#the deadliest sin

[sibblank]

"wholesome" celebrities always turn out to be up to no good, so how long until that baby hippo gets exposed?

[thegreatyin]

a thing im slowly realizing about the scoundrel is that they are decidedly not the hero in their story. they're the gay coded villain in someone elses

[nomoreluckystarz]

Pride's a Death Sentence.

To become a leader's a big responsibility, too bad Leonardo doesn't have the minimum clue of what that entails. It's not just leading the entire army, equip them and train them with the best of the best; it is also to assume your own faults and grow as a person.

His entire life; Leonardo's been watering a plant made out of plastic.

What a disastrous mission it was.

There was not a single soldier who was not covered in blood, guts, or with some sort of limping. A few of the dead bodies were recovered, but the majority will be the Kraang’s night feast for sure. The retrieved odachi goes back into its owner’s hand; Leonardo sighs with profound heaviness, grossed out at the sight of removing the sword from of the alien’s corpse, swifts the blue cape to his side as he began to lead this troop to safety. 

He absolutely hates this; this is the way of existence –at the time of his wrongdoing, the future– he has set the entire world upon. At some intersection along the way, he’s able to find his brother Michelangelo and his group, at least the members that survived.

The red-eared slider noticed a new section of white hair on his brother’s mane; the glowing, rupture on his skin peeking through the wrappings of his arms. 

His younger brother, the sight of him aches with each passing day of the apocalypse, every darned minute of this calamity; Mikey was no longer that same jolly, happy-go-lucky turtle he knew since decades, since they were babies. Over time, he has grown serious, and mature; nonetheless, hope and the ability to see the good in everything, in everyone, remain unaltered within his heart.

Upon their return to the base, where they were once again met with disappointment and disarray, the automatic sequence commenced. Nurses clad in protective masks began to transport the injured in a line of stretchers, some of whom were accompanied by a loved one or sibling.

Speaking of siblings, Michelangelo had returned to his room, located at the very bottom of the headquarters building; a room where light was dim with no windows letting the dolorous view of the exterior to be seen, adorned by candles positioned in a circle, with a quilt in the middle of it. 

He’s in the middle of a meditating session, his hair spreading out on the bedding as the candles ignite with the might of his mystic powers. Three white butterflies emerge as apparitions from his palms, a golden lux reflecting on his watercolor eyes as he tries to smile, the markings that peeked from his bandages eventually go away, creating an additional gray section on his hair instead. 

The youngest of the clan, the one who’s got a promising future ahead, only if it weren’t for the fact that his power is so unbelievable that it’ll shorten his lifespan. It is something he’s willing to do ever since he managed to open a portal to save his brother from the Prison Dimension; their second father had previously stated the same thing. 

It is a regrettable fact for Michelangelo, the Mystic Warrior; despite everything he is humble about it. 

Which is the complete opposite of his dear older brother, whose life sentence is his own pride.

-- Amy Jade (REDHEADZ AU)

[divinekangaroo]

There's also this joy in sk’s incredibly claustrophobic feeling settings and scenes, compared/contrasted with these spheres (or spears) of Tommy's global influence or influences coming through, because that, too, is a compelling juxtaposition. Tommy's horrors/hauntings by the man in the shadows (so close, in his house, at his heels, coming into his territory, invading, all the while it's the man [in the constituency] next door) while there's this weight and horror of global war on the horizon. (And I think about: if Mosley *doesn’t* go down, Tommy’s brokering of the IRA, American and Mosley’s connection might have been a very large part of Mosley's success? I mean, talk about a gamble...)

Anyway, I do like writing my fic!Mosley constantly slagging Tommy with the label domestic all while Tommy’s sitting there *seething*

[excstacies]

The state of the world is so bleak right now. I still have to believe humans are good and capable of peace and love. It is greed that corrupts us.

[arytheweirdrat]

I think about him like Gluttony, not because his weight, but because I want him to desire me the way I desire food, even the bigest amount can be bigger. Even if we only talked once, about how teacher is stupid, and how Wrath is right. I think about him like Gluttony because he's my deadliest sin, and i never get enought.

[ema0rsully]

Ok- listen to me on this one.

I find it surprising how the authorities arresting I.M.P. were from the sloth ring (the candles). Considering the fact that sloth = lazy. I’d expect the authorities to be from the wrath or even envy ring.

What if- and this is just a theory..

What if, Belphegor is always sleepy because she sleeps for the sinners and inhabitants of the sloth ring.

Belphegor is a sheep. When you can’t sleep, what do you do? You try to count sheep to try and get some sleep. Maybe, what Belphegor does is to help her subjects, she helps sleep for them and in return her subjects aren’t ever sleepy and always energised to do their work. All the energy she gains from sleeping, she gives it to her people so they dont require to sleep. But of course, this takes a toll on her because now she’s always sleepy.

I know, not alot of proof to go around this theory. But look at this guy,

He looks like some kind of anger therapist for Satan. He’s definitely from the sloth ring (the candle). And look back in S2 E4,

The guys are also from the sloth ring (the candles). Seems like all medicine/drugs comes from the sloth ring. And for a ring where you’re supposed to be demotivated or lazy, they do ALOT of work. From careers such as a therapist or an officer, these jobs require ALOT of energy. Some even time consuming.

And Belphegor seems to sleep ALOT compare to her own sinners/inhabitants in sloth. Thats why it got me thinking, how can her own people do all these jobs and yet Belphegor herself cant get through a trial without falling in and out of sleep? It makes you ponder.. why would she do that to herself?

Maybe because, her ring is at the lowest in the hierarchy. Its isn’t the most deadliest sin like pride or wrath. I also think she fears her ring might fall behind the other rings because her people will be too lazy to get anything done. So to avoid any mockery from the other Deadly Sins, she decides to give them energy by sleeping for them. It doesn’t matter is she’s oversleeping or not present when a meeting is being held, as long as her ring is prosperous, she’s sleeping peacefully.

I feel like the downside to all this is that, the sloth ring is ALWAYS awake. Nobody sleeps which means sinners and inhabitants are always finding something to do. Which is why her ring ends up being the ring with the best medicine/drugs, hospitals and maybe even security service.

[the-muppet-joker]

I know you thirsty bitches want my bald head soooooooo bad... Well no bald pics for you! Lust is the deadliest of the seven deadly sins, and will kill you faster than poison!

[shiorihyugawrites]

Velvet Heat (No Regrets!Levi x Reader Oneshot)

Before Levi Ackerman ever wore a uniform, he was the Underground’s most dangerous man—untouchable, cold, and utterly lethal. But one night at a lounge, a bold little dancer climbs into his lap with a smirk that dares him to lose control. And Levi? He takes the challenge personally.

He doesn’t go easy. And you don’t want him to.

18 + Only | Minors Do Not Interact

The air in the lounge was thick with smoke, sweat, perfume, and whispered sins.

A low hum of conversation murmured beneath the seductive melody of piano and strings, the notes floating like silk through the haze. Candlelight flickered along polished brass railings and red velvet drapes, casting golden shadows across the faces of criminals, smugglers, and nobility who liked to pretend they weren’t slumming in the filth of the underground. But even here—in a city without sunlight—there were stars.

One star, in particular.

Levi Ackerman leaned back in the worn leather booth in the farthest corner, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but those who knew him understood the truth: he was always ready to kill.

The infamous Levi. The underground's deadliest blade.

People whispered his name with fear, respect, and jealousy. A man who slit throats like it was second nature. A ghost with knives for hands and no soul to speak of. And tonight, he was here for one reason:

To see you.

“Oi, is this really worth the trip?” he muttered to Furlan without turning his head. “She better not be just another girl in fishnets pretending to be a dancer.”

Furlan chuckled softly. “She’s not just a girl. She’s a fucking legend down here.”

“Tch.” Levi’s sharp grey eyes flicked to the stage as the house lights dimmed. “We'll see about that.”

And then… She stepped out.

You.

Wrapped in crimson sheer silk that shimmered with every sway of your hips. The lingerie dress clung to your curves like it had been painted on, exposing your legs, waist, and just enough cleavage to tempt death itself. Thin straps slid off your shoulders like you didn’t care who watched.

The entire room silenced.

Your hair spilled down your back, and your face—gods, your face—looked like it had been sculpted by an artist with a love for sin. Lips painted scarlet. Eyes laced with mischief. A smile with dimples so deep it made hardened criminals shift in their seats.

But Levi didn’t shift. He stared. Unblinking.

The music started—slow, sensual. You danced, your body twirling through the stage like a blade of light. Effortless. High. Ethereal. 

Levi’s jaw clenched.

You didn’t look at him right away.

You twirled. Danced. Let your body become the music. Graceful, fluid, seductive. Like a fairy dipped in wine and wicked thoughts. Every man in the room leaned forward like moths drawn to flame.

Then your eyes locked with his.

You didn’t smile.

You smirked.

And Levi, that deadly bastard, raised a brow. Just one. Like a challenge.

You accepted.

Your bare feet padded silently across the stage and down the short set of velvet-covered stairs. Each sway of your hips more deliberate now. Every movement calculated. A predator in sheer red lace. You crossed the room slowly, a siren weaving her spell.

Levi didn’t look away.

He never did.

When you reached his table, you climbed onto it—graceful as a cat—and straddled his lap with your thighs spread wide over his, ignoring the stunned gasps and growls of envy from the crowd.

Furlan nearly dropped his drink.

Levi didn’t move.

You leaned in close, your voice a soft, wicked purr near his ear.

“You look bored.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. “You’re bold.”

“And you’re beautiful,” you whispered, dragging a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. “I don’t usually do this. But I think I’ll make an exception.”

You kissed his cheek slowly, deliberately, your red lips smearing against the sharp angle of his face.

A perfect lipstick mark.

He caught your wrist just as you started to pull away. His grip was strong—but not cruel.

“I don’t like games,” he said flatly.

You smirked, twisting your wrist free with a dancer’s finesse. “Then follow me. Let me show you how I play.”

You gently grabbed his hand and lead him towards the back on the lounge. The private room was lit only by a chandelier of dying candles. Crimson velvet lined the walls and chaise lounge. A soft fur rug lay beneath your feet. You locked the door with a click.

Levi stood just inside, silent.

You didn’t speak.

You just danced.

Slow. Sinful. Seduction distilled. Your hips rolled, your bare feet gliding over the rug. The sheer silk flowed around you like mist. Your hands slid over your own curves, drawing his attention to your waist, your thighs, your breasts—everything men dreamed about and never touched.

He watched. Breathing steady. Face unreadable.

But you saw it in his eyes. Hunger.

You turned your back to him, letting the red silk slip down your arms. You looked over your shoulder, lips parted, breath shallow.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

He was on you in an instant.

Levi’s mouth crushed yours, his kiss rough and greedy. You answered with a moan, throwing your arms around his neck. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into flesh. You kissed him deeper—tongue, teeth, passion. You sucked on his bottom lip, then licked the corner of his mouth just to tease him.

He growled.

You laughed breathlessly and pushed him toward the chaise. He let you.

You climbed into his lap again, kissing down his throat, nibbling just beneath his jaw. His pulse jumped under your tongue.

“You gonna kill me?” you teased, voice soft as silk.

“Not tonight,” he muttered, dragging his lips along your collarbone. “Not unless you ask real nice.”

You rolled your hips over his, slow and deliberate. You felt him—hard beneath you, the tension in his muscles coiled tight.

“I’m sure you’ve killed for less,” you whispered.

He gripped your ass with both hands, pulling you tighter against him. “Don’t tempt me.”

But you did.

Every sway. Every sigh. Every flicker of your eyes as you stripped for him, peeling away the last sheer layer of your lingerie, baring your flawless skin beneath flickering candlelight.

You were a goddess made flesh.

And he worshipped you in silence—with his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours like he was starved.

You kissed again—slow this time. Tender. Deep.

You guided him down onto the chaise, your body hovering over his. Hair cascading around your face, your dimples deepening as you smiled down at him with a sultry glint in your eye.

You had him.

Levi’s cold, calculating gaze never left yours, even as you straddled him like you owned him—like you’d always meant to. His body was deceptively still beneath yours, but you could feel the tension in him. Like a beast barely leashed. Like something wild that hadn’t decided yet if it wanted to devour you or let you keep teasing.

He stared you down, a predator in human form.

And you… you stared right back.

Your smirk was slow, sultry, teasing.

Daring.

Your hands moved with purpose, curling around the delicate straps of your sheer red lingerie and sliding them off your shoulders, letting the fabric drift down, inch by inch. His gaze didn’t waver—yet. He was trying to prove something. Maybe to you. Maybe to himself.

But then—

The silk slipped low enough to reveal your breasts, and that was when he broke.

His eyes flickered downward.

Just for a heartbeat.

Just long enough for you to feel the victory pulse like electricity through your veins.

You didn’t say a word. You reached for his hands, rough and calloused from years of violence, and guided them to your chest. You pressed them to your bare skin, slowly… deliberately.

He didn’t resist.

Didn’t even blink.

His fingers curled, squeezing your breasts with slow, deliberate pressure, thumbs brushing over your nipples like he was testing the texture. His jaw tensed, nostrils flared. Still quiet. Still unreadable.

But his hands stayed.

You began to move again—hips rolling, body winding. A private dance made just for him. You moved with purpose, grinding slowly, sensually, until you could feel it—him. The hard, growing bulge beneath you.

You felt him twitch through his pants, and your hips rocked harder, more confidently, feeding the heat between you. The air was thick with your breath, the scent of candle wax, and the sharp buzz of Levi’s restraint fraying at the edges.

Then, without warning, you leaned forward and kissed him.

He didn’t pull away.

His lips were dry but warm. Soft but firm. You moaned against him, deepening the kiss. His hand slid from your breast to your lower back, gripping you tighter, anchoring you against him as he kissed you back—slow, hungry, like he had been holding back for too long.

And then, in a blink—he moved.

His grip on your waist tightened, and before you could react, he shifted his weight and flipped you beneath him in one smooth motion. You let out a small gasp as your back hit the velvet chaise, his body now hovering above yours, knees planted on either side of your hips.

His hands pinned your wrists above your head, his body pressed flush to yours, hard and unrelenting.

He was fast.

Strong.

Dangerous.

And yet… he wasn’t hurting you.

His face hovered inches from yours, eyes dark and stormy, studying you like you were something fragile—something rare.

“You think you’re in control?” His voice was low, rasping, a growl dragged over gravel.

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t look away.

Instead, you tilted your head, smirking again, breath hot against his lips. “Aren’t I?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Lust. Annoyance. Admiration.

“You’re bold,” he muttered, voice thick. “Too bold.”

“And you’re hard,” you whispered, shifting your hips beneath him just enough to remind him exactly where your body met his.

His jaw clenched again. His hands slid down from your wrists, dragging slowly over your arms, until they settled at your sides. His fingertips dug into your hips like he was trying to decide if he wanted to leave bruises.

He leaned closer. His lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You shivered, heart racing.

“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” you whispered.

He exhaled slowly, his breath hot on your neck, and you felt the smallest shudder run through him.

“I don’t go easy.”

“I don’t want easy.”

Levi pulled back just enough to look at you again. His hair hung slightly in his face, the dim candlelight catching on the sharp angles of his jaw. His eyes were dangerous—full of promises you weren’t sure you were ready for, but completely unwilling to turn down.

One hand rose to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just under your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he said quietly.

You nipped at his thumb with your teeth and grinned.

“Then make it worth it.”

His mouth was on yours before the last word left your lips—devouring, dominating, taking. You moaned into the kiss, your hands fisting in the back of his shirt as your legs wrapped around his waist.

He pressed his hips into yours, grinding slowly, deliberately, making you feel every inch of his arousal through the thin fabric between you. You gasped, arching into him, your fingers clawing at his back.

He broke the kiss with a low curse, staring down at you again like he was about to commit a crime.

And in that moment, you were more than willing to be his next sin..

You were flushed, lips parted, body trembling beneath his weight. You couldn’t move, not with the way he pinned you down with nothing but his presence, his hands, his voice.

And then—

He moved lower.

His hand slipped between your thighs.

You gasped, hips twitching, but Levi didn’t let up. He used two fingers to push aside your lingerie underwear—slowly, carefully, like he was unwrapping a gift. His touch was rough, calloused, but his movements were maddeningly gentle, teasing your folds with deliberate strokes.

“Shit…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re soaking through already.”

You whimpered. “Levi—”

He slipped one finger between your slick folds and dragged it through your heat, smearing it across your clit with a slow, lazy circle. You bucked beneath him, but he pressed his forearm against your hips, holding you still.

“You wanted this, remember?” he said, tone dark and smooth. “Climbed into my lap like a little slut... dressed like that... teasing me in front of a whole damn room.”

You gasped at the vulgarity of it—but gods, you liked it. Too much.

“I bet you thought I’d be rough right away. Thought I’d rip your panties off and fuck you into the chaise.” His voice dropped lower, lips brushing your ear. “But that’s not how this works.”

And then he slid one finger inside you.

Your back arched as the sensation bloomed white-hot. He watched you, expression unreadable except for the way his eyes darkened, flicking down to watch your body take him in.

“You’re tight,” he growled, slipping in another finger beside the first. “Hot. Fuck.”

He curled them inside you, rubbing against the spot that made your thighs tremble. Your legs tried to close, but he shoved them open with his knee, never once looking away.

“Keep ‘em open,” he ordered, voice like gravel and smoke. “Don’t make me tie you down.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, and his smirk grew wicked.

“Yeah, I felt that.”

He started moving his fingers—slow at first, then faster, deeper. You cried out, breath catching, body bucking under the force of each thrust. He added pressure with his thumb against your clit, circling it in time with his pumping fingers.

You were unraveling.

Your hand flew to the cushion behind you, the other gripping his shoulder as you moaned his name, loud and broken. He leaned down, lips brushing your neck, whispering filth in your ear.

“You love this, don’t you? Me inside you like this... fingers deep, pussy gripping me like it’s desperate.” He chuckled darkly. “You’re gonna cum already? That easy?”

You were so close. So fucking close.

And then—

He stopped.

You let out a broken cry, hips chasing his fingers. “No—! Why did you stop—?”

“Because I can.” His tone was low and cruel, but his eyes sparkled with lust. “I told you—I don’t go easy.”

Before you could protest, he moved down between your thighs, dragging your underwear fully off with his teeth. He tossed it somewhere behind him and stared at your dripping core like it was the most decadent thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he muttered. “Look at this—fuck.”

His breath ghosted over your heat, and then—his tongue was on you. Lapping. Sucking. Devouring. You cried out, thighs trying to close around his head, but his hands held you wide open as he feasted on you like he was starving.

You were shaking. Writhing.

His mouth was relentless. Every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. His teeth grazed your clit just enough to make your vision blur. Then, without warning, he slid his fingers back inside, curling them with precision while his tongue circled your clit.

You screamed.

“That’s it,” he murmured into you. “Make those pretty sounds. Let the whole fucking Lounge know who’s got you like this.”

You were right at the edge. Your walls clenched, legs trembling. The orgasm crept up your spine, white-hot, merciless.

But just as you were about to fall—

He stopped. Again.

“No—Levi! Please!”

He sat up slowly, licking your arousal off his fingers with maddening calm. “Goddamn, you taste good.”

You were panting, tears stinging your eyes from the sheer denial.

“You’re cruel,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” He leaned over you, dragging the head of his cock along your folds through his pants, just enough pressure to make you shudder.

“Then beg for it.”

You blinked up at him, breath hitching.

“Beg for what?”

“Everything,” he growled, gripping your jaw with one hand. “Beg me to ruin you.”

Your body was shaking. Slick with sweat and arousal, skin flushed, lips swollen from his kisses and your own bitten-back screams. The chaise lounge beneath you was damp with your arousal—your thighs soaked, your core pulsing and aching from the relentless teasing.

Levi leaned over you again, his voice low and cruel in your ear.

“Dripping all over the fucking chaise,” he muttered, running his fingers along the mess you were leaving. “You’re gonna clean that, brat?”

You whimpered, nearly sobbing. “Please—please, Levi, I can’t—”

“You can.” He grabbed your chin and tilted your face up to meet his. “You’re gonna take everything I give you.”

He pulled back and stood for a moment. You thought—hoped—he might finally give you what you needed.

Instead, he chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You're so desperate. That little act back on the floor—straddling me like a bitch in heat—this is what you wanted, right?”

You were too dazed to answer, but your body betrayed you, arching and trembling in need. That smirk on his lips deepened as he ran a hand down your spine.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered.

You obeyed—barely—your legs wobbling as you turned and braced yourself on all fours atop the chaise. He spread your knees wider with a rough hand, his other gripping your hip like a vice.

He gave you no warning. No softness.

Just a rough, deep thrust that stole the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck!” you gasped, crying out as he filled you all at once.

“Quiet,” he growled, leaning over your back, teeth grazing your shoulder. “You don’t get to scream unless I say you can.”

He pulled back and slammed into you again—harder. Your eyes rolled back.

“I should’ve fucked you on that stage in front of everyone,” he hissed, pistoning his hips. “Let them all see what kind of filthy little thing you are.”

You were crying, moaning, unable to stop the way your hips rocked back to meet his every thrust.

But when you squirmed too much, trying to wriggle out of the overwhelming pressure and pleasure, he snarled.

“Can’t even stay still.”

In one brutal motion, he yanked his belt from his pants and grabbed your wrists. Before you could process it, he’d looped the leather around them and tied you up—wrists bound behind your back like a plaything.

“Nowhere to run now, yeah?” he breathed against your ear.

He gripped the end of the belt for leverage—and used it.

He fucked you.

Hard. Unrelenting. Brutal.

The slapping sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room, mingling with your choked sobs of pleasure and his ragged breathing.

Your body rocked forward with every thrust, your tits bouncing, your knees struggling to hold you up. Your cheek pressed against the velvet cushion, lips open in a silent scream as he pounded into you from behind.

“You feel that?” Levi groaned, snapping his hips forward. “This is what happens when you act like a fucking tease.”

You could barely speak—barely think—but you nodded, whimpering, “Yes—yes, Levi, please—don’t stop—”

He tugged the belt tighter, slamming into you harder, deeper, like he wanted to mold your insides to the shape of his cock.

“Fucking dripping,” he grunted. “I can feel you squeezing me. So fuckin’ tight.”

You were gone. Slurred moans fell from your lips, tears slipping down your face as your body shook violently.

“You like being used like this, huh?” he sneered. “Tied up. Fucked dumb. Just a needy little hole for me to ruin.”

You nodded furiously, mouth open, drooling onto the cushion. “Yes, Levi—please, I need it—I need you—”

He bent over your back, still thrusting, now grinding deeper. “You’re gonna cum on my cock, aren’t you? Just from getting fucked like this?”

You clenched around him, crying out, the pressure in your belly snapping like a rubber band stretched too tight.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave—violent, overwhelming, shaking. Your vision whited out as your whole body spasmed beneath him, held together only by the grip of the belt and Levi’s hands on your hips.

“Fucking hell—” Levi groaned, voice cracked and low, “—that’s it, cum for me—fuck—”

He didn’t stop.

He kept going—faster, rougher, chasing his own release as your body twitched and convulsed from the overstimulation.

The only thing you could do was moan brokenly as he used you, mouth wide open and drooling, eyes glassy.

Then you felt him—his hips jerking, the rhythm breaking—and with a harsh groan in your ear, Levi slammed into you one final time and spilled deep inside you.

His grip stayed locked tight, fingers bruising your hips as he rode out his high, chest heaving against your back.

For a long moment, the only sound was your combined breath and the occasional, accidental twitch of your trembling legs.

Finally, he leaned over and kissed your shoulder. The belt slipped loose from your wrists, and his hand found your cheek, thumb wiping your tears.

“Did I break you?” he murmured, voice rough, but… gentle.

You let out a hoarse, satisfied sigh.

“I hope so.”

He chuckled low, biting softly at your shoulder. “Good.”

Your body felt like jelly. Used, full, and entirely boneless—folded into the chaise like you’d melted there.

The room was silent now. The glow of the candles had dimmed, flickering low, their golden light casting soft shadows over Levi’s face. His eyes weren’t sharp anymore. They were softer now. Still intense, but unreadable in a different way—like he was searching for something on your face that he wasn’t brave enough to ask for aloud.

You blinked at him, tears dried on your cheeks, lips swollen, pulse still fluttering in your wrists.

He finally moved.

Without a word, Levi pulled out of you carefully, steady hands on your hips to guide you down. You whimpered at the sensitivity, but he hushed you instantly with a thumb brushing along your thigh.

“Easy,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

He untied the belt from around your wrists, letting it fall to the floor. Your arms ached with relief, and before you could slump forward, he caught you—pulling you gently into his lap.

You were a mess—legs trembling, body soaked with sweat, smeared lipstick, and still full of him. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t push you away.

Instead, he wrapped an arm around your back and pulled a throw blanket from the chaise, draping it over your shoulders. Then he held you—silent, solid, grounding.

You pressed your forehead to his chest, dazed and buzzing.

“I-I can’t feel my legs,” you mumbled, half-laughing, half-crying.

“Tch.” His voice was gruff, but his hand rubbed your back in soothing circles. “I told you I don’t go easy.”

You giggled weakly, nuzzling closer. “You’re a menace…”

Levi tilted your chin up, thumb brushing your cheek. “You good?”

His voice was quieter now. Rough, yes—but laced with something gentle. Something careful.

You nodded, eyes glassy. “Yeah. Just… floating.”

He stared at you for a beat. Then he shifted, slipping a hand between your thighs and gently brushing over your core.

You flinched.

“I know,” he murmured. “Too much. Sorry.”

He wiped you with the edge of the blanket—slow and gentle, surprisingly so. You watched him in a daze, heart swelling at the contrast. The same hands that had just wrecked you now handled you like you were porcelain.

Once he was satisfied, he pulled your legs across his lap and reclined back against the chaise, cradling you to his chest. One hand stroked your back, the other ran through your hair—slow, grounding motions.

“You didn’t have to be so gentle,” you whispered.

“You didn’t have to look at me like that,” he replied, voice low.

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth a damn.”

The silence that followed was thick—but not uncomfortable.

You nestled closer, resting your cheek against his collarbone.

“You are,” you whispered. “Even if you don’t think so.”

Levi didn’t answer. But his arms tightened around you just a little.

And that was enough.

~

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[yandere-wishes]

「✦ S n o w W h i t e ✦ 」

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Yandere! Roman Sionis x Snow White! Reader ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆.˚✮𝐹𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎 𝒯𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝒜𝒰✮˚.⋆

Thinking about Yandere! Roman Sionis in a Snow White AU. Thinking about him being the evil queen/king who wants to poison poor little snow white.

✦•┈┈┈๑⋅⋯❦︎⋯⋅๑┈┈┈•✦

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n whose face is permanently bound to a black mask, whose wicked soul has bled into his physical form. Forever cursed by the dark arts to bear his sins to the world. Who locks himself inside his chambers in the castle's highest tower. Paranoia gnawing at his hardened flesh, he knows the kingdom hates him, he knows they want to savor his blood upon their tongues.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n whose only companion is a magic mirror, one side whole, one side shattered, he can't quite remember if he's at fault for that. A magic mirror who tells him everything. Evil King! Roman whose paranoia drives him to ask, again and again, who the people rever, whom they worship as their king, who is it that the people admire. Who is the fairest in all the land? It's always him, the mirror says. Tyrant king, intoxicated by his own power. The damsels still yearn for him, the noblemen still fall at his feet.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who 's appalled that one day, one grim dark day. The mirror doesn't utter his name, it sings about the princess, the last remnant of the old monarchy that Roman had crushed. The precious daughter of the weak king and queen of old. She is the fairest, in grace and in face. The maiden who sings to the birds and whose musk awakens the flowers. Whose smile puts the sun to shame and whose eyes sparkle brightest. She will be his downfall, the mirror says, the people dream of the fair maiden superseding their potentate masked king. Dream of replacing tyranny with benevolence, of trading secrecy for candor.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n whose face is forever ruined and so he refuses to allow the starry-eyed little princess to be the fairest in the land. Envy and paranoia both sink their ragged teeth into his heart as he gazes down from his window. Bearing witness to the fair maiden singing by the well as she hugs a little rabbit to her chest so tenderly. He knows she has to die, he refuses to be bested by a little girl.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who toils day and night, mixing the deadliest of poisons with the vilest chemicals. Smearing his potion upon a ripe red apple. Your essence flashes across his mind, perfect lips drawn into a cheerful smile. For a second he envisions them caught between his teeth, your tiny body withers beneath him, eyes wide as you gaze up at him in adore and abhor. It's the bright red of the apple that shakes away such visions. The lethal red eagerly awaits to be pierced by your pearly white teeth.

❦ ︎ Y a n de r e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who's always harbored a demented little crush on the naive little princess his kingdom still reveres, who always dreamed of harshly ringing his fingers across your face, of having you kneel between his thighs and kiss his rings. Who's had many a sleepless night dreaming of turning you into his perfect little toy. And maybe this apple is a love letter as much as it is a dagger to the heart. After all, what is a poison apple if not love twisted into malice, painted by ruby ​​​​​​glass shards and laced with sweet sweet detest? What is a poison apple if not a confession?

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who pushes sweet candy apples between your teeth forcing you to take a bit. Whose body is dangerously close to yours, fingers digging into the delicate soft flesh of your hips, laying bruises upon the bones. You're kinda cute like this, Roman thinks, wide eyes, terrified, and yet all so trusting. Like nothing in the world would ever dare harm a soul as sweet as yours. You melt under his touch, desperately clinging to pretenses and formalities, far too shy to deny your king.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who catches your body as it collapses, who watches as the poison dances across your face, dazed eyes hooded, forever closed. He takes a moment to appreciate this, you between his arms, lethargic and vulnerable just like a little doll. He carries you outside the castle, declares to the guards that 'someone' has poisoned the princess, declares that a public funeral shall be held. All while trying to hide his smug grin.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n, who only realizes how truly gorgeous you are when you're laying dead in your glass coffins marveled and exalted by all the weeping kingdom of Gotham. How dare they look at you, how dare they fawn over what's his. How dare they dream of what belongs to him. Ethereal beauty sprawled out among the red cushions entrapped forever in glass. How did he miss it? You may be the fairest but it was never you that he envied. He wanted you, needed you. It was the kingdom he was jealous of, the peasants or faux-faced nobles who fawned and swooned over you. Those who stole you away, those who made him hate you for far too long.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who listens as the people mutter about 'a prince', about 'true love'. They're too stubborn to let you die . Too hopeful to admit they've lost to the king. After all, they do say love is blind. Roman just hopes the village boys don't start lining up to kiss you. Clinging to frivolous hope that they are the one.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who never knew he would miss the thorn in his side. Who uses black magic and forbidden sorcery to reawaken you. Inhales the smoke and kisses you push it past your lips and down your lungs. Who makes the crowd watch in the dead of night as he "saves you", declaring himself the princess's "true love". Later in the castle, he pulls you aside, "Be grateful" he warns "I could have left you for dead". You're too dazed to speak, swallowing the words as they blossom on your tongue. 'I preferred being dead' you almost long to say.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who only now registers that you are his princess, his doll, the fairest of them all can only belong to him. You're not quite alive, not quite dead either. Clinging to Roman sitting pretty on his lap as he rules over all those poor unfortunate souls. Day by day your eyes grow more vacant, empty, all the stars have almost died out. Your only thoughts are of him, only of him, to you he's the fairest in all the land. Your one true love. The man who saved you from your eternal slumber.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who kisses you like he's trying to conquer what little of you is left, who bites at your flesh as if he were eating an apple . He relishes in the way your plush lips kiss across his shoulders and neck and masked face. Who can't get enough of his little princess.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who still feeds you poisoned apples and watches as your mind grows numb and your body taut. Who enjoys having you so scared and mindless, hugging him close as if he were your prince charming...

🎀I kinda love the DC x Fairly Tale AU idea. And to think it all came from a quick nap lol. Let me know if you guys want more of these. I'm thinking of a Little Red Riding Hood au with Jason Todd and desperately need a fairy tale for Harvey Dent!!

🎀@d3athmaskd1v1n3 @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo

[justcressida]

UNDER THE SEA

"That boy is mine,"

Poseidon × Yandere! Fem Reader

Poseidon was perfect.

Every breath he took, every step he took, his face, his voice. Everything was blessed with perfection. Even the deadliest sin of Satan, pride, was nothing less than God's blessing in his hands.

When you looked at him, you saw the ocean. Mysterious yet fascinating. As fascinating as the waves in full swing.

And you, a poor, pitiful creature in his eyes. You would do anything to have his love.

You were just a young Goddess when you first saw him. Yet Poseidon, as usual, stood at the end of the hall with his chin erect with that proud look on his face, his beautiful face expressionless, listening to the nonsense of his younger brother Zeus.

You fell in love as soon as you saw her. How could you not be? Golden blonde hair waves, strong, muscular body. The glow of his white skin that can be noticed from meters away. The cold, distant look on his face. He was the God of Gods. The progenitor of all that is sacred, a symbol of power.

So you decided to be his shadow. You were in love with him, you never hid it, but you didn't hesitate to be sneaky in your feelings either. Because you didn't want him for yourself. No, it's too much of that. The God of the seas was sacred even to someone like you. Even in the eyes of you, a Goddess, he was everything, more important than anything else. More valuable than anything else. You adored him, and if he wanted to, you would rip out your heart and put it in his hands

The God of the Seas is not stupid. No matter how sneaky you can be when you want to pursue him like an annoying pest, he already knew that he was threatening all the women who were once his lovers. Although Poseidon always considers himself superior to others, he is the observant type. And he doesn't hesitate to interfere with things he doesn't like

He didn't interfere with you at all. He never turned his eyes in your direction, but he never stopped you. He silently watched as you destroyed all the women you saw as potential rivals for yourself, like his sister Goddess Hera. His wife, Amphitirte, is his lover and also his sister, Demeter, or any woman. He never stopped you. Because he like it.

Just one possibility, let's say you finally get rid of all your potential rivals and make it into the bed of your beloved God. Oh, I hope the holy beings have mercy on you because Poseidon won't. He'll whisper dirty, mocking, degrading things into your ear while he slams his body into you without mercy.

And when you wake up the next morning between the sheets next to the God you've worshipped with all the depth of your heart this whole time, you know you'll never let him go again. And somewhere inside the Sea God, a traitorous little part of him that isn't up to his perfection is dying for his personal Goddess.

[icypantherwrites]

Fic Update: The Deadliest of Sins, Chapter 10

Fic Summary: (Police/Detective AU) There’s a serial killer haunting the streets of Garrison City. Detective Lance is assigned to the case, trying to solve the killer’s motive and identity before another victim shows up in a week. He can tell there’s something very personal to the killer about these crime scenes and how each victim is killed, but even Lance has no idea how personal this case is about to become.

Chapter Snippet:

Lance awoke to a pounding headache, an overbearingly sweet and yet musky scent, and the sensation of cold hands on his chest.

His bare chest.

His eyes flew open and he immediately regretted that as light, dim as it was, assaulted them and his stomach rolled dangerously and he let out a moan, squeezing his eyes shut then while trying to pull away from the hands that no doubt belonged to S and…

And going nowhere.

His eyes flew open again as though he needed to see the fact he was restrained, ropes tight around his wrists and ankles, in a chair to believe it, and he could feel equally coarse rope and cloth stretched across his face and he swallowed thickly, willing his stomach to settle as vomiting with a gag would be beyond awful.

But the unwelcome hands did remove themselves and were replaced instead with an almost amused sounding, “Waking up, Detective?”

Lance did not recognize the voice.

Read it here

(posted up to chapter 7 on AO3)

[vxnuslogy]

— broken toys. ft sunday

— warnings: slight angst

— author's note: my entry to the sunday brainrot, aka me manifesting for playable sunday.

sunday was the most desired man in all of penacony, and for a good reason too.

head of the oak family; the most handsome bachelor on the planet; a preacher of harmony that wanted the best for his home; what was there to not like about him? you were no stranger to the way he stared at gatherings hosted by the family, his gaze lingered too much on you; happened too many times to count as a mere coincidence. it sent your heart into a blazing beat, one that made your cheeks flush whenever he stood anywhere near you. just hearing his voice – the awkward laugh that rang like wedding bells when mr. gopher wood joked about the two of you being a match made in heaven – it became your favorite thing in the world.

the idea of marrying sunday has always been on the table ever since you were children. one playdate after the other – most of which were spent on the beach – where you, sunday, and his darling little sister robin would create sandcastles for miles. role playing as the kingdom’s regency while robin sang you songs until she fell asleep. such fond memories manifested itself to a lightcone that now sat in your bedroom. mr. wood was not blind with the way sunday looked at you – neither were you – and ever since then, he’d consistently bug you to marry his adoptive son who hid behind his wings to save his face.

and so you did. you married the man of your dreams and relished in being loved like a saint. 

every waking hour with sunday was spent with him worshiping the very ground you set foot on. slipping his hand under the table in meetings to fit yours because you were his rock, making sure he never strayed too far from you because to him, being away from you was the deadliest sin of them all. he loved you like the sun; burning brightly and warming your coldest days with only a whisper of sweet nothings in your ear as you let his touch scorch your skin in a way that made you wince but love him all the same. basking in the way his lips carved his name in your own with such passion you would close your eyes to everything else - he was the only view you would ever look at.

sunday burned brightly, but he burnt too quickly. just like how the sun could never stay in the sky forever, his revelry in you also faded like the waking night when the moon and stars started to replace him. sunday became too consumed in his goals of harmony, so much so that he lost his way that not even you, his darling, couldn’t save him from. 

even if his hands still gravitated towards yours, they no longer had the same warmth that you savored in his presence. he confessed his deadliest sins – the sin of being away from you – every night under the night sky’s judgment, only to commit them again the following morning. 

such was the cycle of sunday’s habit when he obtained his favorite toy. 

he drowned himself in the great pleasures of finally having his hands on the toy he’s been pining over for years. indulging himself in the adoration he had for you even if sometimes, it flickered with something more sinister, something much darker than the adoration he bathed and convinced you in. you let him suffocate in this false devotion until he started to pull back in boredom. until his favorite toy - you - was no longer his favorite.

you would pull away, starting to realize how this was not right, only for him to come sweep you of your feet – the same awkward laughter that once rang like wedding bells now sounded like red sirens, warning you of the danger you’d always ignore – and your falling back into the same maze that was your husband.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[lina-lovebug]

Since my last one did so good, I decided to post more "Kurt Wagner would definitely say this" type quotes.

"They ask, "do you love her to death?"

I say, "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life"."

- Mahmoud Darwish

"I thought you were my remedy but you've turned out to be my deadliest wound, my love"

- unknown

"If you've considered a woman less pure after you've touched her then maybe you should take a look at your hands"

- unknown

"I don't know how to become one with you. If you're heaven, then tell me - I will kneel to every god. If you're hell, then tell me - I will fill the earth with sin"

- Abdulla Pashew

"I want, in fact, more of you. In my mind I am dressing you with light; I am wrapping you up in blankets of complete acceptance and then I give myself to you. I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy. I really, utterly long for every bit of you"

- Kafka

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬

Riddle :: Wrath

A tiny spark is all it takes to ignite a fire that burns blindingly bright. If they won’t respect you and the rules on their own, you’ll just have to make them listen. After all, your wrath is justified, you are in the right here. It’s not you who is blinded, it’s everyone else who just can’t see.

Leona :: Sloth

Work smart not hard. Or don’t work at all; let someone else do the heavy lifting to get their hands dirty. And why not? After all, lazing around in the sun is what you deserve after being the brain behind this whole operation. There’s really no need to exert yourself when someone else can get it done too. Being awake, being asleep, what difference does it make? Why put in the effort when you will always be second best anyway?

Azul :: Greed

What’s so wrong with wanting it all? And who cares if you’ll ever find use for any of it, it’s more important that you could. Whether it’s money, knowledge or power, more is better and your desire to have more of it is valid. Avarice and success are two sides of the same coin and it’s golden gleam is oh so enticing.

Kalim :: Lust

Don’t think too hard about what pains you, just close your eyes and focus on what makes you happy. It’s so much easier than plaguing yourself with arduous topics such as betrayal and intrigues. It’s okay if the world is burning as long as it’s at your fingertips, so just indulge a little. Ignorance is bliss and bliss is what makes life fun, right?

Vil :: Gluttony

Never satisfied, never sated, you crave improvement the same way a starving man craves food and water. When you finally achieve something you have meticulously worked towards, there is no time to rest on your laurels, your eyes are already fixed on a new way to make yourself better, more beautiful, all in a never ending hunger for unreachable perfection. Would you be satisfied with being the fairest one of all?

Idia :: Envy

Sure, you’ve had some achievements in the fields you’re interested in but what else do you have going for yourself, nerd? This one remarkable trait aside, who’d be impressed by the rest of you? And it’s oh so easy too, to compare yourself with the people around you and the people you see online, only to find that you just don’t measure up. You’re envious of the people with normal lives, who get to choose what they want to do, who aren’t stuck and who easily fit in. Maybe you’re even envious of your past, where everything was still alright and within reach.

Malleus :: Pride

Being proud isn’t wrong, is it? Surely, everyone would feel that way if they were you. Just look at what you can effortlessly achieve, whereas others struggle so much with it. But you realise maybe too late that pride is often accompanied by solitude. After all, you don’t need anyone by your side, so why would anyone be willing to stand there? At the end of it all, you are too proud to lose to someone and too lonely to lose someone.

Yuu :: The Deadliest Sin

You know you’re doing it again. You just can't stop, can you? Sitting hunched over like an invertebrate when you really should know better. Have you eaten anything yet, drank enough water? Seen the sun, taken a walk and gotten enough sleep? I thought so. The time will come where you must answer for your sins, so don’t add to the tally.

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated (also, yes, there will be second parts for the characters) ♡

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[morallysuperiorlips]

How to Write Villains: 10 Traits to Give Your Villains That Are Guaranteed to Make Them More Interesting

They're a parent...but a GOOD parent: Gone are the days where the villain is a parent but they absolutely should not have procreated (or adopted) because wow, they clearly didn't read any parenting books. Give us a horrible, deplorable character but in another life, they were mother/father of the year.

They have a phobia that might be trivial in the face of their schemes: Your villain might be able to storm a highly secure facility and face off against their world's most armed forces and heroes without breaking a sweat, or tame the deadliest monsters known to all, but so help them if they see a roach in their lair or have to go get their blood drawn. Bonus points if the phobia totally incapacitates them.

Their middle name is "Overkill": It doesn't matter what they're doing, they always have to bump everything up a thousand notches. Their scheme involved burning down a building? Well, they decided to burn down the whole neighborhood instead just to ensure the job got done. Bonus points if they're nonchalant about it. Extra bonus points if it keeps happening without their intent.

They have an aesthetic, they're aware of that aesthetic, and they adhere to it religiously: Is your villain grunge? Or perhaps airing more on the side of cottagecore? Maybe they're giving E-girl? Whatever it is, they know exactly what their vibe is, they know how to achieve it, and fuck your hero in particular if they try to mess it up or say it looks tacky.

They'd be okay with being defeated as long as it's by one person/group in particular: Your villain might be the undefeated Big Bad McScarypants on top, but you know what? They would be content if somebody rolled up and actually had the skill and know-how to beat their ass fair and square.

They like learning about things that have nothing to do with/interrupt their schemes: Your villain could be some eons-old eldritch being that has come to Earth to cause the Armageddon, but they keep delaying their plans because they discovered Tumblr and have been doomscrolling for weeks on end and trying to learn what "blogging" is.

They didn't start out as the main villain, but eventually become worse than the main villain: This is majorly for my friends who have different acting antagonists in their stories. This villain wasn't initially the main threat, but after some solid scheming and sinning, they out-deprave the original villain and give "the devil you know is better than the devil you don't" a whole new meaning.

They scheme for gratification: Having a master plan go off and hoping for mass reactions from bystanders is to them as posting art on Instagram and hoping for a couple likes is to artists.

They constantly wonder if it's too late to go back: Their scheming is 50% building a master evil plan for world domination and 50% wondering if it's too late to just stop and live a normal life as a working class citizen.

They act a villain to protect their loved ones: Big Bad McScarypants is only Big Bad McScarypants because they're pushing away their most beloved companions. Bonus points if it's to protect them from another Big Bad.