#the double standard is glaring | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paddockletters · 26 days ago

Text

style pit stop | max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x reader summary: Max lets you dress him up for a change, showing off a new look at the paddock author´s note: first story with Max, and you have no idea how much I enjoyed it! I've been wanting to write for him for a while, and well, I loved the result and hope you do too.

It started as a casual comment during breakfast in our hotel room, the sun pouring through the windows, illuminating the crisp white sheets of our bed. Max and I were preparing for the upcoming race weekend, and the atmosphere was light, filled with the excitement that always accompanied a race.

“Max, I swear your entire closet is just Red Bull jackets, white T-shirts, and jeans. Nothing else,” I said, leaning over the table, eyeing his typical outfit of the day.

“I happen to think I’ve got a classic style. Simple and effective.” Max raised an eyebrow, feigning offense.

“Simple is an understatement. I mean, even AlphaTauri has given you all this fancy stuff to try, and you just let it sit there. Have you even worn half of it?” I rolled my eyes playfully.

“What am I supposed to do with half of that? Wear it to a race? You’d just laugh.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee

“Of course I’d laugh!” I retorted, grinning. “But I’d also help you look better. Bet you wouldn’t let me dress you for one day, then. Try something different.”

“Fine. I’ll take your bet. But if anyone laughs, you’re paying for dinner.” Max chuckled, clearly intrigued.

Within minutes, I was rummaging through his suitcase, pulling out the neglected AlphaTauri clothes he claimed were “too much effort” to style. I held up a pristine white button-up and slim-fit black trousers, a sleek gray turtleneck, and a pair of black boots that had clearly never seen the light of day.

“Look at this! You could rock this outfit!” I said, holding the turtleneck against his chest.

Max gave me a skeptical look as he reluctantly pulled it on, but I couldn't help grinning as he finally stood up. The way it hugged his frame was… honestly, distracting.

“It feels kind of tight.” He turned to the mirror, tugging at the sleeves.

“It’s supposed to fit” I insisted, smirking. “Now, for the trousers.”

Max fumbled a bit with the slim black pants, grumbling as he zipped them up.

“I look like I’m about to go to some fancy dinner” he complained, though I could see he was beginning to enjoy the attention.

“Exactly the point” I replied, holding up the leather boots. “And these. They’ll add a bit of height too.”

He scoffed but slipped them on anyway, taking a few exaggerated steps around the room like he was testing new racing boots.

“Happy now?”

“Very” I replied, snapping a quick photo. “Now let’s get to the paddock before you change your mind.”

The reaction at the paddock was priceless. As soon as we stepped in, Lando spotted us and nearly choked on his coffee, doing a double-take.

“Wait, Max… are you actually dressed up? Did y/n have a part in this?”

“Blame her” Max said, giving me a mock glare.

“Mate, I didn’t even know you owned a turtleneck. You look like you’re about to do a TED Talk.” Lando circled him, taking in the outfit.

“Or go to a very exclusive dinner,” Pierre teased, coming up next to us, flashing me a grin. “Nice work, y/n. About time someone taught him some style.”

“Alright, you’ve all had your fun. Can we please get back to normal now?” Max rolled his eyes, giving me a helpless look.

“Oh, no way,” I laughed, linking my arm with his. “You’re keeping it on all day. And just think, you’re setting new fashion standards for the grid.”

As we entered the Red Bull hospitality, the reactions came in waves: team members did double takes, fans gasped, and then there was Checo, who took one look at Max and immediately burst into laughter.

“Dios mío, Max! I didn’t even recognize you,” Checo said, giving me a grin. “So, y/n finally got her way?”

“Finally?” I echoed, pretending to be offended. “Please, Checo. It wasn’t even that hard. A little style goes a long way.”

Christian strolled over, eyebrows raised as he took in Max’s look.

“Well, well, Max, didn’t know you had it in you,” he joked, clapping Max on the back. “AlphaTauri’s sales will skyrocket after today. You could be their new poster boy.”

“Honestly, I think we should get her to dress all the drivers. Just imagine how well AlphaTauri would sell with these outfits!” Checo chimed in, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll dress all of you if you want. Just wait until I’m done with Max.” I laughed, joining in the fun.

“You’re all too easily impressed. But maybe y/n should take her fashion skills elsewhere and help Checo. He could use the help.” Max smirked, glancing at me

“Oh no, Max, you’re on your own with this one. Besides, I doubt I could pull off the ‘turtleneck model’ look as well as you.” Checo raised his hands in defence, shaking his head with a laugh.

I snickered, nudging Checo playfully.

“Are you sure? I was thinking I could start dressing you and Max in matching outfits. You know, really take this team bonding to the next level.”

Max chuckled, draping an arm around my shoulders.

“You hear that, Checo? Get ready. Y/N’s got big plans for you, too.”

“If this turns into some kind of Red Bull makeover challenge, I’m blaming both of you.” Christian couldn’t contain his laughter, shaking his head.

Checo leaned in, stage-whispering to me.

“Just don’t get me in that turtleneck, okay? I have a reputation to keep.”

“Noted” I replied with a wink. “But we’ll see what I can do.”

By the time we reached the main area, I was wearing his oversized Red Bull jacket, practically swimming in it, while he strutted around in his AlphaTauri ensemble.

Fans caught on quickly, cameras flashing as they captured the two of us walking arm in arm, with Max.

“Look, there’s your fan club” I teased, nudging him playfully as we passed a group of fans eagerly pointing their cameras at him.

Max smirked, leaning down to whisper.

“I bet they wish I’d dress like this all the time.”

We reached his garage, and one of the engineers gave him an approving nod.

“You clean up well, Verstappen” he commented, giving me a grin. “And y/n, you’re pulling off the Red Bull look better than he does.”

“Unbelievable. I get roasted in my own team garage?” Max pretended to be offended.

“You’re the one who agreed to this!” I teased, nudging him as we walked further inside.

He shook his head, pulling me closer. “Just remember this next time you’re insisting I need more ‘style.’ I went through a whole day looking like some model just to prove you wrong.”

“Oh, please” I laughed, leaning into him. “Admit it—you loved it.”

Max grinned, brushing a quick kiss to my temple. “Maybe. But only because I have you to make it fun.”

786 notes · View notes

liberalsarecool · 2 months ago

Text

Corporate media needs ad revenue and click bait. They treat Trump with kid gloves. They enable his third run for office despite obvious flaws, treasonous intent, glaring cognitive red flags, and his namesake scam company plummeting to worthlessness in real time.

The double standards are obvious.

The journalistic integrity has vanished by design.

745 notes · View notes

yandere-writer-momo · 2 months ago

Text

This is more Harvey Dent centric, because I’m obsessed with him. So here is a part of something small, I can’t guarantee y’all make another part. I also noticed a trend with a neglected reader, so I wanted to do something different. I love the idea, and I might explore that in the future, but I wanted to do wife who was disinterested in Bruce. This is mainly a self indulgent piece. I hope everyone enjoys.

Harvey Dent would be so delulu. Fight me if you disagree

Yandere Batman Short Stories: The Heart Wants What It Wants

Yandere Harvey Dent x Married Fem Reader x Yandere Bruce Wayne

The chirping of birds filled the autumn air as Bruce sat at the dinner table in the Wayne Manor. His blue eyes studied the elegant figure of (your name) who enjoyed the breakfast Alfred had made.

“There’s rumors going around that you’re close to Harvey Dent.” Bruce’s fist clenched around his silverware to the point his knuckles turned white. His gaze narrowed at his plate.

“I do work at the legal office with him, Bruce. We’re coworkers.” (Your name) sighed as she rubbed her temple from the already oncoming headache. She’s been the Distict Attorney’s assistant for a few years now, so she wasn’t sure why it was an issue as of late… “Harvey is a really nice guy-“

“So you two are on a first name basis?” (Your name) sighed at Bruce’s jealousy. He had never been much of a fiancé prior to marriage and now he was a jealous husband. It made no sense to her since he had always instilled in her, since childhood, that there would be no romance attached to this arranged marriage their parents had set up ages ago.

“Bruce, I truly think you’re overthinking this. Harvey is just a really amazing friend.” (Your name) sighed. “If this is about the Wayne family image, you have nothing to worry about-“

“He’s in love with you.” Bruce’s blunt statement effectively cut her off mid sentence.

“Excuse me?”

“Mister Dent is in love with you.” Bruce repeated it as if that would magically make her understand his assessment of her coworker.

“What makes you think that?”

“The way he looks at you.” Bruce’s blue eyes are like a tropical storm of emotion at the moment. “You’re my wife.”

(Your name) sighed before she placed her silverware down and rose up from her chair. She cast Bruce a glare.

“On paper. There’s no romance involved in this arrangement, remember?” (Your name) walked through the door as she headed to her room to finish getting around for work.

Bruce sighed and put his forehead in his hand. He hated his younger self for what he had once told her… because he no longer felt that way.

Harvey came over to (your name)‘s desk with a bag of pastries in his hand.

“Good morning, (your name).” Harvey gave her a warm smile as he set the bag down in her desk. “I bought some muffins if you’d like one.”

(Your name) gave Harvey a weak smile.

“You’re always so sweet. Thank you.” (Your name) picked out a banana muffin, her fingers brushed against his for a brief moment.

“I think you deserve more sweetness in your life, (your name).” Harvey gave her a charming smile before he grabbed the bag. His blue eyes lingered on her for a few seconds longer than what was comfortable before he went to his office.

Harvey shut his office door before a blush enveloped his cheeks. Their fingers touched… god he was so pathetic. (Your name) was a married woman. Harvey couldn’t even have her… she had her fate chosen for her since a young age. One that he could not interfere with.

Harvey picked up his double sided coin off his desk as he absentmindedly flipped it. Would she have even chosen him if they would have been able to have a life together? Harvey didn’t have the same wealth as Bruce, but he would have been able to buy them a beautiful suburban home… give her a few children if she wanted them. The standard, American white picket fence life.

Harvey gazed at the files on his desk for his next, big case. (Your name) was truly a skilled and organized assistant, one he was grateful for. The two of them had worked so many long nights together on this… all for their mutual goal to better Gotham.

Harvey couldn’t help that he had fallen in love with her… he just wished she’d see his feelings. That they were soulmates- he was so corny.

Harvey was so pathetic for the way he felt about a married woman… but he knew she wasn’t happy. That it was all an arranged marriage. A union her parents forced on her.

Harvey could treat her infinitely better than some cold, Playboy billionaire. he would never run around on her, nor would he ever make her doubt that he had nothing but love for her.

(Your name) deserved to be pampered like a princess. She deserved soft and gentle… something Harvey was.

It was just such a shame he had been hearing strange voices in his head… perhaps they were merely auditory hallucinations from the stress of this upcoming case against the Falcone family?

Yes… that was it. Harvey Dent wasn’t a madman. He was a normal, upstanding citizen. The district attorney! Harvey “Apollo” Dent.

He was not crazy… even though he kept hearing a raspy voice in his head that wanted to snatch up his assistant for his own. She needed to be properly claimed and ravaged.

Harvey was just too scared of his own mind sometimes…

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Bruce always recalled memories of a younger version of (your name). Back when she still made an attempt to get close to him. To the times she’d visit the manor to check on him since he was always ‘brooding.’ Bruce appreciated the gestures but never outwardly expressed it.

(Your name) was always so kind and sweet… yet he didn’t want to fall in love for fear she’d leave him or she would perish. Bruce now saw this logic as flawed since another man was now in the picture.

Bruce would be damned if he let a man like Harvey Dent snatch up what was his.

(Your name) was surprised her husband waited for her when she came home. She sighed when Bruce came to help her remove her coat.

“What are you doing?” (Your name) didn’t even put up a fight when he gently slid the suede trench coat off her shoulders.

“Can I not help my wife take her coat off?” Bruce asked with a quirked brow. (Your name) hated when he’d act like a doting husband. He was never interested before so she wasn’t sure why it changed now.

“You’ve been odd… or are you afraid I’m going to run away for some fantasy love affair?” (Your name) laughed at the expression on Bruce’s face. “You’re joking… you can’t possibly be jealous.”

“So what if I am?” Bruce asked softly. “Feelings can change.”

(Your name) sighed once again. “Bruce, I’m not interested-“

“Is it because of Dent?”

“No. It’s not because of Harvey.” (Your name) glanced at him. “I… I just haven’t no interest in romance with you.”

“…” Bruce remained silent for a moment before he pulled her into an awkward hug. “Let’s work on it then. I won’t push you away anymore… let’s make this real.”

(Your name) furrowed her brow in confusion but she didn’t put up much of a fight. She was too tired to argue.

(Your name) sat in her office as she watched the news. Harvey had a huge case against the Falcone family… the two of them had worked on his case together for months on end. She was hopeful the Falcone family would finally be knocked off the map… but she was horribly wrong.

(Your name) audibly gasped when she saw the reporter loudly scream and explain that Harvey had just been attacked. How was she attacked? It was a court room…

Turned out, his witness, Sal Maroni, threw acid on half his face. What kind of monster would do that?!

(Your name) rushed up from her desk as she grabbed her coat. She needed to get to that hospital and quickly, Harvey would need all the support he could get.

Harvey woke up with a start when he saw he was in the hospital. Agony consumed his entire being yet he couldn’t understand the warmth he felt inside him- (your name)?

Harvey was shocked to see the beautiful young woman beside his hospital bed in a chair. Her other body draped on the mattress, her fingers into locked with his. Had she… spent the night? Was there a possibility she loved him too?

Harvey’s fingers brushed a few pieces of hair from her face, his breath hitched at the contact. This wasn’t a dream… yet neither was his accident.

Harvey felt a sense of pride fill him when he saw that her phone vibrated with notifications from her ‘husband.’ He wanted to gloat in the other man’s face but he was more concerned about his face at the moment.

It couldn’t be that bad, right? It’s not like (your name) would hate him… she loved him. That’s why she came to be with him… and he’d make sure she knew just how much he adored her too.

Bruce slammed his fist into the wall, a small hole now there like a centered frame. Why wasn’t his wife answering his calls? She was supposed to be home yesterday. We are on this green earth could she be?

Bruce angrily ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugged a bit at the black strands. There wasn’t a possibility that she was with Harvey right? She told him that she wasn’t interested in Harvey that way… he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that ate away at his mind.

He needed to find (your name) and fast. Bruce had a sickening feeling that she wasn’t safe… he needed to save his wife.

(Your name) stirred awake to find Harvey with his fingers in her hair. Her brow fur as she set up, her lips drawn in a thin line.

“ Harvey? Are you all right? I didn’t mean to fall asleep…”

Harvey shook his head to reassure, the bandages obscured his handsome face from view. There was no doubt in her mind that his face was permanently destroyed from the acid.

“I’m… I’m here.” Harvey gave a dry chuckle. (Your name) could tell he was on a verge of a mental breakdown. One of his eyes was twitched while his hands shook. She couldn’t bear to see such a wonderful man completely fall apart when she was there to catch the pieces.

“Harvey… come here.” (Your name) held her arms wide open for him, the man melted instantly. His arms wrapped around her like the coils of an anaconda. His grip was tight and escapable as his body was sob.

Harvey couldn’t say a word as he held her like a lifeline, but there was only one thing that was clear in his mind… she loved him too.

It had to be fate that she felt the same way… now all he had to do was get her to leave her husband and be with him. Where she belongs.

The heart wants what it wants…

917 notes · View notes

halalchampagnesocialist · 4 months ago

Text

One thing that really pisses me off about discourse re: when certain political figures die/are killed etc is that when a legitimately evil person from the West dies, so many liberals (individuals and politicians alike) do the whole “we didn’t always agree but sad to hear about their passing! Condolences to their family”

But when it’s a person from a non-western country, especially part of a group they don’t like, they act like they were one of the most evil people alive. The point here isn’t so much whether the person was actually evil or not but it’s the glaring double standards and the disrespect / lack of care for those victims.

It also brings me to that point where countries like the US/Israel and some others feel like they can be judge, jury and executioner in order to avenge the deaths of their own civilians/military who were killed and get “justice” in return but these same countries are rarely held to account for their imperialist activities and their many thousands of victims are just killed in vain and continue to be killed without any justice.

#wild to see the same people who applauded for Netanyahu last week call haniyeh one of the most evil terrorists #like ok? as if you weren’t coddling the butcher of thousands of Palestinians #stfu

562 notes · View notes

junethestudent · 17 days ago

Text

Object of Obsession

» Murderer Kim Minjeong x Investigator F! Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Content Warning: Discussion of murder, descriptions of dead bodies, reader is drugged, violence, dubcon / noncon, and swearing. [Y/N’s L/N is Choi.]

A/N: This will be divided into two parts, I am not positive on when part two will be released.

I would also like to say that I do not condone violent behaviors.

10:00PM - Cho Industries, Abandoned Warehouse

The darkness of the warehouse shadows Minjeong as she works, her gloves covered in the sticky blood of her last victim. She wipes away the sweat collecting on her brow and breathes in the musty air of the warehouse. On the cold floor blood pools at her feet and coats the skin of her body, painting it a crimson red.

The smell of blood is worse this time, with a sickeningly ripe, metallic scent. It has a pungence that smothers her other senses, distracting her as she works to clean up her mess. But frustration seems to override her mind, irritating her to the fullest as she stares at the lifeless body in front of her.

She would not be under so much pressure if someone had not called in a noise disturbance. Unfortunately, leaving the body and the weapon is her only option. As seconds pass by she has little to no time to waste anymore.

“Fucking hell.. if that door wasn’t so loud..” She mutters under her breath, the only other sound audible being the police radio blaring from her phone in the background. Surely she would have been caught by now if she wasn’t aware of the every move of those idiotic policemen.

As the sirens grow closer Minjeong’s anxiety only grows, making her heart pound erratically. Through the few glass windows of the building Minjeong can see the glare of red and blue lights. She takes a step back, tripping over the sledgehammer that lay behind her. Her ankle bends to the side as she catches herself, a surge of pain rushing up her leg, evoking a string of curse words.

She hurriedly pulls her body up, gritting her teeth as the aching pain settles in her leg, leaving her taking deep swallows as if there were no air at all. Steadying herself on the uninjured foot, Minjeong hobbles to the back door, leaning on the broken handle for support.

One last time she looks back, eyes surveying the damage of her actions. To many her work is morbid and against standard morals, but she views it as art. The bloodied sledgehammer that was used to cut so many lives short, and her last victim’s mangled body.

The perfect execution of murder - at least in her eyes. She knows that eventually she’ll be sentenced to prison, left to rot alone in a cell. Or maybe karma will completely end her, leaving her cold and dead the same as all of her victims. But not now, right now she still has purpose.

10:45PM - Cho Industries, Abandoned Warehouse

You grasp the cold plastic of your radio, putting it to your mouth.

“Choi, 10-97.”

“Copy.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes in exhaustion. Sleep is what you’ve been aiming to prioritize, but within the last few weeks a spree of murders has erased any means of a semi-normal sleep schedule. The only reason you were still functioning was due to energy drinks and an unhealthy amount of double shot coffees.

Opening the door of the car you are immediately hit with the feeling of chilling air biting at you, making you shiver in response. Down the gravel road of the warehouse are numerous cop cars, the familiar flashing of blue and red lights reflecting off of every surface. Officers are sprinkled around the property, some examining objects while others search the perimeter.

It reminded you of your days as an officer - not that you enjoyed them. You were much more reserved as of now, preferring to keep to yourself. Even going as far as to have an unmarked black car to draw less attention to yourself as you worked, keeping the gaze of others off of you. Working alone has always been your strong suit, it allows you more freedom.

After a few moments you decide to finally rise out of the car, slamming the door behind you. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk up the driveway, only stopping once you reach the chief of police, Hwan.

“Detective Choi, nice of you to join us.” He speaks in a thick gravelly tone, each sentence sounding as if he were struggling with his words. He runs his fingers through the bulk of his hair, a flurry of gray and white strands showing as he ruffles it. Based on his expression you can tell that the investigation has been rough.

It is to be expected of the police. Even when you were low in the ranks, an officer yourself, you never thought too highly of them. In your mind policemen were like the brute force of all emergency services, never often using their heads.

Hwan was different though, he had an old type of wisdom to him.

Speaking of Hwan, he raises his hand over his shoulder, signaling you to follow him inside of the warehouse. The strong smell of fresh blood causes you to gag as you both walk to the center of the room.

In the back corner of the room you could see a singular policeman puking his dinner out - must be a newbie. Although it was hard for you to adjust to the smell, you had never thrown up before. It was understandable though, as the mangled body in the center of the room was enough to permanently scar the mind of any normal civilian.

You were shocked by the sight of the body too, honestly. Half of his head had caved in and the other side was crusted in blood, his face completely unrecognizable with the damage inflicted upon him. The thought of dying in such a gruesome way made you shudder, to think of the pain that the victim had to endure before finally dying.

Next to him lay a sledgehammer, worn through and clearly used multiple times. In fact, with the amount of wear, there was a chance that this weapon was used on the previous victims.

“After we investigate the rest of the scene, the sledgehammer will need to be sent to the lab for DNA analysis.” Hwan rubs his face with both hands, adjusting the rim of his glasses, his eyes shut tightly. He clearly felt burdened by the case. When it came to those who commit mass killings, they were usually so caught up in the thrill of the hunt that they unknowingly left evidence.

However, this person was clearly intelligent, and if they had not been rushed this time they likely would have fled with the body again. “You would think,” you pause for a second, “ that some clue would have been found now that would tell us something about the killer. Considering they were in a rush, there must be something else.”

“Any reason you suspect the killer was in a rush? It’s unlike you.. I mean to make assumptions so lightly,” he grumbles, taking a step forward, his eyes darting around the emptiness of the warehouse.

“The previous victims were all murdered at abandoned areas, and then taken to secondary locations to be dumped. Every body beforehand was found in open fields about fifteen miles from the original killing site.”

“We know that all of the victims were murdered with sledgehammers, which somewhat confirms that one person has carried out all of the killings. Regarding the previous cases, the murderer never left a weapon behind because they were never in a rush. You can’t just lug a sledgehammer around in a hurry.”

The words fell from your mouth so easily, it all made perfect sense to you, like clicking in another puzzle piece. Considering all of the cases you had solved before, this was a walk in the park for you.

Your eyes meet with Hwan’s for a second, a hint of admiration in his eye as he processes your words. You adjust the collar of your shirt, waiting for his response when something catches your attention.

‘That door, the one near the exit. Was it forced open when you arrived?” Your footsteps become heavy as you rush to the doorway, the sound echoing off of the walls. Hwan follows quickly in pursuit, his breathing all huffy as he tries to keep up.

“I had asked when I arrived on the scene.. they never spoke much of it. I guess they figured that it was due to the building being so old.” He clears his throat, his gaze focused on the broken push handle.

“Your team often overlooks these things, you know that Hwan?” Your annoyance is clear as you rummage through your coat pocket for a flashlight, gripping it in your hand as you force the door open. As you peak outside and shine the flashlight down you notice small footsteps caked into the mud, the trail ending just a few feet away.

“Some small footsteps those are,” Hwan towers over you from behind, the smell of cologne and cheap cigarettes wafting into your nose.

“I think I prefer the smell of dead bodies over your.. funk.” You snap at him, leaning back inside the building, the door still ajar as you walk back to the center of the room. Hwan follows behind you, chuckling uncontrollably at your outburst, high laugh heavy and throaty - likely due to those cheap ass gas station cigarettes.

“Well what now, Choi?”

“The body needs to be covered and the body removal team should be called in to transport the victim to the morgue, the rest of the evidence needs to be photographed and collected, and I’ll write my report soon after,” you flex your shoulders, feeling the deep ache in all of your joints.

Hwan nods and works his way to the rookie while you make your way over to the body, pulling out a sleek black camera to capture an image. You repeat this process multiple times, starting with the body, then the sledgehammer, and the blood trails.

The last area that needs photographing is the back door and trail of footsteps. As you make your way back to the door you find the mini flashlight in your pocket, gripping it hard as you step outside. The brightness of the light reveals the footprints once again. On your other hand you hold the camera steadily, clicking on the button.

The first flash shoots out, lighting the space a few inches in front of you. When the camera flashes the final and second time, you notice a shadow darting back hurriedly. It catches you off guard, your heart dropping as you listen for any indicator that someone is present.

You hesitate for sometime but decide to brush it off, figuring that your lack of sleep is causing slight hallucinations. If Hwan saw you right now he’d be enjoying the sight of your skittish behavior.

Speaking of Hwan, as you walk back into the warehouse there he is, smoking another one of those cigarettes. “I think this qualifies as tampering with evidence,” you eye him closely, watching his face, eyebrows furrowing like they always do, the primary cause of the crease in between them.

“Mm.. possibly,” he grunts out, blowing a plume of smoke out towards you. Asshole.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, unfortunately. I’ll send my report out to you after the autopsy results come in, hopefully tomorrow. If anything happens before then, make sure to call me.” And with that you exit the building, the cold air blowing against you as you walk towards your car.

The thought of rest becomes so tempting as you get into your car, buckling your seatbelt and jerking the key into the ignition. All you want is some nourishment and a place to sleep, but with being so far away from home you’ll have to make do with a motel and whatever is open at this time.

You switch the gear on the car, the sound of the radio playing faintly in the background - Seoul Drift. You finally feel at ease as you drive down the empty streets, the only downside being the lack of food options. Nothing really catches your eye until you pass a relatively empty diner.

You turn on your blinker and pull into the parking lot, away from the other two cars. Most likely the employees who want to be anywhere but at work. The dashboard clock reads 12:32AM. You’re surprised they’re even open at such a time.. desperate for business maybe.

Letting the previous song fade out you turn the car off, the safety light darkening as you exit the car. It’s eerily quiet outside, the only other sound being the chirping of crickets in the distant bushes.

“There’s no need for me to be nervous..” you say it out loud, reassuring yourself that there was no chance of anyone harmful being nearby. It doesn’t help that the street lights are out though, one singular light flickering near the curb of the street. Disregarding those thoughts you walk inside, looking around at the interior of the diner.

The lights were warm but dim, and the place was somewhat rundown; the seats peeling, the wooden tables with minor blemishes, and the heavy clutter near the bar area. At this point, you paid no attention to it, messy bars were the least of your worries tonight.

Deciding to seat yourself due to the lack of staff, you choose the booth nearest to the back. Only then do you notice the other lone customer situated in the booth opposite from you. She stares at the seats across from her, her fork poking at the small portioning of dumplings in front of her. Her general attire was odd.. a black trenchcoat with a white cropped tank top and shorts to match.

Despite that, she was really pretty, handsome even. With pale, ghost-like skin she looked like a vampire almost, her paleness complimenting the color of her hair. She had a few gashes near her lips and nose - from a scuffle possibly? You were in no mood to ask, not that you would anyway.

Seconds later the kitchen door swings open, a middle-aged woman with a notepad approaching you. She smiles, more energetic than you expected her to be at such a time.

“What can I get’cha? We’re still serving dinner right about now.. but if you’d like coffee we can still make that!” What a sweet woman, so full of life. You were so caught up in watching the girl that you had not even browsed the menu. “Uhh do you guys have any soups? Maybe just some water for a drink..”

“We have miso soup, you can have it warm or cold. We also have vegetable soup and rice soup.” She watches you intently, probably focused on the dark circles lining your eyes.

“Ah, I’ll have the miso soup.. uhh warm. Please.” You shut the menu and nod at her as she walks off, hand still scribbling in her mini notepad. That’s when you notice the girl watching you now, her face expressionless as her eyes sweep you up and down, almost as if she recognizes you.

It’s weird, yes. But she could be any stoner or freak hanging around, it had nothing to do with you. You were in no mood to interrogate someone over their manners. And anyway, your main concern was finding the bathroom in this place, you hadn’t gone since before arriving on scene.

You jump up from the booth, spotting the bathroom and making your way inside, the lights way brighter inside the bathroom than the little diner. Choosing the nearest stall you quickly handle your business and step back out, watching yourself in the mirror. You were a mess, it was easier to see that as you washed your hands.

Groaning you run your fingers through your hair, giving it a quick fix and washing your face with the cool water from the sink. You looked more presentable now, not that you cared. Okay, you kind of cared..

Yawning, you walk back to your booth to find your food piping hot at the table. It might be the most appetizing food you’ve seen in weeks. Slipping into the booth you drink a spoonful of the soup, the rich broth feeling warm in your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the girl watching you carefully, waiting for something.

Choosing to ignore her you continue to eat your soup, occasionally taking a drink of your water to balance out the hotness of the soup. With each bite you can feel sleep creeping up on you, but not in a comforting way. You feel sick, your head racing but your body still.

You drop your head against the table, spoon falling to the floor as you rest silently. Not wanting to move another inch out of fear of throwing up. You breathe heavily, eyes blinking slowly, as you watch the girl approach you, bending down to your level and stroking your cheek.

The next few minutes are a blur as she pulls you from the booth, forcing your arm around her neck and guiding you out the door of the restaurant. Her other hand works around your waist, digging into your pocket until she finds your car keys. She’s firm but gentle with you as she drops you down into the passenger seat of your own car, shutting the door as quietly as possible.

You feel dizzy as you watch her get into the driver’s seat. She turns to face you, an amused smirk plastered to her face as she leans over, buckling you into the car. You can almost smell her as she leans into you, her arms grabbing the buckle and strapping you inside.

“From now on you’ll be my upper hand on those pigs.”

1:55AM - Song Motel, Room 127

Your head feels fuzzy and warm as you stare up at the ceiling. The woman is above you, naked, watching you carefully as you struggle to move. She brushes her hair from out of her face, the red gashes that once marked her lips and nose now gone. “You.. you wanted that.. did it..” your words are slurred and you can tell that she honestly feels a bit guilty as she watches you, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Maybe I overdid it a bit..” She pulls you by your legs until your ass is pressed against her. You turn your head to the side, focused on the cheap A/C blowing at you. You’ve retained the feeling in your arms but you still find it difficult to move anywhere. “You’re not..” Your mouth feels like rubber, the words at the tip of your tongue, but somehow stuck.

“Minjeong. You call me Minjeong. Do you understand?” Her tone is serious, like she’s daring you to run your mouth back to her. And you don’t. You physically cannot talk, coherently anyway. So you nod instead, pleading with your eyes for her mercy.

Minjeong ignores it, her strong hands spreading your legs open. You understand why you feel so cold now, the clothes once on your body were thrown askew halfway across the room, your body completely exposed and vulnerable to her. Who would have thought that the weirdo across from you at the restaurant was this fucked in the head? You knew that she was odd, but you never suspected she would have been a creep.. not like this.

“Come here. Give me your hand..” She pulls your hand with her own, fingers intertwined for a moment before she presses the palm of your hand against her dick. She grunts softly as she positions your fingers around it, making you lightly pump against it, her dick growing in size with each slow stroke.

Minjeong drops her head back, her hips thrusting faster, so desperate to get her cock wet in your hand. Her labored breaths grow heavier each time your hand touches her tip, precum dripping from the tip of it. She wasn’t even trying to make much of an effort at this point, just mindlessly thrusting like an animal in heat.

You could feel yourself becoming wetter just by watching her, and you knew that was wrong. The fact that you wanted her more than anything else, the fact that you were going to, no, willing to let her do what she wanted to you, it was all wrong. Minjeong was aware of that, she was aware that her charm was too much for someone like you to handle. Someone who never had time for sexual encounters, someone who was dripping wet just from getting her off. You’d be her little toy.

Eventually she grows tired of your thrusting, wanting something more than the pressure of your hand. She rests her head in between the crook of your neck, teasing the skin with the suction of her mouth, purple marks forming on the surface of your skin. She whines a bit as she holds her dick, smacking it against her own hand causing the precum to smear on her palm.

“Fuck.. so good..” she whispers into your ear, her hands on your shoulders as she struggles to find your entrance. She misses a few times, cursing as she does so, but after three tries she manages to push herself inside, stretching your tight cunt out.

It almost immediately draws a reaction from you, as if the drug within your bloodstream had never been there at all. Wrapping your arms around her back you begin to claw, leaving red marks on her snow white skin, but it only makes her pump faster. The warmth of your pussy gripping around her cock is like heaven, her eyes rolling back as your slick pours onto her length, making her cock a big wet mess.

Every few seconds she pulls out her slick coated cock and rubs it against your clit, a sadistic look on her face as your moans fill the room. But just as quickly as her cock comes out, she jams it back inside, watching the bulge from her thick cock form in your tummy.

You try to regain your bearings, to focus, but the hot tingling feeling and the sound of her balls slapping against your ass only confuses you even more. You’re both so desperate at this point, you don’t even struggle when she forces your legs up, allowing her to go balls deep inside of your pussy.

“Hold still.. stay there.. be a good girl for me.” Her thrusts are slower but way harder now, causing some pain as she thrusts, but it never replaces how fucking good she feels in you, your entire cunt filled to the brim with her cock. You can feel it now, her balls pulsing as she comes closer to filling you with her seed.

“Minjeong.. Jeong- Jeongie!” That was the final straw for her. She bottoms out inside of you, thick ropes of cum shooting deep into you. It makes you clench each time, as if you were milking her cock for every single ounce of cum.

You’re yelping now, even as she pulls out of you. Her seed spilling out of your pussy as she pulls out, cock wet and now semi-soft. You have little to no energy now, your body giving out with those last few thrusts of hers. She rises from the bed searching for something in the nightstand near you, and then you see it, duct tape.

You no longer feel like fighting her anymore. You’d rather sleep, you’d rather accept your losses and dream. She knows that, you know that she knows that.

2:35AM - Song Motel, Room 127

Minjeong sits on the bed next to you, watching you intently as you doze off into sleep. Even to someone like her you look adorable with your head turned to the side, and your arms sprawled out above your head.

She takes a deep breath, finding some sense of calm again. Showing her emotions, even if you weren’t conscious, was considered a sign of weakness to her.

The sound of the aircon turning off quickly pulls her from her thoughts again, her attention back to you. You look cold to her, goosebumps forming on your arms, your body curling up to preserve some warmth. Minjeong tries to ignore it, to rid herself of any sympathy, but her stubbornness lasts no longer than a few seconds. She rises from the bed, cautious to not wake you from your slumber as she covers you with the bulky comforter.

She drops to her knees near the edge of the bed, observing the sound of your breathing. “I hope you’ll come to understand me..” Her words are directed at you, even though she knows you cannot hear her. But she needs to speak her mind, to justify herself.

To be truthful she really had no intent of harming you, not until you showed up at the diner. Without a lead detective the case will slow, completely halt even. Right now you’re her prized possession, her wild card.

Her eyes were on you from the moment you had stepped onto the crime scene. She had never actually left. She was eager to see who had been pursuing her, who had been trying so hard to take her down. It was even better that you had no idea she was the one who had been killing.

4:45AM - Song Motel, Room 127

You wake up suddenly, the sound of your ringtone buzzing in the distance. Instantly you go up to grab it but are stopped by your restraints. Everything comes rushing back then, the restaurant, the kidnapping, the sex, the.. Minjeong. The girl from the restaurant.. Minjeong.

You pull against the tape, praying that the friction will be enough to wear it out. It hurts as it digs against your skin, but it begins to stretch, your wrists slipping out of your confines. Rushing to your phone you pick it up and tap the return call button - all twenty calls from Hwan. ‘

The second he picks up you go into a tyrant, desperately explaining yourself - kind of.

“I’m sorry, I was sleeping! I mean.. heavily y’know the case has been.. a lot!”

“I don’t have time for your explanations Choi. Get down here, the abandoned YG parking lot, now.” He hangs up, leaving you silent on the other end.

Groaning you look around the room for your clothing, butt ass naked as you walk near the entertainment center and dig through your pile of clothes, putting each piece on hurriedly.

The second your clothes are on you ram into the motel door, the hinges squeaking as it opens. Your eyes search through the lot, eyes stopping on your black car left in the corner.

“Hey, you should keep it down and be mindful of others,” an older man spits out, cigarette halfway out of his mouth as he approaches you.

“God.. fuck off!” Is what you were thinking, but accidentally said. It didn’t matter to you, not at this point in time. You pull at the handle and almost fall back as the door opens, your keys still left in the ignition.

It was sheer luck that she left the keys inside of the car, but that means she could still be around somewhere. And between dealing with Hwan or Minjeong, you’d choose Hwan any day.

You start the car, almost jerking that bitch back into another car as you pull out, the man watching you in pure shock as you speed off.

With your right hand clutching the steering wheel you type the destination into the car's touchscreen, foot pressed heavily against the pedal as you speed down the streets. You’re scared of Hwan, of facing off with a murderer, everything. But it’s part of your job and you carry that on your chest.

5:35AM - YG Parking Garage, Entrance

You rush out of the door, barely even stopping the car as you open the door, the headlights brightly shining onto the building.

Hwan stands on his lonesome, back facing you as he stares up at the abandoned parking garage, his shoulders tense and flexed back.

“The killer is in there,” he says it so surely, no doubt showing in his deep voice. He keeps his back turned to you and trains his eyes on the concrete below his shoes.

You join his side and stare straight into the main entrance of the lot, mentally preparing yourself for whatever may come. Nothing has happened and yet you already feel a deep dread all throughout your body.

“There was a disturbance call again. Reports of an unknown person wandering the perimeter. I’ve instructed other units to be prepared on nearby streets. I figured the killer would be alerted if we all showed up with our sirens blaring.. or our headlights on the building.”

Hwan begins to step forward, drawing his gun out in front of him, his finger close against the trigger. He looks back at you finally, a willful but scared look in his dark brown eyes. It was all routine to you both, constantly being forced to face life and death.

You join him at his side, drawing your own gun and clicking the safety off. Without further exchange in words you both make your way inside the building, clearing the first corner and working your way up the garage.

The only sound to be heard is the echoing of your footsteps and the ever so faint breathing of Hwan. You wondered if someone as calm and collected as him could really be so nervous. He always seemed so strong, like a father you could follow around and count on to protect you. So if even he was on edge, then how should you feel?

Both of you wrap around the second floor of the garage, whipping yourselves around the pillars and empty custodial rooms inside the building. With each step you grow closer to third floor, and your anticipation only eats away at you more than before.

Both you and Hwan reach the third floor now, knuckles white with how hard you both grip at your own pistols. Hwan takes the lead, moving his gun as he checks behind each singular pillar.

There were only so many floors, only so many pillars that the killer could hide behind. There were limited custodial rooms, one on each floor near every ramp. So with each one successfully cleared you only felt sicker for what was to come.

Hwan turns back to look at you, his body moving towards the next pillar when a shot rings out.

His eyes widen as the bullet makes impact, piercing the skin on his shoulder and sending him crashing onto the ground, blood spattering as he drops.

Fear sweeps through your body, freezing you in place right before the pillar where this murderer stands. You wait, pistol aimed near the pillar but eyes focused on Hwan bleeding out.

He grits his teeth, head lolled back as he lets out a string off curses, his hand clutched hard around his shoulder, warm blood seeping out and painting his hand.

“Get her,” he blurts out through cries of pain, tears forming in the crevices of his eyes. “Fucking go now!” His voice is loud this time, ushering you out of your pathetic state and into action.

And you do, but not quick enough as the suspect darts out past you to the previous pillar, catching you off guard. You turn on your heel, following the killer and weaving around each pillar for protection.

A shot wizzes past you and embeds itself into the pillar behind you, causing you to jump back and behind for cover. You can hear the fading footsteps of the suspect, your heavy breathing, the sound of the radio blaring from your walkie-talkie. A swirl of emotion taunting you in the back of your mind.

Hwan speaks into the mic, his words a slur of cussing and explanations. “Shots fired, I’m hit. Choi is..” his voice fades out and returns. “Down the ramps!”

You duck out from behind the pillar and continue your chase with the killer, both of you racing to the final floor. You can see the body of the killer growing closer as you reach the last ramp.

The familiar trench coat and the now bloodstained white shirt and shorts that lay under. Before you can fully react, both of your arms reach out, grabbing the sides of the coat, sending you both tumbling down the ramp.

A struggle for dominance ensues as you both fight against each other, arms flailing about. You drop back onto the floor, gun drawn and face severely scraped up.

As your eyes survey your surroundings, only then do you notice.

Minjeong stands above you, eyes widened and just as shocked as you are. She steps back, her gun that was just pointed at you now hanging lightly from her fingers. She looks terrified, like a deer in headlights - ashamed even.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your radio, your hand gripping the cold plastic the same as many times before. You speak into the radio, mimicking a voice of true terror.

“All units to the front entrance!”

She understands your intentions now.

So why don’t you?

Why are you helping someone who hurts?

Minjeong steps back, legs weak as she turns for the back exit. Her eyes are studying you for an explanation as to why, why you would spare the life of someone as undeserving as her.

Eventually she turns fully, but guilt washes over her, making her look back one last time.

She obviously wants to say something, anything to break the silence. Her eyes look pitiful, cheeks flushed bright red. But when the shouts of policemen become louder she turns away, shrouding herself from view and disappearing into the night.

A/N: I did proof read it a few times, if I missed anything then I apologize in advance. :/

#junethestudent #kim minjeong #aespa minjeong #nsf/w #g!p #girl group #girl group smut #g!p winter #g!p minjeong #aespa winter

269 notes · View notes

dyaz-stories · 3 months ago

Text

casual || gojo satoru x reader

Coming soon...

synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.

There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.

The one you can't keep your hands off...

word count (chapter 1): 7.5k+

genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut

warnings/tags: fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), friends with benefits, teacher!reader, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits, canon-typical violence, smut, angst, fluff, specific warnings by chapters

Gojo walks up to you, hands in his pockets. His approach to teaching involves not stepping in unless the danger becomes too extreme, so you'd expect some reaction, since you did intervene, but he doesn't seem inclined to scold you. There’s the ghost of his usual smile on his lips, but it doesn’t feel mean-spirited this time.

“We do have to save them if they need us," he says, voice surprisingly gentle, "but it’s at least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.”

“I don’t disagree with that.”

You just don’t think it’s worth losing an arm over this kind of reasoning.

Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s particularly hard to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that being a sorcerer is a high-stress kind of job and you’re feeling pent up. Either way, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe now.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and you feel your stomach twisting.

You didn’t know what to answer the first time he said that, and you sure as fuck have no clue now. Instead, you glare at him, until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.

“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the building, watching the kids.”

You wait for him to disappear in the distance, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be completely inconspicuous, and it’s only when you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to to laugh at yourself seizes you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It's not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.

Even though you’re fully aware of all of that, your eyes trail towards the building, where you could imagine seeing Gojo’s silhouette, if you didn’t know better.

Except you do. You do.

When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.

Now available here!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #my writing #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfiction

258 notes · View notes

redfoxwritesstuff · 29 days ago

Text

A Monstrous Broadcast (Monster!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Post Stayed Gone Monster Al, Size kink go brr, Blood, DubCon, belly bulge, broadcasting sex, cream pies, cum painting... Rating: Adult Summary: You were sent to Alastor's Broadcasting tower to tell him something just in time to catch the tail end of Stayed Gone. Alastor is in a rather unique mood and in terrifying form as he decides the best way to work his excess energy off is with you.

You were not sure how you got here. Charlie had sent you up to Alastor’s tower to tell him something. What it was, you couldn’t remember.

Fear raced through your veins as you watched Alastor grow as he stood from his chair. Raw power crackled through his radio tower. He had set aside the microphone tipped cane he so often carried, freeing his hands as he stood. The sound of his voice carried, wrapping around you and drawing you closer and closer.

Joints loudly cracked and popped as the monster that had once been the handsome, charming Alastor turned to look at you. Bright red radio dials looked at you, the points on the knobs ticking around and around with his heartbeat. Or was it yours?

Black sclera surrounded the dials, so dark you thought it could swallow the universe. The stitching on his clothes stood out, bright red lit up and glowing with his lower. The usually small antlers on his head were far from that now. They extended, wide and heavy, tines scratching against the walls as he reached out to you.

Everything about him was so much more massive. His smile stretched wide, bright red blood seeping from his lips and running down his chin. It dripped to the floor, splatters that went ignored.

You trembled in his hand as he looked down at you. He had an imposing stature as a standard, towering over you, but now he was at least double the size. Wide eyes roamed over his shoulders, now so much broader than they had been. Everything was too wide or too long, his head hanging off a bent neck that shouldn’t have been able to support it.

“Alastor?” You watched with wide eyes as he looked down at you, head crooked with an unnatural crack that reverberated around the room.

“Just who I wanted to see,” Alastor said, voice more static than you had ever heard it before.

You and Alastor were not a couple, but you also were not not a couple. There had been countless nights you passed, tucked into his side, listening to the static weave in and out of his voice. In public, you were nothing more to him than a friend at best. Over his shoulder, nearly blocked from view, was the lit up, glaring ‘on air’ sign.

“What are you doing?” The question was hardly more than a hissed whisper as a large clawed finger hooked into your pants.

Alastor only laughed as he pulled, the fabric biting into your lower back before the stitching gave way, ripping. Your eyes roamed over the terrifying man in front of you. It would be a lie to say you didn’t find the power, chokingly thick in the air, attractive. It was so easy to forget just how powerful your lover was.

There was no denying it now. This was the demon who took lives as a hobby in his life. This was the man who cut down overlords that had ruled for decades as if they were nothing when he landed. This was the man that commanded respect and fear.

Alastor’s clawed finger cut through your shirt, easily snagging and shredding your bra in the process. You were left naked, standing in front of the bank of windows that looked out over the dark Pentagram City. The only buildings lit up from inside was the hotel.

Anyone looking in would be able to see you.

That sent excitement through your core. Alastor’s cock strained against his pants, the terrifying size only adding more excitement. With one hand wrapped around your waist, he lifted you easily off your feet. His other hand made quick work of his belt, freeing his cock.

“Alastor,” you said, this time more urgently, as he parted your legs.

“So wet for me,” static threatened to eat his words.

Red radio dials looked at your glistening folds, betraying how attractive you found his show of dominance and power. A black tongue ran out from between needle sharp yellow teeth, running over his lips before slithering back inside the cavern of his mouth. The stitches at the sides of his smile strained, keeping his smile firmly in place while he spread your knees wider, pushing your legs up and out.

“The show is far from over, folks,” Alastor said.

“It’s not going to fit,” you whined as the massive head of his cock, more the size of a fist, ran between your folds, probing at your unprepped entrance.

“Don’t worry,” Alastor said, cheery as the sound of excited cheering burst through the static, “We’e already dead.”

“What does that mean?” you whimpered as his hand stroked the length of him. His shaft was as thick as your forearm.

“It means,” Alastor’s cock pressed into your weeping opening, bulling the muscle to widen. “That I will make you take my cock, even if I have to break you.”

Burning pressure spread from your core as he forced you wider and wider. Pain and pleasure danced as he slowly sank deeper, not even an inch deeper. You could feel his cock pressing against bone as he spread your opening as wide as it felt like your pelvis could accommodate.

He thrust ever so slightly as the head of his massive cock pushed deeper and deeper, each withdraw spreading your slick over him. You panted and groaned, body trembling as he slowly forced you to take him deeper and deeper.

Burning pain had your back arching, breasts displayed to him. Wetness seeped out of you, running down the swell of your as. Alastor’s smile and the pain told it you was blood.

You screamed as the head of his cock popped past your opening your, hole snapping tightly down around his shaft. Pleas of mercy dropped from your lips as you begged him to shrink down, to return to the lover you knew so well.

Alastor did not relent. Instead, as he pushed deeper and deeper, each slight withdraw followed by a push deeper and deeper. It felt like he was everywhere inside you as he filled you.

A new pain came to life as his head nudged against your cervix. Tears ran down your eyes as he pulled back, only half his length fitting into you. Static covered praises fell from his bloody grin as you bounced with the force of every thrust.

The on air sign still was lit behind Alastor. Each of your whimpers, each begging plea, was being broadcast across the city and perhaps further. You didn’t know how wide Alastor’s reach actually was.

It felt like he was ripping you in two, reach measured thrust of his massive cock splitting you apart. It hurt, but fuck, it felt good. Pain and pleasure mixed as Alastor’s monstrous form hovered above you. Black blood dripped onto the broadcast desk, soaking between buttons and dials. It splattered onto your side, cooling as he worked in and out of you.

Around the city and beyond, perhaps all throughout hell, the sound of your gasping breaths and whimpered pleas, the sound of Alastor’s snarls through the static shifted, tone changing as different effects and overlays were applied, shifting and changing.

“To big,” you cried as he pressed into you, thrusting his cock into your cervix, pushing you higher up the panel as your body refused to yeld more space to his cock. You were already straining and failing to accommodate his size. Blood trickled down from your core, lubricating his cock more and more while your body painted his desk with it.

A clawed hand grabbed your shoulder while he looked down at you with small red glowing dials. His face was nothing more than sharp. The teeth, the eyes, the smile- it was all sharp and dangerous, just like the pain that racked through you as his fingers gripped your shoulders. Claw tipped fingers bit into your shoulder as his smile cut somehow wider.

“I can’t,” you whimpered. Your legs fell open wider as you tried anything to make more room for him. The blunt head of his cock pressed into your cervix more and more. “Please, Alastor, I can’t.”

“You’re so wet for me, Cher.” Alastor’s static voice growled out, smile not moving as his voice seemed to come from all around her. “You can take it.”

“I can’t,” tears ran down your face as he pulled back, cock slipping as he backed out of your opening inch by inch. The shaft his cock drug against your sensitive clit, folds spread and stretched to the point of ripping. “Fuck, Alastor. Please, I just- it’s too much, too much.”

“You can,” Alastor promised, abdomen tensing as blood dripped from his chin onto your abdomen, “And you will.”

The dark promise was the only warning you had. His body flexed, curling in on you as he thrust forward. His shaft ran over your clit, a blinding pleasure even as it felt like he had ripped your insides apart, forcing them to accommodate him. The scream that ripped from your throat echoed through all of hell.

Your claws, nothing near as impressive as Alastor’s, dug into his arms as you clung to him. Tremors ran through your body, a convulsion of muscle triggered by pain and adrenaline. Pleasure tainted it all as his cock slid over the bundle of nerves, teasing her clit.

Wide pain-filled eyes looked up at the black void of Alastors. Your lover had always been gentle with you, until now, even at his most demanding. His hips rutted against you, grinding the fur at the base of his cock against your clit, sparking more pleasure through the pain.

“Look at you,” Alastor’s voice came from all around as he enjoyed the view. “Look how your stretches.”

His hand caressed down your naked chest, claws scratching over the pebbled buds of your nipples as he made his way down, palm pushing against the swell of the head of his cock, straining out against your insides.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, running your hand down after his, feeling him from the outside of you. “Alastor,”

“That’s right, cher,” Alastor groaned, “That’s me, so deep inside you.”

Each twitch of his cock lodged deep inside you stirred your guts. He ground his hips against your clit, sparking a pleasure that seemed only to be amplified by the pain racking through your body.

“Tell me it doesn’t feel good,” Alastor growled out, pulling back a few inches only to thrust into you again, clint dragging against his cock, forcing your back to arch. Your breath gasped, pleasure winning out over pain as you ran your hands up his arms in a pathetic attempt to hold the monster that your lover had become.

“Please,” tears ran down your eyes as your legs relaxed, seeking more of the poisoned pleasure his thrusts gave you, “Fuck, please, Alastor. More. Move. Fuck, do something.”

The whole of hell heard the moment you had given up, surrendering to the Radio Demon. Gasping moans of pain morphed into that of pleasure as he thrust his cock in and out of you. Each shallow stroke became deeper and deeper. Blood smeared under you, a testament to the ruined state of your insides as he fucked you with full, deep strokes.

Tears ran down your face, soaking into your hair as each long thrust of his cock hit harshly, bodies slapping together. Your breasts bounced, nipples dancing in front of his glowing face as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Going to cum?” he asked, laughing at the way your stomach distended with every thrust.

“Fuck, yes.” You whined as his cock brushed your clit again and again, pace quick and never letting up on the stimulation.

He swelled inside you, somehow able to push your organs aside to make room for his size. Each twitch of his cock felt violent and yet you thrived on it, basking in the poisoned pleasure.

The coil inside you did not snap, nor did you step over the edge. It wasn’t a soft push. He didn’t even throw you over. No, when you came, it was something unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

Your world shattered. The coil was little more than shards of shrapnel, adding to the mix of pain and pleasure. The edge seemed to disintegrate under your feet, becoming no more. Muscle ripped with the force of the convulsions that ran through your body.

His name was a shriek, blowing out speakers throughout hell as your body clamped down on his cock. The thrusts into you were brutal now, stinging pain blooming from where his hips slammed into wet skin.

Alastor’s static rose, becoming a feeling in the air and less a sound as he held you steady, chasing his own release. Your fingers dug into his coat, trying so hard to ground yourself as you struggled to pull breath after breath into your lungs.

He came with explosive force, wedging himself deeper and deeper into your opening as he pumped violent spurts of his seed into you. You could feel it as he painted your guts white and then he kept going, thrusting into you as more and more waves of seed was deposited into you.

He came still, even as he pulled out, fist wrapping around his twitching cock. Long, hot ropes of cum spurted from him as he thrust into his working first, shooting out onto you. As his seed gushed from your twitching hole, a mix of white stained with ribbons of red, he painted your stomach.

Ropes decorated your breasts, coating your nipple. He moaned, shoving seed back into you with claw tipped fingers as he fucked his hand. Ropes landed on your neck as you gasped, only to have hot cum land on your face.

The salty taste of him invaded your mouth as his fingers finally left you. Seed soaked into your hair as you lay, twitching, bleeding, leaking and gasping for breath.

Only once his cock stopped shooting hot ropes onto your spent body did Alastor’s form recede, changing from the monster that had taken you with such violence to the man you had known. All the while, you lay soaked from the inside out in his seed.

Alastor stood, looking down at the result of his work. Jagged breaths racked through your body as you struggled to focus your eyes on him. You had sounded good, broadcast throughout hell. A truly lovely encore to his performance with that TV dimwit.

Better yet, you looked more beautiful to him now, body spent, broken and wrecked, leaking blood and his seed onto the broadcasting equipment that was his pride.

Oh yes, you looked good like this indeed. He would have to repeat this broadcast, perhaps make it a reoccurring special. Not too often, though. Even with your demonic abilities, you would need time to heal all the tissues he had torn.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

#Alastor x reader #Alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #hazbin alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin x you #alastor hazbin x y/n

161 notes · View notes

thezombieprostitute · 3 months ago

Text

Tech Tuesday: Steve Rogers

Summary: It's only your first day on the job. That's way too soon to have an office crush. Right?

Warnings: None at this time. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Part 2

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Don't stare at his ass. Don't stare at his ass. Don't stare at his ass. Your internal mantra had changed from this morning as Steve from IT helped you set up your work laptop. It didn't help that he was currently plugging everything in underneath your desk, his ass just begging to be smacked. It's not like he'd see you ogling him, but your coworkers would.

Then again, some of them had definitely given appreciative looks so maybe they wouldn't judge if you let yourself stare a little?

Steve is suddenly out from under desk and on his feet, cancelling any further moral dilemmas about staring at him. Now you're wondering how such a large man can move as quick and graceful as an acrobat.

"That should be all the network, power and accessories plugged in," he tells you. "Would you please log into the laptop and we can double check?"

You nod as you sit in your chair. You type in your credentials and start testing things out.

Steve leans in close to you, looking over your shoulder, "would you be willing to right click on this icon here?"

His words barely register because you're caught up in feeling the heat emanating from him. You try to take a calming breath and do as he requested.

"Are you okay?"

"Umm...yes?" Your voice sounds shaky even to you.

"Oh, geez," he blushes as he backs away. "I'm so sorry about that. I'm...I'm not always the best judge of personal space." His hand rubs the back of his head and you're practically melting at how adorable he looks with reddened cheeks.

"It's okay," you're quick to reassure. "It just caught me off guard, is all." There's an awkward pause between the two of you before you turn back to your laptop, "so it was this icon, right?"

"Yes," Steve eagerly jumps on the change in topic. "I just need to check some connection settings, make sure you're connected and that the VPN isn't interfering."

Steve gets back to the cubicle he shares with Bucky and lets out a dreamy sigh as he sits. Bucky looks at him with a furrowed brow and he feels himself blushing again.

Before he can get back to work, Pine knocks lightly on the cubicle wall. "Steve, how did setup for the new employee go?"

"It was pretty standard," Steve nods. "I double checked that all of her systems were working and she was able to log in to the needed programs."

"Excellent," Pine nods. "I know it was very unexpected, so thank you for being willing to take on the task."

"Not a problem," he smiles.

Pine leaves and Steve turns back to his computer. He tries to get back to work but is stopped by Bucky.

"That explains all the blushing," Bucky teases, a small smile at the corner of his lips.

Steve feels the heat rushing to his face again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he grumbles.

"Sure you don't."

"It was nothing but doing my job."

"Whatever you gotta tell yourself."

A minute of silence passes before Bucky asks, "so when are you asking her out?"

Steve scoffs, "when you ask out the barista you keep visiting."

Bucky glares at him, "I just prefer their coffee to the swill they have in the break-room."

"Oh?" Steve raises his eyebrows comically high. "For someone who watches their budget, you're sure paying a lot of money to the latte tax."

"I watch my budget so that I can indulge in it," Bucky growls.

"So we're agreed," Steve says. "There's no romantic interest for either of us."

Part 2

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82 ; @peyton-warren @ronearoundblindly

#tech tuesday #tech tuesday: steve rogers #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers x reader #it!steve rogers

159 notes · View notes

bayetea · 14 days ago

Text

there are many things about hazel's povs that have an intensely de-racialized vibe to them (read: divorced from the black girl experience) but I think any black person will tell you that the most obvious sign is the complete lack of attention paid to her hair

like firstly:

she's from the 1930s her hair was definitely getting permed and straightened (it was not acceptable to just wear your natural hair out back then. optics + cultural assimilation/you'll be hard pressed to find photos of black american girls with unstraightened hair in that time period unless they're from like..... harlem)

I do believe that marie was straightening it for her For A Time but then she became more neglectful and stopped so hazel had to do it herself. I'm almost positive that hazel wouldn't have even been permitted to set foot in her school building without straightening it because that's just how much of an expectation it was

ok she comes back from the dead. what's she doing to her hair now bc it's not just gonna be cutesy effortless curls falling over her shoulder no matter what the length is

how does she feel about living in a time period where natural black hair is more accepted (read: more, absolutely not fully)

there are no black people around her At All. in fact she's around a lot of white people on the argo (+nico) so that would probably be giving her some intense feelings of double consciousness (look this term up if you don't know what it means) and that would inform how she feels about her hair

theoretically she ought to be wearing her hair in braids for simplicity's sake but I think it's more likely that she would cling to what she knows (perming/straightening) because it's not easy for a 14 year old girl (PSA hazel is 14.5 in hoo not 13 btw 👍) to go from assimilating to deeply-ingrained white hair beauty standards to just proudly wearing a distinctly black hairstyle all by herself

mind you black women and girls can do whatever they want with their hair and straightening/perming it does not always/have to come from a place of self-hatred or whatever but in this particular case back then straightening one's hair was political And a survival tactic. it was as normal as brushing your teeth. it was enforced through dominant cultural messagings about the Absolute Necessity of conforming to white conventions of beauty. if you don't understand then think of it similarly to how you'd think of 1930s women needing to be perpetually dolled up and modestly dressed in order to be considered "good women" and anyways I'm just saying that this would be a lot to unpack for a 14 year old girl so hazel's probably just continuing to do this impractical thing (straightening her hair all the time) like 60% out of habit and 20% out of shame and 20% she doesn't know what else to do

something something about a missed potential character arc regarding all of this and in general there's so little mind paid to race in hazel's povs which is just ridiculous to me because a black girl from the jim crow era should have at least a few feelings about where she fits into modern society even if that society is camp jupiter. rick demonstrates his capacity to talk about how his characters feel about their race most notably in the kane chronicles so I don't think was too much to ask for. see this quote from an early son of neptune chapter:

^ like....... hazel's feelings of out-of-place-ness are There in the text and important to take note of when understanding her character (note that she's been there for like a year already and she still feels like she doesn't belong) but the emphasis is always put on her Being from a different time or Being undead and is never put on her out-of-place-ness regarding her race as a black girl from segregation times who is literally so out-of-place in this weird post-racial camp jupiter society. it feels like such an obvious thing to consider so its glaring absence really bugs me when I reread her povs and it bugs me when her hair is never talked about by extension because It Matters

you might be thinking "well she had a lot going on and she's not a superficial person maybe she just didn't care what was going on with her hair" and my response is simply that Black girls don't get to "not care" about their hair it is not the same thing as a white person going to school with bedhead it's not the same thing At All (if you aren't black then chances are you've never actually seen what untouched black hair looks like in the morning), especially when it's been beaten into your head for your entire life that your hair is ugly and you have to "do something to it" for it to be acceptable (and again...... she's from the 1930s so that feeling is magnified like 50x over). remember that perpetually dolled up modest 1930s woman I mentioned previously. picture her time traveling to camp jupiter of all places in 2010 and struggling to drop all of her makeup/hairstyling routines and internalized misogyny and conceptualizations of what women are "supposed" to be. this is the kind of fascinating character exploration that we really missed out on with hazel (and tbh regardless of her race she was never believably written as someone from the 1930s. I don't think rick even really tried to be honest)

you might also be wondering "how was rick supposed to know/attempt to portray any of that" and then my second answer is that If you're going to write a character who is not the same race as you then you should do some research and we have the internet now so research has never been easier 👍 this would be especially important to do if that person is a poc from the jim crow era I think! (he could have at least googled black hair 1930s)

anyways what I choose to believe (this is pure fanfiction) is that during hazel's first year at camp jupiter (remember that she was there for about a year before son started) nico would have helped her figure something out after observing her distress over her hair c: like they both secretly watched youtube videos on black hairstyles circa 2010 and then they got attacked by monsters for using a laptop (neither of them know how to use a laptop but he's trying his best for her) but then after killing them he helped her do her hair as something she likes that is easy to maintain <3 (I could also see reyna doing this because she surely knows a thing or two from her spa days)

#the descriptions of her hair are very few and when they do occur they're pretty nonsensical/I can tell how reserved rick is being #unfortunately there's a lot of room for plausible deniability because demigod phenotypes don't need to make sense #she has natural cinnamon toast hair and gold eyes so it's just like (throws up my hands) Whatever #but is plausible deniability more interesting! I don't think so!!!!#whatever #one of my favorite things to think about is hazel potentially seeing other black people at camp jupiter #and having really confusing feelings about that because her death is 100% a secret she can't tell them where she comes from #like can you imagine #I love hazel to the end of the world but unfortunately I think she's the most thoughtlessly written main character of pjo #you can't give your character THAT crazy of a backstory and then fall so flat on exploring it man #but I see her potential so she is very gorjus to me #hazel levesque #nico di angelo #pjo hoo toa #underworld siblings #percy jackson and the olympians #the son of neptune #rr crit #<- tagging that just in case but also I am being pretty critical of rick here so I guess it's justified #heroes of olympus

100 notes · View notes

hanasnx · 11 months ago

Text

❝ one more night. ❞

── ex-bf!anakin skywalker x reader

ANAKIN SKYWALKER can’t sleep. Eyes wide open, staring emotionless into the ceiling. Blindly, he reaches for his com-link, rifling around discarded trash and dirty laundry to find it in the pocket of some pants he wore earlier. There’s nothing for him, no messages. He checks the time, and raises himself to sit on the edge of the mattress.

You aren’t having the best of luck with sleep either, laying on your side, your hands tucked underneath your pillow. Until you hear a banging on your door. Not a knock, a barrage. It alerts you, jumping out of bed onto your feet so you can check your Ring camera. A familiar face greeting your sights, and his intense, furrowed gaze looks into the lense as if he can sense you’ve noticed him. You hurry over, wrapping yourself in a robe to conceal your coincidentally skimpy pajamas.

A million things run through your mind: What could he want? Why is he here? What if it’s an emergency?

As soon as your doors slide open, he barges in. Electricity is in the air, you can feel it prickle your skin until your hairs stand on end.

“Anakin? What the hell? It’s three in the morning!” You’re upset with his sudden appearance, the way he passes you like he’s looking for something, how belligerent he’s acting.

“I came for my stuff.” he responds, tossing the statement at you like you should’ve known, like he shouldn’t have to explain himself. Always the same Anakin, pretending the galaxy revolves around him.

“Your stuff?” you parrot incredulously, hounding him as he invites himself further into your home. “At this hour? Do you have no common courtesy?” Another aspect about him you didn’t miss.

After he, seemingly, can’t find what he’s searching for, he rounds on you and you narrowly avoid bumping into him. Inches apart, his glare bores into you, “Where is it?”

“The box?” You gaze up at him through raised brows in disbelief, “You mean the box of your shit I told you to come pick up weeks ago? The last box of all your crap you left here that I was sick of looking at? I threw it the fuck out, Anakin, what do you think?”

This anger coming off of him, had to be artificial. Exacerbated by his own overthinking, instead of any valid, naturally occurring emotion. Jedi aren’t allowed “attachments” including belongings, so what difference does it make if some of his things were discarded? He should’ve come when he was summoned, you were more than patient. Besides, there was nothing actually valuable in that box, he’d already moved out for the most part. It was all the standard staying-over paraphernalia. Yellow toothbrush, medical derm shampoo, a few pairs of his sleepwear… a necklace he made for you. It’s not like you were going to continue wearing it!

Your former lover does not seem to care for your reply at all, eyes widening, flying into a rage, jabbing his finger into the space between you two. “You had no right—!”

“Shut up!” you laugh, hopelessly wry, dropping the act, “You don’t actually care about something like that, you’re just looking for an excuse to fight!” As usual.

“That was my stuff, and you trash it?” He juts his chin, towering over you. “Fuck off.”

It shouldn’t have, but you’re taken aback by the seething words. So much so you don’t register him bumping your shoulder when he side-steps you.

The sound of disheveling snaps you out of your stupor, witnessing Anakin snatching up whatever’s in reach to throw it to the floor.

“Anakin!”

“Let’s see how you like it!” he sneers, tugging books off shelves to fall to the floor haphazardly, bending pages and creasing spines. Any trinkets that get caught in the crossfire, hit the ground and are kicked out of his way as he moves.

“You are such a fucking asshole! Stop!”

Ignoring you, he shoves a drawer stack of recorded sound bytes, your music. The drawers lay ajar, spilling the contents out, and you have to step over them to get to Anakin.

“You’re having a fucking temper tantrum like a fucking toddler! I’m talking to you!” You latch onto his bicep, attempting to yank his hand off your belongings. It’s successful for a second, but he slips that arm from your grasp to squeeze your wrist, catching your other one to hold them both in his one hand. His other continues the work, knocking around to disturb anything it touches. Helpless to his iron grip, you’re pulled with him when he goes to your collection of rare, empty, glass perfume bottles. Spindly, frail, and beautiful, they are far too special to mess around with.

“Anakin. Anakin, I’m warning you.” Your tone shifts to plead, even if disguised as a threat.

For the first time since he began this rampage, he glances at you, and you see the grave sincerity in his eyes. It sends a chill right down your spine, and you tug away from him uselessly. You watch as he unlatches the framing, and your heart beats harder.

“You used to make me keep an eye out for these things.” he muses with contempt. You remain eerily still, worried that if you jostle him too much, the likeness of a bull-in-a-china-shop will become your immediate reality. “I’d check storefronts, thrifts, and individual sales anywhere I went.”

His hand reaches in, delicately plucking the thin and brittle bottle from its place.

“This one. I got you this one.” he tells you. You swallow, overwhelmed. Gingerly, his fist encloses over it, engulfing more than half in his large palm. All he has to do is squeeze, and it’d crack.

“Look, look,” you murmur, conceding. “I’m sorry, okay? I get it now. You’re right.” Even though you had a violent, childish, dramatic way of showing it.

“I gave this to you, how come you didn’t get rid of this too?”

“I shouldn’t have thrown out your stuff, I understand the feeling. That’s what you were trying to tell me, right?”

Your gaze travels across the room, your stuff strewn about the floor, but nothing is actually damaged. Just messy. Nothing is lost. Unlike his carelessly dumped box. A guilt weighs down your chest at the realization.

His hold softens on both the bottle and your wrists. When you meet his eyes, you notice how he hasn’t stopped looking at you. “I apologize, again. I did it because I was mad at you.” you add, stronger this time. Your confession is accepted, and without wavering from you, he replaces the bottle inside the casing, shutting it gently. From the heat of the moment, you’re panting, and your robe had fallen off your shoulder, revealing a strap of your pink top. He regards it with interest, drawing you to him by your wrists. A finger from his metal hand comes up— and you follow it curiously— to burrow underneath the strap, snapping it against you.

“Ow,” you emit, glaring at him, but it softens as soon as you register the thick tension between you two. How the two of you take turns glancing at each other’s lips.

“I was mad at you too.” he admits under his breath. You flash a confused frown, only because kissing him is solely on your mind. “I didn’t come pick it up because I was mad at you. Felt like,” he sighs, that finger tracing up the column of your neck, to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, and toying with the shell of it. “like if I got it, then it’d really be over. Us.”

You tilt your head, slumping in place. “But we are over, Ani.”

He flinches at the sound of that exclusive nickname rolling off your tongue as easy as it used to. “Don’t say that. Don’t say it.” He squeezes his eyes shut as he shakes his head. “Makes it real.”

“Take a look around.” you command, and he does as you say. Your home in disarray because of him. “This is what we do to each other. It’s not good, we’re not good for each other.”

There’s something in his eyes, a glimmer of hope to hear that could be your only reason for ending things. “You miss me.”

Your lips press into a thin line, but you cannot lie to him, and nod. “I do.”

A shift, a magnetism. Like he’s flipped a switch, a charm you couldn’t resist then and can’t resist now. Every time you’re in the same room with him, he instills his every move with a sensuality and passion you want to rip apart.

He pulls you to him by your wrists that have remained in his custody, the air hitching in your throat. “You want me.”

“I do,” you breathe, and you both meet in the middle, lips colliding and opening instantly to meld tongues. As if no time had passed. He releases your limbs, and you use them to wrap around his neck, pressing yourself to him faithfully. Swallowing your sounds as he draws your hips to his, close enough to feel his half hard length hanging underneath the thin material of his clothes.

It’s unceremonious, it’s discordant, but somehow feels so right, so good, so unapologetically Anakin. The unarticulated traits you loved about him. A power between the two of you that you both fight to take, devouring each other, sloppily fucking mouths with tongues and sucking on the slimy muscle. He’s gross about how much he demands from you using no words at all, sticking his tongue practically down your throat, and palming the back of your head to make sure you can’t escape.

His other hand slides to get a handful of ass, before plunging in between to massage your asshole with his fingers. A slow build up was never Anakin’s strongest suit, but this time you didn’t mind it. Already slick in your shorts.

“One more night.” Anakin speaks against your lips, a beg. “I’ll do anything you want, for one more night with you.”

You don’t need to be convinced, confirming hastily, “One more night.”

He stoops, and without skipping a beat you obey, jumping into his arms so he can pick you up. Wrapped around him as he’s inbound to the nearest surface.

You cup his face in your hands, cold nimble fingers on his heated skin as you suck on his plump lower lip. Dragging it out to let it bob back, you lick at it like a signature, and he opens his mouth to allow you back in, lapping at him like you need to taste every corner of him. His hand on the wall trails to guide him, avoiding bumping into anything before he reaches the counter of your kitchen bar. He sets you down, your bare thighs against the marble so you hiss.

Unperturbed, he snaps your robe apart and down. Your sweet little silken matching set. Pink pajamas, cropped, short and thin enough to see your erect nipples poking through. Anakin moistens his lips, eating you alive with his gaze. “I gave these to you too.” he muses in pleasant surprise, he had his suspicions before only seeing a glimpse of them but now it’s undeniable. “Didn’t wanna get rid of these either? S’almost like you don’t wanna let go. I give you the best gifts, don’t I?” His confidence annoyed you and you pushed at his chest. He snickers, a sick sense of superiority overtaking him. “I’ve got another gift for you right here, baby.”

Cut off before you could speak, a moan spills from your mouth as his hand contacts the heat between your legs, dulling that ache for a sweet second. He undulates his digits, his hand finding its home, where it belongs: on your sex, dampening your little shorts with your generous slick. His head dips down, nuzzling your tits through the soft material. Loose from a bra, he lets them fall over his face, and you cup them around him. He hums in approval, adding fervor in his movements to shake his head in between your breasts, nipping your buds, and rubbing your clit. The way his sandy curls bob, his content smile against you, makes you stifle a snicker to yourself. This playful side of him, his lack of self awareness when around you is what you missed.

Your arousal grows more painful by the second though, and you rush. “Anakin, get my shorts off,”

He emits a noise in response, biting down on the side of your tit as if to take your flesh with him as he pulls back.

Focused on his task, he directs you, manhandling you to lean back over the cliff of the counter, picking your sides up one by one to slide the shorts off and down. You kick them off your ankles, the coolness meeting your hot sex, fogging up the surface. No time to dwell on it, two of Anakin’s fingers explore your entrance. Dipping the pads to gather pre-cum, using it to glide around your folds. You jump, sensitive from all of these colliding feelings, worsening when he stimulates your bare clit. Bracing on the counter edge behind you.

“Have you had anybody else since we split?” he asks, as if this is a great time to interrogate you on the flavors you’ve tried since breaking up with Anakin. Ever the selfish man, but like a fool you oblige him.

“It’s none of your business—“ You interrupt yourself, yelping as he pinches your clit, rolling it between the tips of his flesh digits.

“Oh, yeah? I’m the one about to fuck you, and it’s none of my business?”

He seeks to tame you, and since you crave him more than anything else you bend to his will. “Look,” you stumble, your most vulnerable part susceptible to anything he sees fit. The thought thrilled you. “yes, okay? I did. I tried to screw you out of my system.”

A depraved smile stretches onto his face, and to reward you for your honesty he circles your bud soothingly. “I see it didn’t work. Take your top off.”

Like his bitch, you do as he says.

“Play with them for me, princess, I love seeing those pretty tits.”

Your countenance twists, cupping your chest, pinching your nipples in between the webs of your fingers. Abruptly, he plunges his two fingers inside, but you accept them with little to no effort.

Usually, he’d take his time edging you, but judging by the strain in his pants, he doesn’t want to wait too long. Digits railing and curling inside you, showing you how loyal he is to making you cum. How he never forgot exactly how to finger you, touch all those spots you can never reach. Ones that nobody else can seem to find.

Your orgasm didn’t need much else, crashing over you as soon as that coil in your belly snapped, making a mess on your nice counter. That high lingers, while Anakin undresses. As disgusting as it is, he gathers up some of your finish to lube himself up, recycling fluids and not bothering with a condom. He’s had you bareback countlessly before, why should this time be any different? You can barely hold it together, scooting closer to him, parting your legs further, presenting yourself to him like the greedy slut you are.

“Can’t wait to fuck you, angel, you have no fucking idea. You know how many times I’ve fucked my fist to you? Fucked girls pretending they were you? Can’t even fool myself, no one’s got a tighter pussy than you.”

His words make your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you stroke his ego in a whine while he aims, pumping his hard length in his hand, nudging your hole a couple times. “Nobody fucks me like you can, Anakin. Nobody.” His head pushes inside, and sinks further in, both of you groaning in unison. Perfectly filled, and perfectly sheathed. A lock and key, and he basks in the moment.

“Fuck, baby,”

His dick has always been formidable, but you wonder if the months you’ve spent apart has made your pussy forget how to accommodate him as comfortable as you used to.

Like a ragdoll, you adhere to his every whim. Naked chest to chest, his thick arms pin you close, hugging you around your torso, while yours lay lazily around his neck. Hooded, lustful gazes meeting each other, his hand fisting in your hair to command the maintaining of your eye contact, while he slowly thrusts inside you.

“Nobody’s my little fucktoy like you are.” His intense eyes are all you’re lost in when he spits such filthy words at you. You can only moan in response as he rolls his herculean body, curling up to hit your g-spot every time.

“I don’t care what I am.” you say without thinking, your pussy slurping him up, taking whatever he gives you. “As long as I’m with you.”

This obsessive, toxic necessity for each other, makes Anakin’s dick twitch, and he increases his pace, desperate for more from you. Hearing those devoted words while you look into his dilated eyes, it’s like a binding spell. He prays it works.

Tangled in each other, he manages to bring his fingers up from your torso to his mouth, sucking two of them in to coat them in saliva. An image you don’t get tired of, entranced, as he looks deep into you, mouthing his own digits. He uses them to traverse your tailbone, dipping down into the crevice to find your bare asshole, circling it. Involuntarily, you clench down on his member, and he grins. “Bet you didn’t admit you like this to the other guys you’ve fucked.”

He’s right, you’ve never been as sexually adventurous with anyone as you are with Anakin. He brings out such a disgusting side of you. Things that normally shame you, such as your own pleasure and fantasies, lose their distressing power as soon as Anakin’s in the picture. Having such a strong personality next to you, it inspires you, makes you feel safer when admitting your most base desires. “What? Anal?” The words punctuated with a gasp as the rim of your asshole reaches his knuckles.

“No,” he laughs at you, like you’ve fallen into a trap, “your ex-boyfriend fucking you stupid. So bad you let him do anything he wants to you.”

It’s true. You can hardly comment on it though, as he drills into both your holes, thrusting in tandem, until his bottoms out in both, until you swear the tips of his fingers and cock are grazing each other through your insides. Limp, you lull, swaying like waves of water pass around you. The sensation of bleak emptiness after each pulling out, only to be rudely awakened with each meeting of your bodies. Both of your holes loosen from lust to welcome in as much as possible. Anakin loves your perfect, little asshole— and shows it by fucking it raw with whatever he’s got.

“Getting soaked.” The noise of it overwhelming your senses, your entire being just a mass of tingles, heat, and want. “Taking me so good, angel,” he praises, his fist in your hair tightening to sting, reminding you to force your eyes open, to hold his gaze while he abuses your holes.

The position suffices, holding each other close, intimately, until he needs more room. Effortlessly, he lifts you up, biceps swelling while he hooks underneath your thigh and stabilizes you by your waist. He pins you up onto the wall, no space between the two of you as he buries his face into your neck, scraping his teeth against your flesh, panting through his nose as he fucks you.

Senseless sounds tumble out of you, pleasure coursing through you like blood in your veins. Whenever you and Anakin fuck it’s like you’re revitalized, nothing else matters, it falls away. Nothing compared to the way he makes you feel when he’s inside you. Sucking on your earlobe, you hear how he grunts, the noise of your conjoined bodies flooding the rest of the room.

A desperation instills within him, chasing his finish, which means his grip digs into you like you’ll run away if he doesn’t keep you here. The back of your head bumps against the wall, and you fix it there while he rails you. Your nails raking down his corded back. His muscle strains against you, spasming from the effort of holding you up, but this angle is too good for either of you to pass up. Besides, you love the way he looks when he’s showing off like this.

“You feel so good, you feel so fucking good.”

“Are you gonna cum in me? I want you to. Please? Please, fuck—“

“Still a slut for my cum.” he scoffs.

You reach in between the heat and the sweat of your bodies, so you can rub your clit, chasing your own high, near tears from waiting.

“Look at me, angel, I want you to look at me when you do it.” he tells you, backing up so he can see your face when you orgasm. Your brows upturn, whining in frustration.

The dam breaks, and your walls flutter from the stimulation. Like a good girl, you fight to keep your eyes open, trembling as your core tightens instinctually around him. Euphoria conquers you, and it makes quick work of Anakin, hot spurts of his finish coating your insides with milky white, oozing around his length out of you.

You slump, as he carefully lets you slide down onto your feet, but he’s the one keeping you upright. Breathing hard together, he rests his forehead onto your shoulder, planting leisured kisses where he can reach.

“Maybe this can be a regular thing.” he murmurs against you, and you side eye him. “I make a shitty boyfriend, but I’m a hell of a lay.”

Early next morning, Anakin awakes to the sound of your shower running, and your awful singing. It puts an amused smile on his face. He plans to join you, but since he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, his stomach growls. It alerts him to rifle through your fridge for breakfast. In the kitchen, he steps over his discarded clothes, and no sooner had he picked out a bottle of protein yogurt from the shelf, had your doorbell rang.

He gulps down some drink, but sets it down so he can pick up his pants, slipping them on. They’re black, thin, and hang low on his hips. It does the trick, trekking the cold floor with his bare feet to slide open the front door.

A confused face greets him, and he waits for the stranger to speak first.

“Uh… hello. Sorry to bother you, I didn’t realize she had…” He clears his throat, while Anakin stands unyielding to allow him inside. He looks Anakin up and down, avoiding his glare, “… roommates. Can you get her? I want to ask her to brunch.”

“She’s not coming.” Anakin responds, and closes the door to the stranger’s protest. A friend of yours, perhaps. A special friend that you no longer need.

If Anakin knows anything about the company you keep, they’re like him: obsessive. So he abandons his hunger, to invite himself to your shower. To distract you from that guy’s incessant knocking, or countless ringing tele-calls intending to interrogate you.

Anakin keeps you to himself in the shower, for a little while longer, somehow convincing you to let him fuck you “just one more time.”

445 notes · View notes

akairawrites · 1 year ago

Text

Curiosity killed The Cat | Damian Wayne Imagine

Taglist

@ella-fella-bo-bella @ayoitsurfavdesigurl @luvvvjada @harleycao @aiq39

You were just 14 years old when you first encountered the infamous Damian Wayne. He strode through Gotham Metro Academy as if he owned the place, and with his father being the wealthiest man in Gotham City, it wasn't surprising. What made it even more intriguing was that you seemed to share almost every class with him.

"Why are you trailing me?" He inquired, standing tall beside your desk as you retrieved your class materials from your backpack. You glanced up, meeting his fierce green eyes without flinching. "Excuse me?" you retorted.

"You've been following me around, why?" he pressed, his tone dripping with curiosity. You scoffed and sized him up. "Ever been to a school before? If it were up to me, I'd be nowhere near you."

Damian clicked his tongue in annoyance. "How did you even get into this school? You don't seem like you can afford—" Before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off with a swift, hard punch to his face. You didn't care about his status as Bruce Wayne's son; whatever he was going to say deserved a punch.

The entire class stared at you in disbelief as Damian held his face where your punch had landed. If he hadn't looked furious before, he certainly did now. He restrained himself from retaliating, aware of the prohibition against hitting females, a double standard he found frustrating.

⋆

"This is her second time punching a student, Ms. Kyle. I'm afraid that if this happens again, we will have no choice but to expel [Y/n]," the principal expressed with a concerned tone.

The principal's worried look held firm as Selina, your mother, fixed you with a glare that felt like it could burn holes through your head. This wasn't the first time she'd been summoned to the school, and it seemed like it wouldn't be the last. After a discussion with the principal, it was decided that you would receive two weeks of detention. It was definitely worth silencing that arrogant son of a bitch.

"We need to address your anger management," Selina said as both of you walked down the empty hallway. "I don't have anger issues," you retorted bluntly, even though deep down, you knew it was a problem you'd inherited from your late father. When you got into these moods, Selina knew precisely how to help you feel better.

"Since it's the weekend, how about we have a girls' night out?" Selina suggested. You looked up at her, and she gave you a knowing smile. The smirk that crossed your face was all the confirmation she needed.

⋆

The moon hung full in the night sky as you and your mother, Selina, dashed through the streets of Gotham. When Selina halted, so did you. You peered down at the pristine glass that showcased exquisite diamond jewelry. Selina crouched over the glass ceiling, her cat-like nails making quick work of creating a large enough opening for both of you to slip through.

She gracefully entered the opening and gestured for you to follow. Drawing upon what Selina had taught you, you descended with a feline-like agility, landing on your feet without a sound. It was a moment that made Selina proud, despite the unconventional circumstances. She knew that involving her 14-year-old in a heist wasn't ideal, but she wanted to bond with you, and this was the only way she knew how.

"Help yourself to whatever you want, sweetheart," Selina encouraged as she admired the jewels in a glass casing. While she did that, you explored the room, not as captivated by the treasures as your mother was. In the corner of your eye, you glimpsed something that stopped you in your tracks—a beautiful green necklace sealed in a small glass case, nestled in a black pendant box. It seemed to call your name, drawing you closer until a loud shattering of glass snapped you out of your trance.

You turned quickly to see Batman and Robin approaching your mother, who had wandered farther from you than you realized. They hadn't even noticed your presence in the room.

"Well, if it isn't the Bat, and this must be Robin," Selina greeted, eyeing him while he maintained his glare.

"Catwoman," Batman acknowledged in his deep voice. This was your first time seeing Batman in person, a day your mother had been preparing you for.

You hid behind a jewelry display, watching through the glass. Your mother surveyed the room discreetly, likely looking for you, then returned her attention to the masked hero. She placed her hands on her hips, drawing closer to them. Her finger trailed up his shoulder and over his neck, likely sending shivers down his spine.

"Why so formal? You can address me by my name, Bruce," she whispered into his ear, causing him to visibly tense. Your mother always had a way with words, especially in getting herself out of tight spots, even more so now with her secret weapon.

As Selina approached Robin, she ruffled his hair, prompting him to slap her hand away and glare at her intensely. She chuckled to herself. "You know, I have a sidekick myself."

The moment those words left her lips, you sprang from your hiding place. Before he could react, you attacked Robin with a quick blow to the face and a kick to the stomach, sending him flying across the room, crashing into a jewelry display.

While your mother was distracted with Batman, you made a beeline for the necklace. You attempted to grab it but were tackled to the ground by Robin, who recovered quickly. You kicked him off and reached for the necklace. The moment your hand touched the glass, he threw a Batarang, slicing your hand open. You grunted in pain, clutching your bleeding hand as crimson pooled on the floor.

With no time to process what had just happened, Robin advanced on you. In a moment of quick thinking, you grabbed the necklace and crawled between his legs to avoid a confrontation. You dashed towards your mother as she secured her bag of jewels, and together, you swiftly escaped from the scene

Part 2 out now!

Add yourself to my taglist here

902 notes · View notes