1.8k.

notes: i am not even sorry. not one bit. this was inspired entirely by this post by @i-spit-on-your-garage and dedicated to her also. thank you for sharing your horny thoughts with me.

"That's it, baby, taking me so well."

Logan's voice was a gruff growl against your ear, crawling up his throat and over your skin like whiskey, full-bodied. His breath, warm and tinged with a hint of smoke, sent shivers down your spine. His large hands kneaded the flesh of your hips as he dragged you against his pelvis again, the sound of skin hitting skin loud, leaving your arse stinging from the impact.

You'd never given much thought to his body until now. What had started as harmless flirting—a dirty fantasy about fucking the mutant called Wolverine—had taken a turn. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive; in fact, Logan was the epitome of a woman's wildest dreams. He was tall and impossibly strong, his muscles rippling under your fingertips. But what surprised you most was his weight, the heaviness that came from the adamantium skeleton beneath his warm flesh.

Logan might have looked like an ordinary man, but the weight of his metal-laced bones pressing against your back was intoxicating—deliciously so. And he knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the Earth revolved around the Sun. 

That's why he kept you in this position: on your knees, face pressed into the mattress, hips raised, your slick folds stretched around his girth. Logan relished seeing his women like this—whiny and cock-drunk, the perfect plaything for his pleasure. Your voice was muffled, fingers digging into the sheets so tightly they hurt. You could barely make a sound as he thrust into you, each powerful stroke forcing gasps from your lungs. He didn't mind.

Your entire body trembled when his hand moved up your sweaty back, each fingertip tracing the delicate curve of your spine with deliberate tenderness. The sensation was electric, a shiver-inducing journey that left your skin prickling with goosebumps. He paused at each vertebra, applying just enough pressure to make you arch before continuing his path upward. When his fingers finally reached the nape of your neck, they didn't simply rest there—they curled possessively, his grip firm and unyielding, as if he was claiming ownership of your very being.

He pinned you against the mattress with effortless dominance, his weight pressing you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your ear, a tantalising promise of what was to come. His presence was overwhelming, a dark force looming over you like a stalking shadow, enveloping you in his warmth.

Somehow, you managed to suck in a shaky breath, a soft whine escaping your lips as he turned your face towards his, and then his lips crashed into yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss was made entirely of tongue, teeth, and saliva. His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring every corner with a desperation that matched your own. His teeth grazed and nipped, a blend of pleasure and pain that sent jolts of heat straight to your core. Saliva mixed and smeared, creating a mess neither of you cared to clean.

As he slowed the piston of his hips, switching to a slow deep grind that had the crown of his cock abusing that sweet spot inside your pussy, your eyes rolled so far into your skull that, for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw your own brain. It was like he was carving his way into your guts and hitting the back of your throat. "Lo-gan!" You gasped as a sob welled in your chest, your tears finally falling, leaving streaks of mascara and eyeliner down your cheeks. "M-more, faster, please," you begged.

He tutted mockingly behind you, each sound dripping with condescension and the unmistakable arrogance of pure male dominance. Before you could react, his open palm came down hard on your arse, the sudden, stinging impact tearing a surprised shriek from your lips. The sharp zing of pain cut through your already-burning skin, sending a fresh wave of moisture surging through your core. The sensation caused your inner muscles to tighten around the length of his shaft, gripping him firmly as he bottomed out inside you, his cock buried to the hilt.

He stilled for a moment, savouring the feeling of being completely enveloped by your slick heat. Without warning, he spanked you again, the loud crack of his hand against your flesh echoing through the room. You hissed at the sharp sting, your pussy clenching around him. He growled in response, the sensation of your tight walls driving him wild.

"Greedy girl," he grunted against your ear. His hand came down again, delivering another hard spank that resonated through your body, the sting of it sending a jolt of pleasurable pain straight to your clit. His hand lingered there, palming the globe of your arse as he admired the perfect handprint he'd left, the outline of his fingers vivid against your flushed skin. He could feel the slickness coating your inner thighs, the evidence of your arousal mixing with the sweat on your skin, dripping from his balls as he thrust hard into you.

The air was thick with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the wet slap of skin against skin as he thrust into you, driving deep, setting a fast pace. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice a rough, guttural sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Keep squeezing me like that, and I'm gonna blow right fucking now."

Logan's gaze remained fixed on your arse, his cock twitching inside you at the thought of what it would be like to actually fuck you there. The idea consumed him, driving him to act on his desires. With a growl, he slipped his thumb into his mouth, wetting it thoroughly before bringing it down to your tight hole. He smeared his spit around your sensitive entrance, groaning deeply as your pussy tightened around him in response.

"Logan!" you cried out, his name slipping from your lips in a breathless plea.

His grin widened at the sound, his expression smug, and he tightened his grip on the nape of your neck, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. “You gonna let me fuck you back here next, bub?” he asked, already knowing what your answer would be.

You moaned wantonly, nodding as you pushed back against him, meeting his powerful thrusts halfway and impaling yourself on his thick cock. “Gods, please, I want it so bad,” you begged, sounding like a common whore.

“Atta girl.”

This was all he said, his voice so arrogant and condescending, before grabbing both your hips tightly, steadying you, his fingers leaving bruises on your skin. The force of his thrusts was maddening, driving you to claw at the sheets, your body teetering on the brink of orgasm embarrassingly quickly. Your walls clamped tightly around him, each movement sending you closer to the edge. It felt like a thunderstorm was tearing through your head, igniting every one of your nerves.

You could hear him grunting, feel the droplets of sweat dripping from his hair onto your back and how his fingers bruised harder into your hips, holding so tightly that your bones were sure to bend and break. But none of this registered in your mind the way it should have. You were lost in the moment, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure about to ruin you.

"Gonna cum—right there, right there—please, please, Logan. I need to cum. Fuck me—ah, harder, fuck, fuck—Logan!"

He was wild and feral—an animal.

Without warning, the air was punched out of your lungs as the orgasm struck you like a bolt of lightning, turning your blood into electricity and your limbs into live wires. You came hard, crying out a pretty symphony of his name as pleasure wracked your body. At the same time, he bottomed out, burying himself balls deep and filling you completely, shooting thick, ivory ropes of cum deep inside you, coating your walls.

Fisting a hand in your hair, he wound the silken strands around his fingers, using the grip to force your face back down against the mattress. His hips ground against your arse, rocking gently back and forth, his movements sending waves of pleasure through your trembling body. And as he came with a guttural growl, his release surged into you, hot and overwhelming, flooding your still-fluttering walls.

The fullness was almost too much, his cum filling you completely until it had nowhere else to go. It began to seep out, slick and warm, trailing down the seam of your pussy where your tight grip on his cock created a barrier. Warmth spread through your body like fire racing through your veins, an intoxicating heat that intensified as he filled, fucked, and possessed you entirely.

His teeth sank into your shoulder in a savage bite as you panted his name in sweet nymphomania, wriggling beneath him, his weight comforting—like a heavy blanket. Logan's tongue followed, laving over your flushed flesh, soothing the sting left by his canines. He growled deeply, savouring the taste of you as his abdominal muscles flexed and his cock ached, twitching inside you with every pulse of your body.

When he finally began to pull out, you couldn't suppress the whine that escaped your lips, the sound filled with a sense of loss. The feeling of emptiness was stark, save for where the head of his cock remained nestled just inside your snug walls, a final intimate connection.

Logan sat back on his haunches, taking a moment to admire the view before him. Your arse was flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, marked by his handprints and the forceful impact of his hips. Thick ribbons of cum dripped from your swollen folds, which were slick with the evidence of your release. The mixture of your arousal and his seed connected you to his cock in a vivid tapestry of desire, each drop falling to the mattress below.

He watched as the thick fluid dripped from both of you, creating a small, glistening pool beneath your bodies. With a rough but affectionate touch, Logan patted your arse, the force making it jiggle and your hips twitch involuntarily. His satisfaction was evident in the low, gravelly tone of his voice. "That felt like a good one," he remarked, a hint of pride lacing his words as he continued to drink in the sight of you, thoroughly used and utterly beautiful.

He snapped his hips forward, rutting into you with surprising vigour, filling you again and relishing in the wet squelching that echoed through the room. Each thrust forced his cum to leak from your well-used pussy, the slick evidence of your coupling escaping with every movement. You gasped, the sensation almost too much to bear, your hips wriggling as though to escape the overwhelming pleasure that teetered on the edge of overstimulation. But Logan only laughed as he thoroughly enjoyed how your body remained so tightly wound, so damn sensitive and ready to take him.

His stamina, just like the weight of his skeleton, was a marvel. It shouldn't have been surprising, given his mutation. His body was in a constant state of peak performance, always regenerating and healing. Logan 'Wolverine' Howlett had never been a one-and-done type of man; he was relentless and insatiable.

"Hope you don't think we're done, bub," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly promise against your ear. "'Cause we've got all night."

[koobiie]

bestowing my highest honor as an artist to ffxv (drawing the characters in fun outfits)

thoughts under the cut

RREAAAGHHHH SO EXCITED TO BE DONE WITH THIS!!!!! it took me forevarrrr but i soldiered through as an act of love. now excuse me. yap time

OKAY SO the concept behind this was originally specific fashion subcultures for everyone!l ike noct emo ignis dark academia etc. but then decided i didnt want to pigeonhole it all and just freestyled outfits i thought would look nice on everyone

noct - i do think noct would still be emo-ish but also opt for comfy baggy stuff a lot. something you could just fall asleep in on the spot. note the details of bass pro shop shirt (of course) XV necklace, little moon + stars accents, carbuncle + fish keychains. i also wanted his metal band logo shirt to spell LUCIS but i forgor some letters but its not very readable anyways

ignis - ignit ooohghh ignos ignaurs. sorry i made him serve so much cunt it will happen again. i drew him first cause that kind of inspired this whole thing i love him so bad if i didnt draw it id explode. not much detail to note except his collar pins are like his double blade thingies

luna - lunaaa the concept was “clean girl aesthetic” idk if that happened but im actually really happy with how it came out! might be my favorite of the bunch just because she looks so pretty and happy. your honor she should have been able to just be a normal girl and just. chill

prompto - prompotoooo i had trouble picking his vibe!!! my first thought was techwear?? because weeheeeehee he loves tech and well... you know... but then i realized i didnt really like the look of anything i saw + it was so bulky and dark and serious for him! ending up going with some more youthful and baggy. i was considering something more loud and colorful but ended up not going with it. i feel like in canon he'd be too nervous to have such a flashy fit and would want to just look "cool" to fit in with the boys lol. itty bitty details here - chocobo keychain, pompompurin and bi miku buttons, and his lanyard is kings knight themed! i also thought it was funny to write LUCIS on his shirt like you know those shirts that just say BROOKLYN or TOKYO or SAN FRANCISCO and thats it. thats what its like

gladio - okay i know this is going to sound like a lie but im not horny for gladio like at all, hes my least favorite, i think he's just alright. but also i KNOW in my heart of hearts that he would LOVE being a leather daddy and so i had to make it happen. main detail to note here is that his tank top has the motifs of a cup noodle! i didnt know what else to add cause you know.. hes the cup noodle guy.. but also i didnt want it to be so in your face about it with a big as logo so kept it subtle!

(side note the leather daddy gave me an idea for a post where its like noct and prom go to a gay bar all nervous but then they run into gladio and its like "p: GLADIO YOURE GAY?" "n: nevermind that PLEASE dont tell ignis we snuck out" and then ignis walks up and theyre all like WHAT THE FUCK!!!! caption would be "the gang finds out theyre all bisexual." probably wont draw it but i think its very funny lol)

iris - iris my sweetheart.... definitely leaned into the scene vibes here and also that one image of the blonde emo anime girl. details here - of course the moogle big ass backpack and keychain (can you tell i love keychains), but also her buttons are an iris (the flower) and also a crown with hearts (haha symbolism)

anyways oh god i didnt mean to write an essay down here. usually i keep this in the tags but this time i just had Too Much To Say. can you tell i put a lot of thought and love into this . anwyays. *walks off into the sunset and fuckig dies*

[slapmeshigaraki]

౨ৎ "Are you scared, sweetheart?" ౨ৎ

♡ warnings: meanie!sylus x reader, spit, gunplay, daddy, condescension, improper evol use lmao, actually pretty tame ngl the dirty talk is kinda gross though, sylus is out of character in this in case that bothers you

♡ a/n: okay i lied and said i wasn't posting this until later in the week, but i finished editing it early so... idk happy valentine's day i guess. another old fic that i just edited. enjoy pretties !!

♡ Sylus doesn't ask you for much other than to leave him alone for a few hours on Sundays so he can clean his gun collection, but after a few interruptions too many, he decides that you can stick around just this once. Afterall, maybe you can help? ♡

“What is it?” he said after letting out a deep sigh, not bothering to look up at you through the lenses of his glasses. They sat loosely against the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his lap, softly polishing one of his most prized possessions: a gun. You weren’t sure whose death he’d pictured on the other end of it, but he treated it like the last bite of dessert, savoring it, keeping it hidden away for a special occasion. No one could touch it, look at it, breathe on it, except him. When Luke and Kieran gave you your first tour of the house, they wouldn’t even walk you down the hallway of the safe, scared that ‘Boss would smell your scents when he returned.’ It wasn’t until months later when he’d decided that your firearm wasn’t up to par any longer that he’d invited you in to 'shop' for a new one. That’s when you saw it, hung up on the wall in a glass case so high that only he could reach. It was wrapped in a fine silk fabric, a pristine black cherry gun whose make or model was so far beyond your pay grade that you’d never heard of it before.

Every Sunday he disappears into the safe for hours before dinner. He was not to be disturbed. It was the only thing that he was really particular about, but he needed it just to clear his head—some solace after a long week. So, the fact that you were interrupting him for the third time with a knock on the door was grating, to say the least.

“Nothing I just-“

“Is something on fire, darling?”

“No, Sylus.”

“Has someone managed to break into the house?”

“No.”

“Has Mephisto spontaneously combusted, leaving a feather lodged into one of your eyes?”

“No.”

“So, you can clearly see that I’m busy? Then I’ll ask again, what is it that you need?” His eyes still wouldn’t meet yours, eyebrows furrowing as he spoke, his tone strained.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted rice or mashed potatoes for dinner, but since you’re so caught up in tending to an inanimate object, I’ll decide for you.” He was snippier than usual, the darkening of his voice making it obvious he was not in the mood for witty banter.

“Be careful there, sweetheart. I’d hate for that pretty mouth to get you into trouble.”

“Or what? Will you get trigger happy and let that precious gun go off? No, of course not because we must keep it clean for a hypothetical threat that doesn’t fucking exist.”

“Kneel.” It wasn’t a question or a suggestion. It was a command, an order barked at an underling.

“Go fuck yourself,” You said, venom in your voice as you made a move back towards the door, hand clenched around the golden handle.

“If you make me get up to come catch you sweetheart, you’ll be sorry.” His eyes met yours for the first time, a fiery crimson illuminating your line of vision. His gaze was dark, challenging you to disobey him. When Sylus told someone to do something, they did it and you were no exception. You might bite back once in a while, but he always knew that you’d do what he told you to at the end of the day.

So, you kneeled, perhaps too slowly because it wasn’t before long that your knees were forced to buckle beneath you, Sylus making good use of his evol to bind your ankles together. The cool marble tile flooring chilled your flesh as your heartbeat ran wild, your mouth getting wetter with each second, practically drooling as if you were waiting to sink your teeth into your favorite meal. In the same breath, your hands were bound as well, moved behind your back against your will and stuck together like glue.

“Go on, crawl to me.” There was amusement staining his expression, a sinister smirk plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong, pretty girl? Can’t you get to me? A big strong girl like you with such a dirty mouth, surely you can move just a few feet on your own.” You relaxed your legs, letting your knees spread apart to rest them.

“I can’t…” You mumbled under your breath, unable to meet his glare any longer.

“Speak up, pet. You were so loud a few moments ago. Speak to me with that same tough voice now that you can't run away from me.” His slender fingers kept moving, cleaning the trophy with such grace. It was rhythmic, methodical, and calculated. It made you wet just to watch him, reminding you of how easily those same fingers could make you fall apart in his arms.

“I can’t move.”

“You can’t move?” he whined, pouting, mocking you without remorse.

“Well, I want you kneeling in front of me. So how do you suggest you get over here, sweetie?”

“Sylus…” You pled, which was slightly better than flat out begging.

“Tsk tsk, where are our manners?” The same red mist that bound your wrists and ankles now curled around your throat, not hesitating to squeeze abruptly, threatening to rob you of all of your air altogether.

“Please sir, help me.” Without letting another second pass, you were pulled into the air and inched over to him by the mist, roughly thrown back to the ground before him. His legs were spread in his seated position, gun resting on one, the other resting between your thighs.

“Thank you,” You said, hanging your head to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Aw, so polite. See what happens when you ask nicely? See how sweet I can be when you aren't a fucking brat?” With that, his foot adjusted, the tip of his perfectly polished leather shoe gently pressed against your core. You struggled not to writhe against him, desperately needing some form of friction to soothe the ache between your legs.

“Look at me, darling.” You did. The fervent desire in your eyes obvious, bottom lip bloody from biting it so hard, restraining yourself from any more unnecessary commentary.

“You look so needy like this, my foot pressed against your cunt, pouting underneath me. You look like you want to ask me for something? What is it, baby? Do you need something from your daddy, hm?” A whine fell from between your lips against your control as you tensed your legs, begging them not to move without permission.

“Please can I- can you fuck me please?”

“Can I fuck you? Do you think that I should dirty myself--” the hold on your neck tightened once more, “by fucking someone so pathetic that they’re getting off at the thought of grinding on my leg? Someone who can’t go a few hours without my attention shouldn’t get my cock inside of them. Someone like that shouldn’t get to feel my cum filling them up and spilling out of their tight little holes. They shouldn’t get to feel daddy’s tongue cleaning them up, kissing and sucking every inch on their pretty little pussy, should they?” You couldn’t get yourself to say no, but you knew yes wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so you stayed quiet. The cool sensation of metal burned your skin in an instant, tilting your jaw up, forcing your vision toward to ceiling, your eyes getting lost in the gold detailing of the mural above. Silence filled the space between you two, the only sound to be heard was the quickening of your heartbeat and the flip of the gun’s safety that was pressed against your flesh. A lump grew in your throat at the noise. You could feel the sole of his shoe pressing into you even more, gently moving back and forth as you bit your lip again.

“Let me hear you, baby. Tell daddy how good it feels, go on.”

“Th- Thank you daddy. That feels so good.”

“Say ‘thank you daddy for making my cunnie feel good.” You whined at the request, embarrassment causing tears to prick and sting at the corners of your eyes.

“You don’t want to use your words? How ungrateful.” It wasn’t long before the coolness against your jaw was gone. You dropped your gaze to look at him once again. The man before you was starved, his face void any sign of amusement. You wondered if this is what his prey felt when he looked at them, a lamb waiting to be eaten by the lion, forced to let him play with his food before he could be thoroughly satiated. He put the barrel of the gun against your lips now, his thumb languidly dancing on the trigger.

“Open up for me. Let me see that pretty tongue.” You hesitantly stuck your tongue out, the spit that had been building up in your mouth finally free to drip onto the metal as he pushed the barrel against the back of your throat. Your eyes widened at the sensation, the realization that his prized possession was being soiled by your drool far too humiliating. The tears flowed freely now. Your cheeks grew damp as you cried out against the obstruction in your mouth.

“Aw sweetheart, are you crying? Do you want to push your hips against me? Will that make your cunnie feel better?” You nodded, sniffling softly as you shifted uncomfortably, the realization that you couldn’t move at all finally catching up with you.

“Go ahead, hump my leg. You have permission. Make yourself feel good for daddy.” You tried to do as he asked, moving your hips slowly back and forth, the ache only growing in between your legs, but all you could think about was how dirty that gun was getting your mouth. Sobs fell from your lips now. His face contorted slightly at your cries.

“M-s-sorry daddy,” You struggled out, words muffled by the metal. He slowly pulled the gun out of your mouth,

“Are you scared, sweetheart? Is that why you’re dirtying this pretty face with tears, hm?” You felt his skin for the first time against yours, his free hand gently caressing your cheek, thumb making small circles on your flesh.

“No I just… I hate that I’m getting your gun dirty. I know how much you care about it. I’m sorry I just can’t stop drooling on it.” His fingers softly pressed under your eyes, catching the tears.

“Your spit is the sweetest thing I could use to clean this gun. It’s just an inanimate object, huh?" he said, being sure to use your choice of words exactly.

"Don’t cry pretty girl.” As he spoke, your wrists and ankles fell freely, the stress on your throat lifting as the red mist fell away.

“Come up here,” he said, fingers beckoning for you to stand and sit in his lap, your back pressed against his warm and muscular chest. Hooking his arm under your knee, he spread your legs apart, resting your ankle over the arm of the chair. His fingers wasted no time finding their way beneath your skirt, softly pulling the satin fabric of your panties to the side as he slipped a finger inside of you without warning.

“Oh my god,” You moaned out desperately as he hummed in amusement.

“I’m jealous. Your god is getting all of the praise, but I’m the one that's making this pussy leak all over my fingers. That doesn’t seem very fair now, does it?”

“Fuck, daddy thank you.” His pace quickened, every inch of his long and slender fingers making you gasp and writhe beneath his touch as you bucked against his palm.

“You are very welcome sweet girl. Next time you want daddy’s attention, you can just ask and we can skip all the theatrics, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Aw, ‘yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy.'” Such pretty words from such a dirty mouth. The same mouth that stained my gun, isn’t that right?” he said. You threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, your wetness forming a spot on the fine fabric of his pants as you felt his cock growing beneath you. It only made you squirm more at the thought of its thickness filling you up after being empty throughout this whole ordeal.

“Relax for me.” This was the only warning you got before you felt that same cool metal slide between your folds, the ridges of the firearm serving as a new source of friction to grind on before Sylus slid his finger out of your walls, replacing it with the tip of the gun against your entrance. He felt you tense up immediately in his grasp.

“No no no,” he said, thumb gently caressing your inner thigh, his touch burning you with ease.

“Relax baby. Let daddy’s pussy open up for him, hm? I just want that sweet little hole’s juices to cleanse my gun thoroughly.” Your mouth hung open, moans escaping as he spoke. Your head rested against his shoulder, hair messily rubbing against his shirt. He pressed his soft lips against your forehead.

“That’s it, puppy. Gooood fucking girl, you're taking it so well for me, huh sweetheart?” his fingers found your clit once more, melting away any tension. Slowly, the tip of the gun pushed its way between your tender walls, your flesh clenching around it tightly, making it hard for him to slide it in and out of you.

“That’s a greedy pussy, isn’t it— holding onto anything that it can, my fingers, my cock, my tongue, my gun. She just wants to be filled, hm? She just loves daddy so much that anything he puts inside, she doesn’t want to let go of?”

“Y-yes daddy, she loves you. Please please please keep touching her.” So, he did. Slowly but surely, he pushed the metal in and out, salivating as he watched the way your flesh gripped on to the tip before he’d shove it back inside.

“Fuck--you wanna cum for me? Gonna make a big mess all over daddy’s gun, sweetheart? How fucking filthy,” You nodded as Sylus’s rough hands gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. Without warning, his spit filled your open mouth, slowly dripping from between your lips, coating your chest.

“Don’t swallow it. Keep my spit in your mouth when you cum for me. Stick your tongue out and cum all over me like a good little puppy,” He sped up even more now, the tip of the gun pushing against that spot inside of you that made your body heat up like white lightning that was trapped in a bottle and begging to be let out. He hit that spot over and over again, making your head fuzzy as he held your gaze captive with his scarlet eyes.

“Daddy—fuck—please, I don’t think I can take it.” You panicked, your hand desperately reaching for his wrist, hoping for some freedom from the incessant pleasure only for the mist to trap you once again, binding your hands up above your head and around Sylus’s neck, pressing your bodies even closer together.

“Shit—you’re so wet, you’re making a puddle in my lap. Are you gonna squirt around my gun, baby?” He said, emphasizing his point with a sharp push of the metal against you g-spot.

“No I- I can’t. It’s too embarrassing please don’t make me.”

“Come on, listen to your daddy and let go all over me. Squirt, cum, cry, I don’t care, but I’m gonna pull it all out of you either way. So, give it to me, it’s mine. I worked so hard for it,” he said, fingers finding their way into your open mouth, but you didn’t dare close your lips around them, just letting the spit drip down onto yourself and he bullied your pussy over and over again until you just couldn’t take it anymore. Tears streamed from your eyes once more as you let go. Your wetness spilled all over his lap, pulling guttural screams from your throat that were muffled by his hands.

“Good girl, that’s it. Come on, let go for daddy, baby. Poor baby, so pent up. It must feel so good to let go now, huh?” Streams of ‘yes’ and ‘thank you’ echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as you squirmed against his grasp. He pressed his full lips to your face again as he pulled his finger and his firearm from your holes slowly. You watched him with tired eyes, as you were covered in your own wetness. The gun dripped with your juices, but he wasted no time putting the metal to his own mouth this time, flattening his tongue against the barrel of the gun and licking it clean.

“You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart. Maybe you should let you help me clean my guns more often.” Dazed, and far too exhausted to protest, you closed your eyes, resting your head against him once again, your hands finally free. He pressed small kisses against your sweaty face, gently brushing any hair from your skin before you spoke up again.

“T-thank you, Sylus.”

“The pleasure is all mine, pretty girl.”

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ better than me, huh? . . . c.s

in which . . . chris makes you admit and shows you that he’s the only one who can make you feel good.

warnings . . . smutttt, fwb!chris, use of pet names, fingering, oral, (fem!recieving) kissing, degradation, teasing, dom!chris.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

★ chris’s lips crashed against yours abruptly, with desperation, with need. he hovered over you as you laid on your back, the two of you passionately making out on his own bed. chris’s lips muffled your soft whines and moans. “tell me bout’ them other guys, mama.” chris murmured against your lips, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. his grip on your waist tightened, almost painfully. the kiss was anything but gentle, it was as if he was trying to claim you again.

“tell me, what did they do to you? what did they do that i can’t, hm?” chris teased, his hands roaming your body as his lips began trailing down your body. you just wanted to piss him off for fun. “they were better than you.” you spoke, your voice defiant but also a tiny bit shaky. you saw a flash of jealousy, and even anger in chris’s blue eyes. “oh yeah? better than me, huh? what was so good about hookin’ up with other guys? what’d they do?” chris’s hand palmed your drenched panties, making you squirm with need.

you and chris didn’t have an established relationship, you were just friends who…fucked on the side, and kept everything on the low. you went out to parties, getting with other guys to help you try and forget about chris, to help you get over him and move on. but nothing fucking worked, of course. no one made you feel the way chris did. he knew all your sensitive parts, where and how to touch you, what really turned you on. no one else could do that but chris. and right now, he needed to prove that to you.

“they—mmmh—“ you couldn’t even answer because of how much he was absolutely teasing you, it was tearing you apart. but fuck, he felt so good. you needed him so badly, you just refused to admit that to him. “mm..you ain’t answerin’ me mama.” chris whispered darkly, slowly peeling your laced panties off of you. chris’s thumb pressed against your aroused clit, rubbing tight circles. you moaned in response, a gasp escaping your parted lips. “did they touch you like this, hm?” chris teased, sliding a finger between your folds, his finger playing with your wetness.

“look at you.” chris scoffed. “already so worked up? it’s embarrassing, really.” chris rolled his eyes, sliding another finger into you and beginning to pump both of them in and out of you, his hand immediately went over to your mouth as your moans became louder, more desperate. “y’gonna stop lyin’ to me yet? or am i gonna have to shut you up myself, hm?” chris pulled his fingers out of you, sucking them clean with a loud pop in his mouth. he parted your legs again as you attempted to close them. “fuck…i’m not lying!” you said as chris removed his hand from your mouth.

“yeah? bet you were thinkin’ bout me when those other stupid guys fucked ya, bet you almost moaned my name, didn’t you mama?” chris’s eyes were filled with desire, and his voice was soft with mockery. you couldn’t even admit it, because you knew he was right, you were thinking about him the entire time, it was hard to forget about him. “p—please..” you moaned in desperation. suddenly, chris leaned down, his head in between your legs as his tongue flicked on your clit. you gasped, hearing chris’s muffled voice in between your thighs.

“please what ma? you gonna admit this pussy is mine? that i’m the only one that can make you feel this good? I ain’t givin’ you what you want until you admit it. i got ways to make you talk.” chris kissed your inner thighs, still teasing you. he really wasn’t gonna let you behavior slide. “tell me, cmon…who’s pussy is this?” chris taunted, kissing your swollen clit, making your breath hitch. “y—yours..all yours..” you spoke shakily, chris smirking with satisfaction as you confessed this.

chris flipped you over in one effortless motion, your ass was facing toward him, your head burying in the pillow as he fiddled with his belt, removing his boxers to expose his hard length. his hand went onto your lower back, causing you to arch as he lined his cock up with your entrance. with absolutely no warning, chris slammed into you mercilessly, his hand coming up to the back of your head, pushing it down into the pillos, but not too hard, just to muffle your screams of pleasure.

“mmm, you like that huh? naughty fuckin’ girl…thinkin’ you can go around…messin’ with other guys to try and forget about me? it’s jus’ not possible.” chris thrusted into you, each time going deeper and deeper. “shit—oh my god… chris..” you moaned, turning your head to the side so your face wasn’t directly in the pillow. “yeah? close?” chris asked, knowing damn well you were falling apart. “mhmm..” you whined in response. chris groaned, your pussy felt so fucking good around him, he could do this forever.

“chris…gonna cum…” your mouth remained slightly ajar, chris continued pounding into you, feeling himself getting close as well. “cum f’me love.” chris whispered, leaning down to kiss your lower back. you immediately released upon those words, triggering chris’s release as well. chris pulled out of you, grabbing your waist and turning you over on your back again, looking down at your fucked out expression as he kneeled in between your legs.

“s’pretty like this..” chris mumbled, his hands going on either sides of your head on the sheets trapping you in as his lips delicately pressed against yours once more, silencing your soft whines. his tongue slid into your mouth as your hand tangled up into his hair, trying to taste every bit of him, chris’s hips slightly grinded against you as the both of you made out. chris had to make sure you knew that he was all yours, and you were all his

and chris was absolutely right, no one could make you fall apart the way he did.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[sxcretricciardo]

I’m back…

social media au

-> you and Lando have a past that it’s quite complicated… what happens when you go up to Formula 1 to race against him?

•

f1 Y/N Y/L/N is joining Aston Martin for the 2024 season.

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astonmartinf1 welcome to our team yourusername!

-> yourusername let’s make magic together 🫰🏻

username1 omg she and Lando on the same paddock????

-> username2 what’s the lore??? I’m unaware

-> username3 apparently they were dating back in f3 and he cheated on her and the guys all called her a dramatic b*tch. She crashed the next race, probably from all the bullying and pressure and was out for a whole year.

-> username2 wowww I hope she kicks his ass next season 💅

fernandoalo_oficial welcome teammate! yourusername

-> yourusername thank u nando! I’m fangirling rn <3

alex_albon missed you bestie

-> yourusername missed you albonooo 😚

•

yourusername helloooo Australia!! 🇦🇺 I was so happy to answer your questions today, now let’s get racin 🏁

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username1 girl you were SOO funny!! Loved it 🫶🏻

-> username2 she’s adorable

-> username3 let’s hope she can race too

danielricciardo you’re stealing my thunder on my own home country 🥹

-> yourusername hang in there cowboy 🤠

-> oscarpiastri OUR home country danielricciardo

•

astonmartin our girl just made p4 in her first f1 race! 😍

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fernandoalo_oficial p5 just felt more special with you in front of me! what a way to start our season 😜

alex_albon way to go!!

username1 the fact that she gave Lando the finger after passing him HAHA

-> username2 ICONIC

landonorris 🥱

-> username3 Lando is TRIGGERED

-> username4 omg we’re just starting the season and there’s already dramaaaa

•

f1gossip Aston Martin driver Y/N Y/L/N gave Lando Norris the finger after overtaking him. Note that in their F3 season Y/N was out of action for a year after Lando cheated on her and rumor has it the hole paddock was also bullying her. Is she having her revenge?

•

yourusername just posted a story

•

real life

Y/N was sitting in the coffee area inside the Aston Martin headquarters when Fernando slowly approaches her.

“Can I sit?” He asks, pointing to the empty chair that’s in front of the young driver.

She looks up from her coffee and nods with her head, to busy drinking her much needed caffeine to let words out.

“Just saw what you posted in Instagram.” He says, talking about the video where she tries to clean the air after she gave the finger in live race.

“Yeah, just wanted to kinda explain myself after what happened.” She says.

“What exactly happened between you two?” He asks.

Y/N looks at him. She knows she can trust him, despite really knowing him for just a couple of months. He’s like the father she never had. Always having her back and giving her the best advices.

“We were teenagers. Stupid kids. I was in love, he apparently wasn’t. One day we were just chilling together when his phone starts getting texts. He brushes it off, saying it’s just a friend and when he falls asleep I go through his phone. They weren’t just friends. There were thousands of texts for months between the two. He lied to me… I just wanted him to be honest and he straight lied to me! We had a race the next weekend and I was able to brush the situation off, because when I enter the track I forget about the outside world. But when I enter the paddock, the guys just start shoving me and stuff like that. Me being the only girl was not easy in any way but I managed it the best I could. Then, I don’t know… I just loose the control of the car and the next thing I know I’m into a wall. I don’t even know how it happened, I can’t even remember. I just remember having this tremendous amount of pain in my leg. After two surgeries and a lot of recovery and rehab I was back in that car.”

Fernando just looks at the young woman, whose eyes have unshed tears.

“If you ask me if I hold a grudge towards him, yes, I really do. He never apologized, never spoke to me again. But that’s what keeps me going. This fire I feel inside of me is what brought me here to formula 1.”

•

part 2 here

[artinvain]

pls pls pls more abby strapping/scissoring. make it NASTY NASTY NASTY 🫶🏾🏃🏾‍♀️

+ pervy/creepy roommate abby bc why not, if i'm going to be nasty!!

cw: manipulation, slight overtones of sacrilege, grinding/scissoring, strap usage, finger n oral, crying, sub!top abby, squirting, possessiveness.

no men, minors blank or ageless blogs allowed!!!!!!!!!!!

abby has been pining over you for months. it started as soon as she had met you for an interview about the room she was leasing. she opened the door and there a scent permeated from you, she swore it was an aphrodisiac. your soft skin and plush hips under that sundress. she was completely infatuated.

abby was head over heels and she'd be damned if she didn't see you again, so she lowered her rates for you after you'd mentioned the place was a little out of your budget (though, completely worth it -- you added). when you tried to politely decline out of respect for her. It was her father's apartment after all. however abby insisted in such a way that you couldn't say no.

she offered to help you move in, to show you around the city. she was already prattling on about dinners her father would pay for and roomie movie nights. you really couldn't say no to her offer if you tried, lowered rates, clean, spacious and a nice roommate? you were new in the city -- every other apartment you saw in your budget was loaded with roaches, dirty needles and loud noises. this was probably the best it would get.

to you abby seemed quiet, innocent and very very kind. she'd mentioned she didn't have many friends as she helped you move in, and slowly but surely she became your best friend. and of course a part of you had fallen for abby. how could you not? she was beautiful, funny, smart, protective and nurturing and god she was so fucking hot. but you weren't sure if a relationship was something you wanted, let alone not if it ruined the great friendship you finally had.

abby disagreed, she had read it in your journal and she wasn't worried about ruining your friendship because she was convinced that all roads let to bringing the two of you together. what else could explain how much she loved you?

what, if not love could explain why the scent of your panties, worn and damp from the day made her so wet. what but love could explain how hard she cums from looking at the pretty little bikini posts on your Instagram while her nose is filled with your scent, her tongue laps at the wet spot on your panties.

she's only worried today, about how long she's waited, when you mention how well your date went earlier that day. you hadn't stopped speaking about ellie since you walked back into the apartment this afternoon. abby tried to hide her agitation. how could you actually consider dating someone else. the thought nearly made her sick.

she'd seen it everywhere - the way you look at her, when you bring her coffee in the morning or fall asleep in her lap. you love her. and she loves you. it was simple and maybe now she needed to show you, really let you know how she felt instead of beating around the bush.

"abby?" your voice cracks the glass of her dissociation and brings her back into her body. you shift so that abby's long legs and entangles with yours. it's normal, you sit like this all the time, knees up and face to face but this time, her body so tight with need for you -- abby groans under her breath at the heat between your legs near her thinly clad thigh.

the familiar smell of your pussy dizzying her and she can't help that her hips buck. and your breath hitches when her warm cunt bumps yours.

"abby," you gulp, eyes low and meeting hers a small smile etched on her face. you've barely touched and yet your stomach is tight with lust. "tell me you want me to stop and i will," abby whispers, bucking her hips again and moaning when you meet her thrusts.

"see? baby we're made for each other," she groans at the feeling of your warm thick thighs on hers, "she could never make you feel like this." abby says very matter-of-fact. abby licks her lips and grips your thighs pulling you close and grinding her clothed pussy against yours.

"f-fuck you feel so good," abby whines, closing her thighs tight around you and watching your eyes roll back at the feeling of her winding her hips against you.

"abby - god," you groan "fuck, fuck please," you're already so desperate, your pussy wet and slippery against the lace of your panties and dampening your shorts.

"hmpfuck that's it baby, m'so glad you're finally mine," she whimpers, grunting and humping you, her blunt nails biting into your thighs. her statement flies over your head as you reach your highs, your bodies twitching as abby grinds you through your orgasms.

"god, sweet god, look at you, you're so pretty all fucked out for me," abby moans, looking over your flushed face scrunched up in the aftershocks of pleasure. abby leans down to kiss you and your tongues taste each other, sweet and wet and you're both moaning into each other's mouths.

abby's hands come to play with your nipples like she'd watched you do that once you left your door open a crack. her fingers roughly tugging and twisting your nipples as you moan, your back arching at the sweet pain. abby's hand slither down into your panties and circles your clit.

"god, you're so fucking wet," abby moans, her fingers sinking into you as you pull your shorts and panties down. abby groans at the sight of your pussy wet and swollen and swallowing her fingers all the way to the hilt and she curls them, watching your eyebrows raise and your mouth fall open.

"yeah honey? that feel good?" abby cooes, her forehead pressed against yours so she can taste your moans and squeaks when she starts strumming your clit, rubbing so quickly your breath can't keep up. she can feel you twitching erratically around her.

"cum for me, please baby i need to see you - fuck you're so beautiful," her teeth gritting and she moans as you do, your cum leaking down her wrist and abby whimpers, going down to lick and tase you. her hips humping you leg desperately as she sucks your clit into her mouth and stills her fingers if only to readjust them so she can keep fucking them into you.

you cum so quickly around her "jesus fuck, abigail," you yelp -- her full name falling from your mouth like a command and her body twitches as she cums, whimpering and moaning around you clit. tears leaking down her face as she sputters into you, fingers locking up inside you.

"god, so good -- you're so good to me abby," you gulp and abby licks her fingers and then comes up to kiss you. "i am, and i'm gonna keep you safe - treat you good, no one will ever treat you like i do, i love you baby," abby kisses you before you can reply.

her fingers sinking into you so deep again your eyes cross and when abby hears you say "i love - love it abby love you" she grunts, her fingers fucking faster into you - kissing and sucking marks into your neck and chest.

"mine," she grunts into you, "you're mine baby, not letting you go - ever," you'll agree with pretty much anything she says at this point, dizzy with pleasure you can't quite compose yourself as she clambers onto the bed and handles your legs, folding you in half and sinking her lubed cock into you.

abby bucks and snaps her hips into you. her strap stretching you, so deep your belly aches with each thrust. "god you're so fucking tight," abby moans, one hands starting to play with your nipples and then rubbing your clit and the other wrapping around your throat.

"my girl," abby whimpers with such faith as if it's the end of a prayer. your legs twitch and you hum lowly as you squirt around her, "christ, yes yes thank you baby, god give me your cum that's it," she moans, snapping her hips and then pulling out gently just to lap at your pussy, her legs falling over her shoulders.

abby has to hold you down as she cleans and licks your taste from your thighs and cunt. "good girl, so good for me," abby whines laying kisses to your mound and then belly, your breasts and chest. she kisses you neck and cheeks and eyelids. pressing a final kiss to your mouth.

"mine," abby sighs happily as you cuddle into her side.

🤫🏷️ @lesbian-useless @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat @lavendersgirl @emiliabby (comment to be added to tag list xx)

[saintobio]

LUCIFER.

his fall was not from grace, yet in his descent, he found freedom—a kingdom of his own making, where he rules not with light, but with the shadows it casts. and you, unfortunate soul, are the sin that fuels his eternal reign.

♱ genre. gothic, dark romance, smut, angels/demons au, 18+

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ tags. 5.2k wc. this fic will contain dark and twisted themes. please heed the warnings and proceed with proper discretion. demon!sylus, sylus is ooc, not set in lads universe, profanity, heavy sacrilege/blasphemy, catcalling, sadistic undertones, noncon/dubcon, toxic relationships, corruption, sex in church, dacryphilia, mentions of obsession, allusions to stockholm syndrome, yandere, fingering, unprotected sex, explicit smut.

♱ notes. this is an old rewritten/reimagined fic of mine bcos i saw a theory abt sylus being a demon. and coincidentally, rewatching a season of lucifer only made my brain rot tenfold D; so if you've seen me post this fic before with another character, pretend you didn't >:D

Thunder grumbled as a flash of lighting struck through the dark blanket of twilight skies. The rumbling sound angrily resonated through the stretch of clouds as if the heavens were to wash away human sins that have long been plaguing this era of the 21st century. A shower of rain soon followed that started in huge droplets and later cascaded from the slate gray clouds like waterfall. 

Checking your old leather watch, it was only 6PM. It had been two hours since the power outage doomed the whole neighborhood because the utility poles were severely damaged after the hurricane ravaged the city yesterday. 

The thick soles of your boots landed heavily on the tessellated sidewalk with every step, holding your umbrella closer to seal you from the heavy rainfall. Your eyes followed the beads of rain that bounced off the cold cement as your mind wandered further than where your body could take you to. 

You had left Sylus sleeping in bed back in your shared apartment so you could walk around the city and drop by the church. It wasn’t like you sneaked out, but was only reluctant to let him know of your whereabouts because you didn’t want him to follow you around, especially to such a scared place like church. Before you left, however, you did ensure that his silver cross was still enclosed around his collar just for your sanity. 

It had been a while since you last visited the church. With the power out and nothing else to do, you decided it was the perfect time to visit the cathedral where you always made your most solemn prayers.

The streets were still in shambles, though. Road signages were sprawled on the sidewalk, branches were barely hanging off the trees—the city had vestiges of wreckage from the hurricane that emptied a usually busy metropolitan area today. Most people were still at the leisure of their homes as work and classes have been suspended until further notice, for everyone’s safety and to allow the government to clean the roads. 

You could already imagine Sylus shaking his head at your resistance to just stay indoors and simply be with him. The only reason you were confident to leave his side today was because it had been awhile since the last incident. You could live with the thought of coming back home to Sylus and his usual self. Sylus, who was always thoughtful and tenderhearted albeit his dominant exterior. Never did you think that you could land a man of such warmth—a year in two days—but how you met was a story made for another day. 

Amidst the already dismal atmosphere outside, stepping by the narthex inside the baroque church greeted you with an even more caliginous surrounding. Darkness enshrouded the interiors of your chosen place of worship with only as much as three paschal torches by the apse to light up the altar. Still, with God’s presence, your feet carried you in slow footsteps along the velvet red aisle as you made your way towards the nave. 

You were alone in the eerie cathedral, but fear did not consume as you were in attendance to the crucifix above the high altar. This was your favorite cathedral among all the others in the city simply because of its gothic Victorian architecture.

Fixed with the cathedral’s grandeur and bedight with ornate decorations, you became more comfortable at situating yourself by the pew—genuflecting on the elevated wood behind the stretch of oak benches as soon as you found your usual spot. 

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” you whispered in sotto voce, performing a sign of the cross with your eyes glued to the crucifix that represented Jesus Christ. You had your elbows propped atop the bench as you silently prayed. 

Loving and gracious God, with all love and mercy, we thank you for blessing us with another day and protecting us in times of natural disaster. 

You wanted to ignore the unusual cold air that slithered on your skin in horripilation. Your prayer resumed despite the Stygian gloom that darkened the cathedral’s interior or the sound of the harsh wind slamming through the towering doors by the vestibule. The storm is coming again, you mentally noted. 

With your grace and kindness, Lord, I pray that you will continue to guide us—

The manly fleer echoing through the vacantness of the church made you halt from your recital. “I knew my cute church girl would be here.” 

You knew that devilish voice all too well that it had you shutting your eyes, petrified. No wonder the air felt sinister. But if your gut-feeling about him was right, then there was no need to be frightened. “Sylus, I’m in the middle of a prayer,” you hushed, although before you could turn around to face his silhouette, he had already transported to your side with a wicked smile plastered on his pallid face. 

“I’m not him,” he spoke in an orotund voice, stepping closer and closer. His ash blond hair did not hide his incarnadine eyes. “Stop looking for that runt when you’re with me.” 

You stepped out of the pew with a rapid heartbeat, standing by the aisle as the tall man towered over you. “S-Sylus, where’s your—” you searched for his silver cross and found it still hanging around his neck, “did you break it?” 

He glowered at your accusation. “You know I would if I could, sweetie.” 

You exhaled a deep sigh. This was not Sylus, this was the malevolent demon inside of him. You ought to be cautious of yourself. “Okay, well... Leave me alone. I’m praying.”

“Ordering me around?” Each step that he took reverberated across the cathedral. He stretched his head from side-to-side in a manner that showed his ennui. “Don’t you miss me, kitten?” 

There was no stopping to the loud thumping of your heart as you stood along the aisle with Sylus backing you off further to the center. “Sylus, I said not now,” you begged, but he refused to listen and only wiped his lower lip with his thumb. 

“I hate it when you make me wait,” he muttered, stepping forward until your lower back hit the credence table at the altar. You found yourself trapped in a decreasing distance between yourself and the sadistic devil in front of you. “Don’t look so scared. We do this every time.” 

“I’m not scared, but...” Your voice was getting softer, yet filled with fret. You pressed a hand on his chest as he locked your body with both arms around the table. “Please, not here.”

You had to be firm, you just had to be but you couldn’t muster the courage to fight back in Sylus’s presence. He was the embodiment of power and you were the representation of weakness. 

He was a demon that thrived on sin, and he drew strength from indulging in the seven deadly sins. Vainglory, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth—all of those fueled his existence. Today, however, it was the third sin that consumed him, the one that ignited his darkest sexual desires. 

“I’ll be quick,” he bargained, undoing the upper buttons of your dress despite your failed attempts at pushing him away. Doing it at such a place! You sent him a glare but he only returned a sly smile. “How about we show your God what you’re really like underneath that maidenly exterior, hm? Show him how dirty you really are?”

God, help me. You desperately shook your head, now overthinking if someone could see what he was about to do to you in this holy sanctuary. Long before you could cover your chest, he already pinned your wrist on the side as he lowered the fabric to show your collar. “Sylus—!”

“Don’t be shy, kitten,” the whisper he sent through the shell of your ear caused shivers to your spine. With his heightened senses, he placed his mouth on your ear, “No one’s here to watch us except for your God. Be a good girl now.”

You tried to push him once more to no avail as he sucked on the flesh above your shoulder. There was no warning to prepare you from the sudden harsh suction. “I-It hurts!” 

Your nails dug into your palms to leave crescent marks on your flesh while you were squirming out of his strict hold. 

“It hurts? Good.” He continued to leave marks all over your flesh as he caged your waist around his arm. The feeling of his teeth pricking your skin had you whimpering in pain, and his eyes had grown rutilant when he momentarily pulled away to look at you. “You’ll hurt even more,” and then he erupted into a deep chuckle as if you were a meal that he was seasoning with a sprinkle of fear, “I should really just keep you for myself.” 

Your desire to breathe grew exponentially. “I’m not yours.” 

A low sneer and a dissatisfied ego had you pressed against the oak table in surprise. “Yes, you are,” he reiterated as though he was enforcing the idea in your head. “Your soul, your heart, your body—you are mine.” 

“I’m not! I wasn’t born in this world to be your property,” you protested, pulling away from his grip only to be slammed harsher on the table. You knew you should never anger a demon but his possessive nature irked you. Aside from your already shameful situation, you wanted nothing but to get away from him. “You’re evil.” 

“What makes you so brave? Your beliefs?” he gritted, reaching for an object near your head that turned out to be the Bible. “This?” he quickly opened the sacred handbook and ripped the pages in front of your very eyes with a distasteful smile. How easily he ripped it, how easily he also tossed it. “Whatever, then. There’s no God. You humans are complete idiots for worshiping a nonexistent being. Weren’t you the ones saying that I’d burn as soon as I stepped into a church?” 

“He is your father!” You sat back up, revolted by his blasphemy. He had no right to mock God like this. “Don’t taint my beliefs with yours. My faith in Him is stronger than you think.” 

“You should know what it’s like to be in hell before you say that shit,” he retorted, placing his lips back on your ear, “I’ll take you there with me.” 

This is not the time and place! What a shameful situation he was putting you through, so unbelievably shameful and obscene that you couldn’t look at him in the eyes. “Sylus, I swear. I’m going home if you’re gonna keep on—”

He huffed, showing boredom by dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “Ah, fine. You’re boring. Continue the prayer, then.”

For one of two things; first, Sylus would never let you off easily. Every act of defiance would garner you a punishment. Second, he was a time bomb. You never knew when his most cruel intentions would come to show. He was a malefic being that wouldn’t give two shits about where he was as long as he was having fun at torturing your soul. 

You should have known that when you chose to finish your prayer back at the pew. Sylus would simply not last long enough to just sit by your side in his apathy. 

“Holy Father, please forgive us for our sins—”

He snorted in ill-humor. “Pitiful.” 

And while you sat there looking up at the crucifix, Sylus’s hand was already sneaking its way under your skirt. His icy fingers traced your inner thighs until he reached your center, and that was when you finally grabbed his wrist to stop him with wide, scandalized eyes. Was anyone on the qui vive to see you right now? 

“Sylus, for heaven’s sake,” you hissed, pulling his wrist away but his slender fingers were already coordinating motions against your clothed core. You had to look around in panic lest there be any unknown audience peeking from the shadows. Despite your refusal to submit, the contact was eliciting suppressed moans out of your parted lips. “Y-You’re insane. This isn’t the place.” 

His smile was full of triumph and excitement, his right eye glowing ominously he spoke. “What makes it different?” he asked, raising your skirt and inserting his fingers inside your underwear. You had to press your lips together as soon as he started rubbing his fingers on your clit. “See, you enjoy the fuck out of it. I can see through your deepest desires, kitten. It’s telling me… ‘don’t stop’.” 

Your palm was pressed on his chest while his other hand tried to spread your legs open. The very position you were in—leaned on the wooden bench, legs spread apart, and being fingered in the presence of God—you were certainly going to hell. This was going against your belief, having your chastity corrupted in arrant disgrace by a man who was the devil himself. 

How exactly did you find yourself in this predicament? You came here to offer a quick prayer, not to be pressed on the bench by a man who was now unbuckling his belt in haste. You could only think of how Sylus, who was an angel beyond his demons, was perhaps trying to come out of being trapped in the dungeon where Satan had him caged.

“This is so wrong,” your lips quivered as you spoke, both of the curling of your toes and of the shameless sacrilegious act. You knew you couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried because Sylus would remain tenacious until he got what he wanted. 

With that, you fully submitted yourself to him and let the back of your head rest on the wooden surface while you stared at the stained glass that roofed the cathedral in different hues. 

Sylus was fast to display a smirk while positioning his hardened length on your entrance. The bands of your underwear were now resting mid-thigh as he pressed himself down on you with one knee supporting the angle of his hips. He was running his throbbing tip between your plump folds to lubricate himself with your slick. No screams could be released because you restrained your own whimpers, but your tears brimmed on the corner of your eyes from the initial penetration. 

“Ngh!” Your nails dug deep on his forearms. “S-Sylus!” 

“Are you crying?” His carmine eyes glinted of sadistic humor, running his gelid thumb across your lower lip only to sink it deep inside your mouth. “How does it feel knowing that the God you worship can’t save you?” 

A tear slid down from your eyes to your temple as Sylus started moving his hips in an achingly slow rhythm, each thrust going deeper than the last. You almost bit his thumb before he released your mouth by gripping your wrist. “Sylus—someone could see—!”

To your irony, the crucifix stared down at you and enkindled your conscience from this sinful act. Father, forgive me. You could only whisper those words in your head because your mouth was too occupied in crying out Sylus’s name.

“So warm.” It was hard not to think of how attracted he looked when he raked his fingers through his hair, later meeting your eyes with overpowering lust. He didn’t hold back at burying his cock into your cavern, allowing your walls to fit his girth like tight gloves—the feeling garnering his raspy grunt. “You’re mine, sweetie. All mine.” 

Sylus. You blinked your tears away as you closed your eyes. Sylus’s lips were now on your neck as he increased the pace of his member sliding in and out of your cunt with squelching noises that shamelessly echoed across the cathedral. “Sylus,” your lips were on his ear, “we’re in—aah—church.”

Unlike you, he was nonchalant about the sacredness of the house of God. He was mocking the supreme being that you held faith to as an act of engraving his existence into your mortal soul. While you restrained your moans as he slammed his pelvis against your hole, there was fulfillment rattling in his bones when he pressed your face to the side before diving in to suck on your sweet flesh.

“Cry more. Did you know your walls get warmer when you’re aroused?”

It was hard to describe the feeling. The median between pain and pleasure was the closest example you could liken it to. The grazing of his fangs added to the burning sensation that you had all over your body as if fire was ignited to light up all your nerves. 

Your hand latched onto his shirt before his body collapsed on top of you. With your legs spread wide, his head hung low on your neck—still and unmoving, strangely like he had fallen asleep. 

“Sylus.” You tapped his arm through the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

And before you could move away, he shot straight up and looked at you with those foxy incarnadine eyes that were now in the shade of deep crimson. Eyes that were wide and full of horror as he looked around the cathedral before he slowly realized what he had just done. 

“Y/N,” he said your name regretfully, pulling your dress down to cover your exposed parts, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I did this—? I don’t—” 

Long dried were the tears on your cheek. As you two scrambled to fix your clothes, you pulled him into a hug while he murmured endless sorry’s to your ear. At least, for now he was back. That was the most important thing with all the sanity you had left. 

“Just get me out of here, Sy,” you said, back into the arms of your human lover. 

~~

You’ve always wondered why Sylus often slept during the day. Or why his normal heartbeat was at the pace of someone who was having a heart attack. Or why he could get serious wounds but managed to heal himself fast. Sometimes he would disappear from your sight and transport himself into another. Sometimes he would see and hear things a thousand times clearer than any other person could. 

For almost a year of dating, these questions only came up to you without much of an answer. You thought that you were simply theorizing over things that you shouldn’t. Why does Sylus always wear that cross around his neck? At the back of your head, you were always intrigued. 

You didn’t find out about the real reason until two months ago when you finally met ‘Lucifer’ out of nowhere. If Sylus was Jekyll, Lucifer was his Hyde. It was his way to allow you to form a dissociation between the two beings in one body. 

You never believed in devils until Sylus showed his demonic face to you one night while you were supposedly peacefully sleeping. You recalled the screams that you released when you found out that Sylus was the fallen angel all along. That the rosary around his neck was meant to seal his dark side, the side that you still didn’t know much of. Up until this day, he didn’t provide a concrete answer as to why he needed to seal himself. He was taciturn about the topic of his other self despite you bringing it up every now and then. 

But because you loved him, trusted him, and believed him when he said that he didn’t plan to hurt you—you stayed. You knew his human side better than the monster within him, so you told yourself that you could stay for him. You just needed to learn more about him. 

There were still moments where you felt cautious around him, but when you looked to see his softened expression, you were comfortable at seeing the Sylus that you knew. 

“Y/N,” he broke the silence that lingered between you two as you walked around the city, “I’m sorry.” 

You tugged at his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay, I just...” As flashbacks of the earlier events returned to your head, you felt ashamed at having done such dirty deeds at a holy place. “He always gets what he wants.” 

Because you let him. 

“I can’t do anything when I’m trapped,” Sylus mumbled, keeping up with your footsteps as you strode along the street. 

Your curiosity bubbled from his statement. “What happens when he’s taking over?” 

This time, Sylus didn’t shy away from giving an answer while he interlaced his hand with yours. “I can hear everything, but I can’t feel or see. It’s all black, like I’m in a dark void.” 

“Like comatose?” 

“You could say that.”

How could a rosary seal his other self? How come he had two versions of him? 

“He’s obsessed with you,” he admitted, frowning at the thought as you passed rows and rows of boutiques and restaurants. “Your soul, your scent, your body. That’s probably why he always has the urge to come out.” 

The thought of it permeated heat on your cheeks even when it shouldn’t. Sylus had always been sweet and loving with his intimacy with you, but his other side was rough and sadistic. He liked tormenting your innocence with his immorality. 

“You said the rosary was meant to seal him, but how come he keeps on—”

“It doesn’t work these days. Only my father can help, but I don’t wanna go that far just to tell him about this.” 

Father. It was the first time he had ever spoken about his father in your twelve months together. Or did he mean father as in God? “Where’s your father, Sylus? Or the rest of your family? Are the other archangels roaming on Earth, too?” 

You could see it in his saintly face that he was about to give an answer and you anticipated it, not until the nearby catcalling distracted you two. 

“Nice legs, gorgeous,” whistled the man who was leaning by the street railings with a cigarette in his hand. The man was probably in his mid-40’s with disheveled hair and unshaved face. You sent him a glare but a crude wink was returned. 

“It’s a bit rude to ogle at my woman in front of me, don’t you think?” was Sylus’s warning, the tendrils of his black-red mist extending to surround the man.

You could hear the man hooting again, unaware of what would become of him. “Ha ha! You punk. I’d spread those legs in a heartbeat.” 

While Sylus’s eyes were deepening into a darker hue, you knew you couldn’t risk seeing him release his demonic side again. It was a dangerous gamble. And the city could become a bloodbath. So, in your insistence, you told your lover to just leave it be.

“Sylus, let it go,” you gently asked, tugging at his arm softly. You wanted to avoid confrontation and just continue walking with you until you could reach your destination. “It’s okay.”

~~

“Happy anniversary to my favorite couple!” 

The clinking of glasses was followed by cheers on the booth where your boyfriend and your friends sat together. It was Avery’s idea to celebrate the special day two days prior as an excuse to hang out and drink. Luke and Kieran, being Sylus’s minions, were very much willing to join. 

“It’s not until Wednesday,” Sylus corrected with a smile, sipping on his pint before putting an arm around you. He gestured towards Avery and Luke with a knowing look. “Now you two should date each other.” 

You giggled at the thought. “Yeah, I totally support that.” 

Instead, the two of them reacted heavily against it—faking a gag, making a face, name it all. They were adamant on showing how disgusted they were at the thought of dating each other and it was quite a hilarious sight to watch. 

“Boss, come on,” Luke replied in outward distaste. 

Avery, on one hand, was rolling her eyes. “You wish I was interested. I’d rather do Kieran than you.” 

Kieran was Luke’s twin, the less obnoxious and more empathic one. But when those two were combined, their level of mischief wasn’t really any different from each other. 

“Picking Kieran is the most insulting thing you can say to me,” huffed Luke, earning yours and Avery’s chuckle. 

After an exchange of playful banter and teasing remarks, the conversation was redirected back to you and Sylus as Avery curiously brought up how you first met your boyfriend. It was only a year ago and the memory was still vivid in your head. 

“Oh my God. I remember how Y/N first saw you at this auction,” she gushed towards your boyfriend while you blushed, gripping his arm closer, “and she’s acting like she just saw her soulmate.” 

Kieran decided to chime in, “Boss was looking at her too, though. He may look tough, but he’s a hopeless romantic deep down—”

“Enough,” Sylus warned before sipping on his glass. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and relaxed against him. “Next thing you guys know, we’re living together.” 

Frankly, everything was normal until Sylus showed up. 

“What do you like most about her, Sylus?” Avery egged on with a grin spreading on her face. 

Your boyfriend didn’t even take a second to answer, “She’s cute like a cat,” he said, caressing your hand with his thumb from under the table, “and smart, and caring. Can get spicy, too. It won’t end.” 

Sylus was the same, if not better. You didn’t have much experience when it came to dating, but you were surely on top of the luck department for being blessed with a man like him. He was the most protective person you knew, the most affectionate, the most thoughtful. Sylus was the moon that illuminated your dark nights. You could even remember how he would wait outside of your workplace to pick you up in his motorcycle—those were the little things that lasted for a lifetime in someone’s memory. 

“She’s also a nun.” 

The sudden panic in your eyes came simultaneous to the fast beating of your heart. You swiftly whipped your head to look at Sylus who was now displaying a deriding smirk across his pale face. Oh, were you doomed. The ruby eyes and the stony face was clear confirmation that the demon had taken over him. Twice in the same day. 

Even Avery was surprised by his word of choice, but nonetheless found it amusing as it was rare for them to see Sylus acting bold. You were grateful for her obliviousness because you didn’t know how else you could explain the situation at hand.

“She’s a what, boss-man?” Luke jeered, chugging on his pint and looking at his boss in his newfound entertainment. He was among the very few people that knew Sylus’s true nature. Because the twins were demons like him.

“A nun,” Sylus answered, sending a look of mischief your way. You were deeply panicking that you had to squeeze his hand in hopes of stopping him from showing his true colors. “What? Don’t be shy, kitten. Didn’t we have fun in that church?”

You quickly shook your head and denied it in front of your friends. “We didn’t. Don’t believe him.”

Avery was unbelievably taken aback. “Wow,” she held back a chuckle, “I didn’t know Sylus has a vulgar mouth.” 

~~

The night carried on while the downpour engulfed the streets heavily. Your desperation to leave the dinner earlier than intended was solely because you weren’t comfortable at having Sylus around other people. The man was clearly enjoying the embarrassment that he was putting you through. And you, you were only being cautious. Who knew what things he could do to Avery while in his other form? 

You didn’t want things to end up where Sylus would be ostracized by the people who knew him just because they couldn’t understand that he was completely harmless in his benevolent self. 

It took a lot of effort to finally make an excuse of getting home early while the skies have temporarily calmed down. However, as you two strolled across the street, Sylus wouldn’t stop blabbering on and on about how you should have stayed more to talk about how prudish you were. 

“I’m not in the mood right now,” you spoke in a detached voice, moving away from him as you walked together. Because you ruined it, you wanted to add. The cold breeze kissed your face through the dark. 

Sylus only moved closer to you. “You shouldn’t be so uptight,” he countered, “Is that how kittens should act? Or do I punish you back at home?”

Punishments. You didn’t wish to go through another round of his ‘punishments’ because you weren’t certain at how creative he could be at delivering them. There was no doubt that a man who traversed the ages would have seen enough torture devices used during the earlier times. Perhaps he could get inspiration from those. 

“I just wanna go home,” you muttered, almost inaudibly had his heightened hearing senses not worked. 

“Good, then I can have fun with y—” Sylus halted from his words as his face froze at the sight in front of him. His body had completely gone stiff and his jaws were clenched. You would have thought that he was angry until that evil upturn of his lips came to show. 

“Sylus...”

Following his sight, he was all eyes on a man from a distance before he dashed towards the stranger, leaving you utterly stupefied from where you stood. What’s he on about? You rushed as your heels landed in lightweight steps across the sidewalk while you watched in terror how Sylus mercilessly throttled the man by the neck and dragged him into a dark alleyway. 

“Sylus, stop!” 

As you reached him with a panting breath, you realized that the man he was holding high up against the wall was the same person that catcalled you earlier. The man was wriggling away from Sylus’s tight grip, only to be asphyxiated harsher than before. 

“Wh-What’s your problem?” The man struggled to breathe due to the strangulation and you were pulling Sylus’s other arm to stop him. 

At the sight of Sylus’s crimson eyes and vicious stance, you knew there was nothing much you could do to prevent harm. He was determined to do what he wanted without paying attention to his surroundings. 

“You’re fantasizing her, huh?” Sylus taunted with a sinister undertone in his words. “You wanna spread ‘em open?” 

Recalling the very words he spoke, the man saw you with frantic eyes as his face was reddening from the lack of oxygen. With a rushed shake of the head and a face that was begging for sympathy, he tried to break free. “N-No, no. She’s—haaa! She’s all yours.” 

“Sylus, stop it.” You grabbed his arms and attempted your best to pull him away despite the trepidation that caused you goosebumps. “Please stop, you’re gonna kill him.” 

Every time you saw this demonic creature, you were learning new things about him and most of those things were of the worst kind. Not only was he possessive—he was diabolical, potentially obsessive, and a cutthroat sadist who wouldn’t even blink before ending someone’s life. This was the true nature of a demon, not some silly fantasy that today’s pop-culture portrayed them to be. 

He was a body without a soul.

Unfortunately, you should have thought twice before choosing to get involved with him. 

“That’s my plan, sweetie.”