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lotsoflola · 1 year ago

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his sinful secret - l. mark

summary: being an idol is hard, but you're always there to help mark through it, offering yourself as his sinful secret... genre: fwb au warnings: smut, heavy religious imagery and themes, a sinful amount of dirty talk, like mark cannot stfu, heavy degredation, everyone gets head, choking, a some praise, spitting, this is like actual filth maybe being ill makes me horny idk word count: 4k author's note: i'm blaming this filth on the fact that i'm under the weather rn but jesus christ be fucking warned

mark prided himself in his religion. it was important to him, that belief in a higher power was the faith he needed to live the life he did. it seemed the idol life was one full of jealousy, gluttony and lust, but he was determined not to fall victim to the sins like so many before him.

so he payed his dues. he went to church whenever he had a free sunday, said a silent prayer for his friends and family every night, gave thanks to the lord before every meal as a token of appreciation.

his religion wasn’t a joke to him, it never would be. it was a belief that kept him sane, kept him in order, kept some sense of purpose and responsibility in his life. it wasn’t something that he would pick and choose whether to follow or not. he was all or nothing with his belief, and he chose all.

until he met you.

you were his sin personified, his dirty little secret. whenever you two were together all thoughts of his religion left his mind, as he now existed to serve you, to worship in between your thighs, listen to your moans as if they were gospel. it was like any holy thought left his mind the second your skin brushed over his.

he never wanted to give into the temptation. he saw you as a challenge, a sign to resist sin and stay thinking holy thoughts. but when you showed up at the club in a tight white dress, hair tumbling over your shoulders as your hips swayed provocatively to the music, he knew that nothing could stop him taking you home that night, and many a night after that.

which is how he ended up knocking on your flat at 9pm on a monday evening, the day after a tough recording session where he just seemed useless. he felt horrible, felt like a failure, and all the comfort that his producers and members could give him could never make him feel as good as you could.

the warm orange hues of a seoul sunset lit up your apartment as you swung open the door, the golden hour glow accenting the faint highlights in your hair. you were underdressed for mark's standards, normally revealing yourself to him in a lacy set he bought for you, or sometimes even nothing, looking like a greek statue as you left nothing to the imagination.

today was different. you weren’t expecting him; you had no warning to any chain of events about to follow. so you opened the door to show yourself in a white linen shirt, almost certainly mark's, that was so large on you it was practically a dress, that you had been lounging around your flat in.

mark didn’t care, however, thinking you were still as stunning as ever. the white made your tanned skin seem darker, and with a few buttons undone your cleavage was truly out on display, a teaser at what he would truly see later. a pair of large hoops hung in each ear, with a small chain around your neck with ‘m’ engraved on it finishing the look. he loved that necklace, a sign that you and him had some kind of connection, even if it was only through a piece of jewellery.

“you alright?” you asked, eyes scanning from head to toe. it was rare for mark to show up without telling you, if he ever had. there was a silent agreement that he would let you know when he needed to release energy, to be in your presence, to succumb to the sinful energy you supposedly emitted.

he shook his head. “fucked the recording yesterday. now wanna fuck you.”

and there it was. the switch that flicked where mark ignored his religion, ignored the purity and goodness he was supposed to uphold, and you became the deity he worshipped.

his hands grabbed your face as he pulled you into a needy kiss, calloused fingertips rough against your smooth skin. the kiss held a thousand emotions: anger, upset, disappointment, lust, love, and enough passion to knock you back on your feet, needing the stability of mark's hands to stay upright.

he always kissed you like it was his last on earth, like he may never get to do this again so he was going to savour every second of it. and he was so passionate - maybe because he was annoyed, maybe because he was stressed, or maybe because you were the only person who got to see this mark. this raw, untamed, animalistic mark who you adored seeing so much.

he slowly edged you back into your room, hips pushing against yours ever so slightly, enough to encourage your hips up against his, creating the tiniest bit of friction to ease the growing need between your thighs. you heard him shut the door behind you, never once taking his lips off of yours, befor his hands slid from your face to your neck.

you let out a quick gasp as he squeezed into your skin, feeling him smirk into the kiss as your breathing got shallower and shallower. he often do this. pushed your boundaries as far as he could push them. watched as your slowly cracked under the euphoric torture he performed on you.

he pulled back from you, letting out a chuckle as you chased his lips. he looked down, easily towering over you, a look of fake-pity etched all over his face.

“look so pretty with my hands wrapped around your neck, huh?” he asked, almost certainly a rhetorical question as he squeezed that slight bit harder, looking down at your thighs rubbing against each other, determined to find some relief from the ache in your core. “and you love it as well, love it when i choke you, when i treat you like a slut.”

his words went straight to your core, and you couldn’t rebute them without the lie showing all over your face. mark eased up on your neck, hands now trailing down your body, over your rib cage, counting down with such an intent focus you would think it’s the first time he’s ever seen your body.

“wearing my shirt, must have missed me?” he asked, tone nonchalant but undertone the opposite. the agreement is that you don’t miss each other. you don’t have feeling for one another. you fuck. that’s it.

you took in a deep breath as one hand crawled under the white linen and felt the material of your underwear. lace, of course. mark's favourite. you were aware of how his recording went yesterday, and you were planning on sending him some photos to ease the pain. you did that often, when things weren’t going so well for him in the idol world, a little pick me up in the form of barely lit lingerie pictures and videos of you morning his name.

“never,” you teased, your hands rising over his shirt, pulling it off his body and exposing him in all his glory.

my god, was he stunning. you had never seen another man like him, one so broad and muscly yet slim and defined. his skin had grown darker in the past few weeks, undertone becoming more and more golden as his bleached hair lightened ever so slightly. he’d been keeping his hair long lately, and though you weren’t a fan at first, when you gripped it while he was your legs it was safe to say it grew on you. his eyes had a chill behind them, one only you were lucky enough to see, which told you that he had one hundred wonderful and wicked ideas to try out with you.

“white lace?” he questioned, having a peek under the shirt, the colour not normal for you. mark liked navy, so that was what you normally wore, as well as black and red. he didn’t even know you owned a white set, and he had seen a lot of lingerie on you.

you hummed. “you like it?”

he loved it. loved the way the white material contrasted your skin, the way the quickly fading light bounced off it making you glow, the way he could already see the wetness collecting from your arousal. and most of all, he loved the way you looked angelic in it, look like the heavens yourself had sent you, because nothing you ever did was angelic. you were never angelic when you sucked him off, let him fuck you into oblivion, enjoyed being degraded and teased, and when you dressed the part, it somehow made everything more dirty for him.

“would love it more if you got on your knees.” the suggestion was an order, and of course you obeyed, sinking into the cold wooden floor of your living room and looking up at him with blinking eyes.

he looked majestic, light pouring out from the window behind him. and when he went to unbuckle his belt, your mouth already starting salivating in preparation, knowing what was coming. mark must have been able to sense your eagerness, as he let out a wry chuckle looking down on you.

“always so fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?” all you could do was nod in response, leaning forward as mark slid his trousers down to pull his dick out from his boxers.

you were still in awe every time you saw his cock. sure, you’d been big dicks before, but mark's was something in of itself. it was as majestic as his body was, and taken care of the same way.

you went to take it in your mouth, but mark quickly tangled a hand in your hair and pulled you back, letting out a soft chuckle as a pout appeared on your lips.

“honestly, i don’t fuck you for two weeks and you forget all your manners. you think you just get to suck my cock? you think you’re worthy of that? dumb little girl.” his degrading words went straight to your core, you having to resist the urge to squeeze your thighs together as you looked up at him pleadingly.

“please, mark,” his hand tilted your head up, nothing stopping your eyes from baring into his, seeing the devilish glint in his eye, “please.”

“please what? come on, good girls know how to beg properly,” he teased, watching down evilly as you whined at his harsh words.

you took in a deep breath. “please let me suck your cock, mark.”

he nodded. “keep going.”

“please, just wanna make you feel good. please let me suck it, all i wanna do,” you were unravelling, slowly losing any previous willpower you had to resist his charm, diving headfirst into the depths of hell you two created together. it was a beautiful chaos, a place the two of you could completely unravel and just be morsels of sex and passion. “please, mark, just want your cock in my mouth.”

“fuck, your such a whore for me. never seen such a lovely girl want cock so bad. but you’re not a lovely girl, are you?” you nodded, so desperate for him. “that’s right, baby, you’re a desperate little slut who’s only thought is dick, so why don’t you show me how much you love this one, yeah?”

his words would be the death of you. they were your bible, you would have done anything he asked you do when he was speaking in that deep, honey tone, canadian accent getting thicker and thicker as he lost himself in the moment. whatever he preached in church, said as he prayed, these were the opposite of that. these were the thoughts that hid in the back of his mind until he was around you, and then they were an unstoppable spew of sin and lust and as many other unholy emotions he could think of.

you sunk down on his cock as soon as you had permission, taking as much in as possible before starting to bob your head, swirling your tongue when you rose to the tip of his dick. he let out a deep groan when you choked around him, his length still too big even after a few months of sucking him off. his hand tightened around your scalp, guiding you up and down and up and down.

you pulled back to catch a breath, a string of saliva still attached to his dick, creating a link between you. pierre watched as you licked it up, before replacing your mouth his your hand, throwing his head back as your thumb rubbed over his tip.

“tell me how much you love this cock, baby,” he grunted, his words not surprising to you. when everything seemed to be going wrong in his life, mark thrived on the praise of others. his parents, his members, his producers, and in this state you. any words that made him feel appreciated, needed, loved, he thrived on.

“love it so much, baby,” you panted, “so so much.”

and with that you started sucking again, still using your hand on everything you struggled to fit. his breaths got shallower and shallower as you kept going, feeling the muscles in his chest tensing as he got closer and closer to his high.

“look at you on your knees for me,” the hand in the back of your hair tilted your head towards the mirror you had in your living room, and the sight was one you were sure would be engraved in your memory for years to come.

it was like a renaissance pairing, the way the two of you looked. both glowing in the sunset light, sweating clinging loose strand of hair to your foreheads. mark's mouth was hung open, defined abs clenched, looking completely gone with pleasure. your back was arched while on your knees, thighs clenched together as your mouth swallowed pierre down, tears slowly building in your eyes, threatening to break loose and paint your cheeks with mascara stained water.

“want me to finish in your mouth?” he groaned, obviously so near to the edge. but he always asked. no matter how intense anything was, mark always asked.

you hummed in agreement around his cock, sending vibrations through the sensitive skin and bringing his orgasm that little bit closer. he took complete control now, fucking your face with sporadic, wild thrusts, before pulling back and waiting for the orgasm, your hand guiding him through it.

“open your mouth, baby,” he grunted, on the brink of the most sinful euphoria he could feel, “stick your tongue out for me- there you go. pretty little slut on her knees for me. never seen such a beautiful girl act like such a whore-”

and with that he came, covering your tongue and lips with his cum, groaning as he finally got the high he’d craved after the last two weeks. you carried him through it, keeping your mouth open until he’d completely finished.

“show me your tongue, baby,” he panted, a maniacal laugh appearing when you eagerly showed him your face. “god, you’re so good for me, you look so pretty covered in my cum, huh? go on, look at how messy you are for me.”

you turned you back to the mirror, and you got a proper look at how gone you were. your tongue was still out, eyes dazed over, nose to chin covered in mark's cum, with your cheeks stained with mascara tears.

he pulled your head back, forcing you to look back up at him, before he leant over and spat in your mouth, the most sinful action of the night.

“swallow it up, yeah, there you go,” he almost whispered, and you did as he said, taking everything he had given you and the rest that he swiped in from your cheeks. “god, you’re always such a good girl for me.”

he was always softer after an orgasm, like he suddenly became aware of how harsh his words were, how you could easily take them the wrong way. you never did, but you appreciated the effort, and you appreciated him.

wait. no you didn’t.

“up you get, baby,” he cooed, helping you stand up and immediately wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying your through your flat like it was his own. he had spent so much time here it might as well have been.

he placed you down on the bed, letting you lean against the frame as he dimmed down the lights, leaving the room in a small, romantic glow. he finished undressing himself, before finally turning all of his attention to you.

this is where it became a sin.

see, mark didn’t believe that pre-marital sex was a sin. well, whether or not it was he was more than happy to partake in it. what was a sin, however, was worshiping false deities. yet that’s exactly what he did to you.

after the agression you had just experienced, mark kenw it was time to turn his attention to in between your thighs, somehwre he could sit for hours and never get bored. it was a form of worship, how he treated you, one that he could never admit to the universe, a secret shared between the two of you.

his hands ran up your bare thighs, kneading them as his mouth followed, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses along your skin. your legs spread automatically, a sigh of pleasure already coming from your mouth, just the motivation mark needed to keep going.

"fuck, baby," he gasped, as one of his fingers stroked over your panties, feeling your sticky wetness caused from mark's dirty words earlier, "fucking soaked for me, huh?"

"yes," you sighed as one of his fingers found your clit, making ever so light circles over the lace, "only for you, mark."

"i know, baby, god you look so beautiful like this."

and he wasn't lying. with your back arched, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, his shirt bunched up around your ribcage so he could see the rise of fall of your stomach as your breathing got shallower. he thought you were majestic, undenyable beauty, something to be worshipped.

so that's what he did.

he pulled your panties off and dived straight into your pussy, nose hitting your clit as his tongue worked wonders, lapping up the wetness and causing pornographic sounds to emit from your throat. god, was he good at eating you out, and when he added to fingers and curled them against that spot inside of you, you knew you were not lasting long.

"baby- oh my god, mark- i'm gonna cum," you whined, hips bucking so much mark had to use one of his arms to hold you in place.

mark chuckled against your clit, the vibrations just bringing you closer to the edge. "yeah, i'm making you feel good."

"so good, mark, so so so good."

and that was enough for him. sometimes he would make you beg, have you crying from the edging he would put you through, but he knew he was harsh earlier, and you had been so good your deserved to come.

"come for me then, baby," he grunted, fingers speeding up their pace, "come all over my fingers, make a mess of me, baby."

he words tipped you over the edge, the feeling of euphoria washing over you as mark carried you through your high, breathing finally slowing down as mark abandoned your pussy and staring leaving open mouthed kisses against the soft flesh of your thighs.

"think you can go once more for me?" he asked between kisses, and however tired you were you always wanted to please him, always wanted to make him feel good.

so you pulled him over you and braced yourself as he pushed inside of you, the stretch making you hear colours as his lips finally connected with yours for the second time that night, tongue exploring your mouth until he was fully inside of you.

"never gonna get over how good you feel wrapped around me, baby," he mumbled against your lips, pleasure evident on his face, "so fucking warm and wet, this pussy was made for me, wasn't it?"

you couldn't even respond, mouth stuck in an o-shape as he began to thrust in and out, his tip hitting your cervix as he picked up the pace.

"don't know what i would do without this cunt, think i would go insane not knowing this is always here for me, because it is, isn't it? this is my pussy."

mark told himself he would hold back but he just couldn't help it, the feeling of being inside of you driving him crazy as his hips snapped against yours. only mark's sinful words and the sound of skin against skin filled the room now, the feeling ever so dirty and sinful, just the way you both liked it.

"my fucking pussy to do whatever i want with, my playtoy, that's what you are, yeah?" he teased, and all you could do was whine in response as you grew closer and closer to your second orgasm.

"just a set of holes for me to use, aren't you? can't even speak because i'm fucking you so good, huh? just a cumdump for me, a slutty, pretty, cumdump. you want my cum, my pretty little whore?"

all you could do was nod, hoping that was enough for mark right now. he chuckled, but you could tell he was close by the way his thrusts were growing irregular. and he could tell you were close by the way you clenched around him.

"you wanna cum? tell me who's making you feel this good."

you mustered up all the energy you had left to speak, hoping the words came out of your mouth. "you, mark, only you can make me feel this good."

"tell me you belong to me," mark didn't even know what he was saying at this point, the words leaving unconciously, his sinful desires becoming more and more evident in the world.

"i'm yours, mark. every part of me is yours, i belong to you. god-"

"yeah, that's right, i'm your fucking god," he grunted, and that word, even though it's not what you meant, made both of you come undone together, a moan leaving both of your mouths as mark collapsed against your chest, chests rising and falling as you attempted to calm down.

mark pulled out, ever so gently, and knelt on the floor at the end of the bed, watching as some of his cum escaped from your swollen pussy. gently, he used his finger to scoop it up, and push it back into your cunt, before leaning back over to meet your lips in a kiss.

"thank you," he muttered, "for this. hope i wasn't too harsh."

you chuckled. "a little, but you know i like it. shit, though, i would have called you god sooner if i knew it would get that reaction."

with those words, mark froze. those words should have never been said, should have never been put inot the universe. it reminded mark of his sin, of everything you tempted him towards. with no other option, he chose to escape your lustful allure, and made a mental note to pray tonight.

"gotta get back to the dorms, manager will be expecting me," mark left one final kiss on your cheek before leaving.

you pouted, so many unspoken words floating on your tongue. stay. be mine. i love you. yet none of them were said, instead sending him a sad smile before grabbing your phone from your bedside table, just hoping deep down he felt the same way.

if only you knew you were just his sinful secret.

#nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct smut #nct imagine #nct dream imagine #nct 127 imagine #mark lee smut #mark smut #mark lee imagine #mark lee x reader #nct x reader

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funishment-time · 6 months ago

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🔵 Kodaka BlueSky Q&As: Misc DR & Multiple Characters

⚠️ DISCLAIMER: Please be advised! Translations of all Japanese answers derive from a combination of Google Translate and my manager's three-quarters-remembered Japanese. We've tried our best to work out what he's saying, but there will be mistakes here and there. Do not take this as gospel!

To avoid spreading too much misinfo, where we're completely boggled about an answer, we've decided not to even make an attempt. We'll still list the post, but mark it accordingly.

➡️ AN IMPORTANT NOTE FROM KODAKA BEFORE READING:

First of all, the questions answered here are not official. Everything that is official is what is said within the work. In contrast, this is simply what Kodaka, the creator, thinks, and it is not the correct answer. Use this as a starting point to enjoy the depth of each character, or to say, "That's not right!" and enjoy it with your own interpretation. I think of this as a way of communicating with the characters who live in fiction. This is important, so please spread the word.

💕 FEBRUARY 2024:

Q: Out of all the characters that have appeared so far, who is your favorite visually?

A: As a fan, Haruko from FLCL. Among my own creations...hmmm, Monokubs lol and Enoshima.

/////

Q: Sorry if this has already been said! I saw a tweet saying that Fukawa Toko's novel "Before the Scent of the Sea Disappears" was made into a short film by Kodaka Kazutaka! Is there anywhere I can see it?

A: I don't have it..! I have the data on my PC, but…lol

/////

Q: Are you interested in making games in the world of Ultimate Talent Development Plan? I would like to see all the characters together. (Sorry my Japanese is not very good. I am using a translator.)

A: It's too early to tell. I'll continue to make more and more characters.

/////

Q: I love Ultra Despair Girls, but it's sad that so few people are playing it 😢 Are there plans for a port or remake for the Switch?

A: It's an absolute masterpiece! I'm proud to say that it has the heaviest storyline I've ever written, and the friendship at the end will have you in tears. And it's also pretty fun to take down all the Monokumas in one fell swoop. The controls are a bit rough in some areas, so I'd like to tweak them and re-release it. But maybe that last possibility is impossible in today's world...

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Q: What is your favorite chapter in the Danganronpa series?

A: Hmm, Chapters 1 and 6 of 1, and Chapters 5 and 6 of 2. Maybe Chapters 1, 5 and 6 of 3.

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Q: I love Danganronpa Zero, and I'd like to ask if there were any particular things that you were thinking about when you were writing it.

A: At the time, it was my first novel in about five years, and although I said "I'll do it" lightly, I wasn't good at writing the narrative, and after pushing myself into scrapping it many times, I finally managed to get it done by writing the narrative from the protagonist's point of view.

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Q: I got hooked on the Danganronpa series when I was in elementary school and am now a working adult!! Danganronpa is my favorite work of all time! Of course I played Rain Code too!! I love how Shinigami-chan grows and becomes more human as the story progresses! I wonder if a sequel to Danganronpa is really possible...? I'm also waiting for a sequel to Rain Code I'll keep waiting until I die! I love you!

A: From elementary school to working adult…! Thanks to Danganronpa, you've become a fine adult! Neither sequel is impossible. I'd like to expand more, get results from other new works, and make myself more valuable, and do it when it's best for me.

/////

Q: Are there any characters that have a secret backstory in any of the Danganronpa works?

A: For the most part, there are still stories that we haven't talked about.

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Q: This may be a question that can't be answered (it may have been asked already), but in the bad ending of Danganronpa, Togami holds a portrait of Fukawa, and there is a child of Togami? Will the truth about that ever come to light?!

A: With the loss of Kirigiri, and the decision to live together within the school, everyone had a change of heart and decided to join hands. Fukawa stopped belittling herself, and Togami stopped being arrogant, and the two started dating, but the next day Fukawa died in an accident. She died after choking on a dumpling, and Togami was confused, believing it was a curse from Celes. As Asahina comforted the depressed boy, things just sort of happened and Togami's child was born. Asahina loves children, and decided that this was her mission and she would give birth to everyone's children. And since that was all there was to do in the boring school life, everyone did it a lot. After that, she gave birth to more than 10 children, and the school flourished.

NOTE: This is the worst thing I have ever read.

/////

Q: I can't help but wonder about the night that Asahina, Hagakure, Togami, and Fukawa spent in the gym in Chapter 5 of Danganronpa. What were they doing that night?

A: I think they were standing in the dark gymnasium, each at one of the four corners, going around tapping the shoulder of the next person in the corner...

/////

Q: The "motivation video" that appeared in V3 featured someone important to each character, but it wasn't revealed who was in the motivation video for the characters in the main story. Did you have a set idea in mind of "this character is this person", Mr. Kodaka? Some characters talk about family or special people in Free Time scenarios, but there are also some characters who don't talk about such things, so I'm curious.

A: I had it set at the time, but I've forgotten about it...

NOTE: ugh

/////

Q: What's your favorite romantic pairing in danganronpa?

A: Monomi and Monokuma.

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Q: I love the scene in Chapter 6 of the original Danganronpa where the mastermind and the scissors girl (I will not reveal her name for now) meet and politely greet each other. Mr. Kodaka, are there any funny or gag scenes from the Danganronpa series or Rain Code that you like?

A: There are heaps of gag scenes and funny scenes, but when I first saw Monokuma and Monomi's comedy routine in 2 with their lines incorporated, I felt something otherworldly that I'd never heard before. We record out of order, so after incorporating it with the game, I was surprised at how otherworldly it was.

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Q: I would like you to publish profiles of Danganronpa Zero characters! Please do so!

A: Let's ask Spikechun! Spikechun reserves all rights! Let's all protest and demand that these profiles be made public!

/////

Q: In the summary of the materials for Danganronpa 1, there was a detailed description of the non-killers' punishments, but I wonder if those will ever be made into a movie...? I've been dying to see it 🥲

A: It's not exactly a good idea to capture people dying on film…

/////

Q: Who is the most popular character in Danganronpa? I would be happy if you could tell me one male and one female!

A: My personal opinion is... For guys, it's Shinguji. There are girls who are attracted to weird guys like that. For girls, it's Iruma. There are boys who are attracted to weird girls like that.

NOTE: I believe this is IRL, not in-universe, as Kodaka later answers who has the most friends in-universe, and it's not Miu or Kork.

🍀 MARCH 2024:

Q: Excuse me for asking a question! Who is the strongest drinker among Munakata, Yukizome, and Sakakura? 🥹

A: It's probably Yukizome.

/////

Q: Among the BGM used in the original, 2, and V3, is there any that you particularly like, Mr. Kodaka? I absolutely love New World Order from the original, DANGANRONPA SUPER MIX from 2, and V3 Discussion - SCRUM - from V3!

A: The punishment music was created first, and it created a Danganronpa atmosphere, or rather a playful yet serious atmosphere, so it has a deeply cryptic vibe.

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Q: I bought Danganronpa again on Steam and had my ex-girlfriend play the whole series, and she got hooked. This may be mentioned in other media, but are there any characters who weren't meant to die but ended up dying?

A: While I was writing, some roles were switched, but I don't think there were many changes to the plot. I think it was Nidai and Kuzuryu who switched roles...

NOTE: His memory is correct. Beta designs show a Fuyuhiko-like character who was meant to the the team manager, and a mafia guy who was a big Nekomaru-ish dude.

/////

Q: In the Danganronpa series, you get underwear when your bond with a character reaches its maximum, but whose underwear do you like the most, Kodaka?

A: Personally, I'm not interested in underwear. They're dirty.

/////

Q: I know you didn't write or supervise Danganronpa S at all, Kodaka, but have you played it since its release? And if you did, were there any event conversations that you particularly liked?

A: [From @/genoskissors: "エアプ is slang meaning he knows about the games content, but has not played it himself." Thank you for the correction!]

/////

Q: [A longer question, found here, that comes down to: "i'm curious how your writing with your world evolved in ways you may not have had planed..."]

A: The scenario changes a lot when I write it. It is live. Try writing it, move the characters around, and it keeps changing. Because the characters are alive.

/////

Q: Yamada and Celes seem to have been quite close during their school days, but how did they end up like that?

A: "I've gotten better at making royal milk tea."

NOTE: This is probably Hifumi talking.

🥬 APRIL 2024:

Q: Will you ever make a V3 animation? That could be so cool I’d love to see it so much.

A: That is a matter for Spike Chunsoft to decide.

/////

Q: Who is the character with the most friends in each of the Danganronpa games: the original, 2, and V3?

A: I guess Yamada, Koizumi, and Angie. I'm not sure if I can call Angie a friend, though.

/////

Q: Chabashira Tenko and I have the same birthday and blood type, so I'd like to know how a character's birthday and blood type are decided. I'm currently studying Japanese.

A: It's decided by fate.

/////

Q: Tired of answering questions about Danganronpa?

A: I'm not bored. I love Danganronpa. However, I may forget some things, so I don't want to answer carelessly.

🌺 MAY 2024:

Q: I think Harukawa-chan had romantic feelings for Momota-kun, but did Momota-kun see Harukawa-chan as a romantic interest? Or did he just see her as one of his "students," like Saihara-kun?

A: "I didn't realize it at the time, so I wasn't even conscious of it. If I had realized it sooner, things might have been different..."

NOTE: This is probably Kaito talking.

☀️ JUNE 2024:

Q: I feel like there weren't any characters in the original Danganronpa who were definitely able to cook, so who was cooking at breakfast and the like? I'd also like to know if there were any characters who could cook in the original!

A: I think they basically just used pre-cooked food, but I think Fujisaki and Yamada seem like they can cook.

/////

Q: How did you decide the seating order for the class trial?

A: Intentionally in random order so as not to create any patterns.

/////

Q: Are there any characters in 1, 2, and V3 who are not virgins? Sorry for the really vulgar question.

A: A rough estimate is a quarter.

/////

Q: Is it decided how old the characters in works such as Danganronpa and Raincode are? If so, how old are they?

A: Of course, Danganronpa is mostly in their teens. Raincode has a wide range, but even Yakou is in his 30s.

NOTE: This is kind-of hilarious, because I'm pretty sure it's canonically stated Yakou is actually in his late 20s...in something that Kodaka himself wrote. I'll have to go find evidence.

/////

Q: I'd like to know the recommended menu items at Hanamura Diner!

A: Fresh tonkatsu.

NOTE: Tonkatsu is a fried pork cutlet.

/////

Q: Were the Love Hotel scenes also supervised by Kodaka-san? When Ouma says that he doesn't care what Saihara does to him, is that what he says to make it possible for him to have anyone in that space under his control?

A: I did supervise it. But I left that to people who are good at that sort of thing and refrained from interfering too much, and I still refrain from doing so now.

/////

Q: Is there any trick to Tanaka Gundham's chuunibyou dialogue? I'm curious to know how you think of the unique expressions used by Saionji Hiyoko and Iruma Miu.

A: The insults come out super easily, but Tanaka's lines were thought out thoroughly, based on the light novels I've read, so it's exhausting.

NOTE: A "chuunibyou" is a kid, generally 12-13, who believes they have secret powers or a grand backstory. Gundham's a bit old to be a chuuni by Kodaka's own admission in the DR2 artbook, but that was apparently part of the charm (and why it was so difficult to write him). It's spiritual Naruto running.

🎇 JULY 2024:

Q: I'd like to know what underwear your favorite Danganronpa character wears, Kodaka-san.

A: Monomi's panties. Diapers.

NOTE: This is how rumors get started, Kaz...

/////

Q: Do Rain Code and Danganronpa take place in the same world? Do any of your games and works have a shared universe with another? Or are they all separate? 🤔 💭 I'm asking because I just had a dream about Rain Code today!

A: I won't make a clear statement. I am not sure what will happen in the future. Anyway, please spread the Rain Code around the world.

/////

Q: If Hope's Peak Academy had regular exams, who would have the best overall grades?

A: It would have to be Togami. Kirigiri has clear strengths and weaknesses and doesn't seem like she'd be good at things like art. However, when it comes to multiple choice questions, Komaeda who relies on luck is the strongest, Ouma steals the answers in advance, and Ki-Bo tries hard and is average, but is bad at calculations.

🌭 AUG 2024:

Q: when i played danganronpa there were times where i wondered about how some characters got along with their family, have you written/thought anything about a character's family background that isn't mentioned in the video games?even if it's something small i feel like it would be interesting to read

A: I think, but the fact that I did not put it in writing means that I left it to the player's imagination.

/////

Q: If Sonia and Fubuki met, who would take the initiative in the conversation?

A: Even though they don't match up at all, they seem like they'd get along really well.

NOTE: Fubuki from Rain Code.

/////

Q: When all the Danganronpa characters are gathered together, who do you think has the most aura?

A: It must be Ogami. I think everyone would look at her first.

/////

Q: Thank you so much for making "Danganronpa"!! 😊💓💓 Many fans have a special feeling for the relationship between Komaeda Nagito and Hinata Hajime. Is there a possibility that the two will become lovers in the future?

A: I have no plans to create anything that takes place after Danganronpa 3.

🍁 SEPT 2024:

Q: Are there many undiscovered super-high school level talents outside of Japan?

A: You could make a Danganronpa World War. 150 students are locked in a school, about 10 incidents occur at the same time, class trials are held here and there, and punishments are handed out one after another.

/////

Q: Are you afraid of bugs, Soda? I'd like to know who among two people can stand bugs and who doesn't like them!

A: Soda is not good with insects that suddenly appear, fly, or move suddenly. Sonia is fine with insects.

/////

Q: I would like to know Ouma's first words and reaction upon seeing an armed Keebo-kun!

A: “This isn’t like you!”

#danganronpa #kazutaka kodaka #kodaka's bsky Q&As

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queen-esther · 1 year ago

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The “Q” theory in biblical scholarship is so funny to me. Like oh, Matthew and Luke have content similar to each other that isn’t found in Mark? It couldn’t be that Luke got inspiration from Matthew or the Holy Spirit guided both authors to include the same truth; it has to be that there’s an entirely different secret gospel buried somewhere that Matthew and Luke just copied their work from.

#anything to believe the Bible isn’t true I guess

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nostalgebraist · 8 months ago

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declare

Read Declare by Tim Powers recently.

It had some really good individual bits, and was well-written throughout, but overall I found it kind of a slog.

Partly that was just due to pacing, or me not quite being in the target audience, or other similarly ordinary and boring reasons. But, on reflection, I think a lot of my troubles with the book come down to one big, uncommon flaw it had -- which is my reason for writing this post.

----

Declare is a hybrid fantasy/spy novel.

The spy stuff, which comprises most of the book by mass, is drawn from real history -- in particular, from the life of real Soviet spy Kim Philby -- and strives to be consistent with all particulars of that real history that are publicly known.

The book is a "secret history" as opposed to an "alternate history," intended to produce the impression: "for all we know, this really could have been what happened." It sticks to the historical record about the kind of matters that make it into said record, and only invents things in the blank spaces in between them.

As Powers put it:

I made it an ironclad rule that I could not change or disregard any of the recorded facts, nor rearrange any days of the calendar – and then I tried to figure out what momentous but unrecorded fact could explain them all.

You'll note that I'm being vague about what "the fantasy elements" are.

I'm doing that on purpose. Revealing much about their nature would be the kind of spoiler that actually spoils, because one of Declare's virtues -- and I really did admire this -- is the way it makes its fantastical secrets feel really secret. Like a secret doctrine, a mystery cult, an epistemic Rubicon that one does not cross lightly.

They are talked about elliptically, even among initiates (and Powers makes this feel naturalistic, not like cheap and pointless reader-teasing evasion). Before you know much else about these "fantasy elements," you know that encounters with them have a tendency to leave people scarred, broken, changed -- and disinclined to say much about what they saw.

The early chapters of the book almost feel like the opening of a "mundane" spy novel. Except they are dotted with stray glimpses, from odd angles, of... something else. Something that is clearly one single thing, with a coherent shape, only you cannot make out in full what that shape is. Something that feels, authentically, like it was not meant for your innocent eyes.

It's all very effective. Really great stuff.

But then, at least by the halfway mark if not earlier, the reader catches up with the characters. The shape of the thing comes into focus. You get what the deal is, insofar as anyone does, and insofar as there is a "deal" to get. The nature, if not the logic, of the hidden world is laid bare.

"The nature, if not the logic": this is the book's fundamental flaw. The fantasy elements of Declare eventually land in a worst-of-all-worlds no-man's-land between mystique and mechanism.

They are explained to the reader just enough that they lose their glamour; what initially feels like the mystic doctrine of a lost gospel, or the forbidden fruit of a Lovecraft story, ends up feeling more like a collection of "lore" passages accompanying tables of numbers in an RPG rulebook. Yet they are not explained enough that they make sense, the way a law-bound "magic system" makes sense; despite Powers' ambitions, they never quite become capable of explaining anything else.

To put the point a little differently, and set things up for my next one: Declare mixes together two ingredients which, on their own, are perfectly fine -- indeed, actively good -- but which absolutely cannot go together. Namely:

Mysterious, supernatural forces that feel properly mysterious, numinous, not quite bound by "our" human logic and thus fundamentally beyond our ken.

A secret-history version of bizarre and partially unknown real-world events, which supplies explanations for the weird parts and fills in the tantalizing gaps.

Why do historical mysteries draw our interest? It is not just that there is something we don't know. There are a lot of things we don't know, about history, and mostly they don't trouble us.

But there are some questions for which it does not seem possible to imagine an uninteresting answer.

When a real historical figure behaves in some bizarre manner -- as the real-world Kim Philby frequently did -- we know that, whatever cause moved them to do so, it must be outlandish in a way that matches its effect. When people act strangely, they do so for strange reasons. That is roughly what "acting strangely" means.

But! Once you allow "ineffable, partly unpredictable magic" to be a cause with effects, the link between interesting events and interesting causes is broken. You can now invent explanations which are less interesting than any real-world one could possibly be.

You can survey the historical record, note down all the intriguing gaps, and then sculpt an infinitely pliable magical putty into the precise shape of each gap, so as to fill it. These fillings do not have the shape of real things; they are made retrospectively, and modeled after the patterned obstructions marring our view, rather than the real patterns which are being obstructed. They do not have spiraling implications, as real things do; they plug the gaps they were made for, and do nothing else.

Human behavior has human causes, and human causes are frequently interesting, to us humans.

It is usually a virtue, in fictional depictions of magic, for that magic to feel nonhuman.

But it ceases to be a virtue when that magic goes on to become a substitute for the real human causes of real events. It provides answers to all our questions, at the cost of removing the reason we imagined we might want to possess those answers.

"Why on earth," you ask me, "did this bizarre historical event happen the way it did?"

And I respond: "a wizard did it."

You protest that this is not an explanation at all. You profess to be just as confused as you were at the outset.

You say, in exasperation: "it can't just be that. There has to be something more. Why did the wizard do it? Is it... the sort of thing that wizards do? Is there a 'sort of thing that wizards do'?"

In real life, you'd have a point. In real life, for every X, there is a sort of thing that Xs do.

But not for wizards. Remember #1 above? Wizards are beyond your ken. Perhaps there is "sort of thing they do," but if so, it is too subtle for your dull, unmagical brain.

Which is to say: they can do whatever the author, or the plot -- or the gaps in the historical record -- need them to do on any given occasion. And then they go back into their box again, until they need to be retrieved, in order to do something else entirely.

And worse: although the introduction of the wizard does not leave you any less puzzled, it frees you from caring that you are puzzled.

There is no longer the unscratched itch of an unsolved mystery about human behavior. You are not confused about a person, anymore, but about magic. And it is perfectly clear that you are never, ever going to understand magic. Your confusion is now expected, predictable. Everything is properly in order, as you can now see. You are free to go.

And yet somehow, you find, the book is not over. It will not be over for a while yet. You have other confusions, you see, which have not yet been stripped of their human interest and robbed of their allure.

(Not everything in Declare is like this, to be clear. I may be making too much of a few sore points in the plot, I guess. Still, there's no denying that I found the later parts of the book tedious, and this is at-least-sort-of why.)

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nspired1fanfiction · 8 months ago

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Commission for Ichor & Pomegranate

Art by MadBedlam , Fanfic Art

Chapter 3:

"Fortunately, with Marcia's case still being an active investigation, we've been able to keep the church closed. Only the forensic investigator has been in and out of the building since the initial crews came in." He answered as he handed her the crime scene investigation kit. "If we find the pinecone, I'll let you bag it. I want you to make your assessments like you have been."

"Yes, sir," Jill murmured while she studied the contents of the kit before closing it back up.

The double doors to the church were locked and she watched Wesker pull out a set of keys from his pocket before he paused and glanced down at her.

"Did you bring your tension wrenches?" he asked with another cock of his head.

With her mouth dropping open slightly, "Sir, that's a crime." When his eyebrows went up, she quirked her lips, patted a pouch on her belt, and continued, "Of course I did. May I?"

"You may not, Valentine," his tone was colored with amusement when he put the key in the door and pushed it open. "I just wanted to be certain that my little B&E Specialist was adequately prepared."

She smiled at his back from his usage of her previous taunt back in the car and followed him through the threshold.

The tall chandelier hung a good ten feet from the vaulted ceiling and was bright enough to light the rich textures of the following room.

"Beautiful," Jill breathed into the muted atmosphere of the Nave.

Her captain shifted beside her, but he made no comment on the scenery and was instead looking toward a taped off area to the right.

She followed behind him again as he led her down the row of dark walnut pews. Their steps were muffled on the royal red runner carpet. The surrounding floor was made of tile; the polished surface reflected the many angles of the church as they moved.

"The nave, the main room in churches, were always my favorite," she spoke aloud while she followed. "The design was adapted by the early Christian builders from the Roman hall of justice, the basilica. The nave of the early Christian basilica is generally lighted by a row of windows near the ceiling, the clerestory." She pointed even though he wasn't looking back at her.

"You seem to have a continuous religious theme about you. A passion you follow through on Sundays perhaps?" her captain responded after a moment.

They both came to a stop where the crime scene tape marked the beginning of the tracking site.

"No." she winced when her response came out somewhat harshly. "Frankly, I find the levels of fanaticism... worrying; the spoken word of gospel calls for a lot of unnecessary violence. I've seen groups of people cling to some atrocious things in the name of God. Whether I believe or not is my secret, but I do not attend church."

"Yet, you find yourself clinging to the written word of a polytheistic religion." He lifted the tape and motioned for her to step through.

"And what of you, captain? Do you prefer the stories of the gods, one god, or none at all?" She held the tape for him while he stepped through next.

"I believe in knowing them all."

Jill tilted her head up at him and was somewhat pleased for a little more detail, even if it was rather vague.

"For what purpose?" she asked curiously.

"Stories have always been man's easiest weapon." He removed his glasses and set them carefully into his breast pouch on his vest before jutting his chin toward the stained-glass window on their right. "That was the original purpose for windows like these. To teach the gospel to those who couldn't read. What better power than to teach belief, Valentine?"

Grabbing the CSI kit from his hand, Jill pondered the thought while she cracked open the box and handed him gloves before she carefully donned her own.

The silence rang out and Jill wasn't sure he expected an answer from her. He turned from her then and began to move to where they had noted the pinecone in the picture that hung over to their right.

Stooping low, she watched his tall form lower to a crouch as he glanced beneath the pew in the front portion of the corner space.

"You'll need to grab it from your side; it's still here. Are you capable of bagging this on your own?"

Jill glanced over to see him holding out the tweezers to her. Once more, she met his challenging stare before her gloved fingers wrapped around the tweezers and pulled the instrument from him.

"I haven't let you down yet," she murmured and turned for the task.

"Indeed," he said quietly, now behind her when she carefully knelt on her side of the pew and gazed under the wood.

#resident evil #jill valentine #albert wesker #fanfiction #weskertine #greek mythology #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #resident evil 1 #pre resident evil 1 #Madbedlam art

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thelaurenshippen · 2 months ago

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good night laurinia, do you have any canon sexualities for your characters? Other than the more blatant one's like Mark's bisexuality and chloe being ace,, I'm especially curious about joan wadsworth and owen, xoxo ♡

good morning anon!

so, the answer to this is a little complicated simply because of my current feelings around the idea of "canon" and my position as a creator on the internet who has a direct line of communication with my audience. so, sorry for answering such a simply question with a long and winding ramble about the current state of storytelling, but I will get to your actual question.

for a long time, I answered questions over on @thebrightsessions tumblr about anything and everything people wanted to know about when it came to my characters. but as the show grew bigger, people started to take those answers as gospel truth, even when the only evidence of that "canon" was a tumblr post and not the show itself. I want people to do whatever they want with my world and characters and it started to feel as though sharing my thoughts about things was discouraging that or disappointing people in some way.

so now, I mostly keep answering those questions to the atypipals discord. the community there is pretty tight, so they get a lot of my secrets lol, as well as my uncensored thoughts on things because we've all agreed that what I say means absolutely nothing if it's not in the text! (nap of the author, we call it, because thankfully no one wants me dead).

ALL TO SAY, there are some strong assumptions to be made about the characters based on the show, even when their sexualities aren't explicitly stated. when you expand to include the canon novels, there's even more.

but, as far as I can recall, I think the only sexualities that are explicitly stated are (just including voiced characters in the podcast - the novels have a bunch more):

Mark is bisexual

Chloe is asexual (she's also panromantic, but I don't believe I ever use that word, simply mention that she has two exes names Alex, one boy and one girl)

Adam is gay

Sadie is straight

Rose is gay

...I think that's it? no one else claims a label, I don't think, but obviously there are several other characters who have same-sex relationships:

Caleb canonically pretty much is only into Adam

Sam dates both Mark and Mags

It is heavily implied that Oliver has a thing for Mark

It is explicitly stated in the books that Damien is in love with Mark

Frankie is a trans man who dates Caitlin, which I consider a queer relationship given Frankie is a member of the queer community

and then, of course, there are the characters that are never in a romantic relationship in the podcast or are only seen in heterosexual relationships - those sexualities are up to interpretation! that does mean I don't have a straight answer (pun intended) to the characters you asked about, because amongst those three, all we know is that Joan dated Owen and had a thing for Jackson.

I hope that's not too frustrating of an answer!

#lauren answers things #the bright sessions #character stats #<- that was my old tumblr tag on the TBS blog for this kind of thing #and there IS a post about this if you want to go digging #but it's a post about my original notes and I'm not sure if I'd stand by all of them #and obviously *I* have thoughts on the characters who I didn't answer about here #but I will keep those for the discord #also laurinia is cute #idk what inspired that nickname but I love being bestowed nicknames lol #i am SURE i forgot something #bc obviously I know the answers #but I can't remember what is an answer that just I know versus something in the text lol

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subeteaishite · 9 months ago

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🍎🦌 Ascensionsim 🍎🦌

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor/Lucifer

Rating: E, for explicit

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary:

Alastor revels in watching the King scramble for every crumb of attention he gives, and revels even more in the pain and heartbreak in Lucifer’s eyes each time he realizes the Radio Demon will never love him back.

Songfic for “Ascensionism” by Sleep Token

Notable Tags: NSFW, emotional manipulation, all hurt and no comfort, top!Alastor, bottom!Lucifer, heavy sadism and masochism, biting, blood drinking, blood as lube, wing-fingering, anal sex, scratching, mentions of cannibalism, and Alastor being a terrible person

Minors DNI

{Cross-posted on Ao3, show me some love there!}

Who made you like this?

Who encrypted your dark gospel in body language?

Moans permeated in the air, hanging heavy like the drunken haze that had overtaken the two bodies entangled on the luxurious, four-poster bed.

As a general rule, Alastor didn’t let anyone touch him, nor did he touch others if it could be avoided. The sensation of hands against his skin had always been laced with abuse, leaving his body haunted with the ghosts of pain well into his afterlife. Those specters played into his own motivations for touching others, a well-taught lesson in how to inflict that same abuse, but with far greater tact; how many people and demons alike had he killed with a feather-light caress of his lips or the back of his hand, the effortless movements the nectar that lured them into the maw of the pitcher plant? Mortal souls were so predictable. At their weakest, they always wanted the same thing: connection, affection, adoration. All things that Alastor never cared for, but was more than happy to exploit in others for his own personal gain or his own twisted enjoyment. There was nothing sweeter than watching that easily-fostered security wilt away into terror and regret, self-hatred for falling for the light of an anglerfish.

Even immortal souls shared the same vices, leading him to make such a rare exception to his own rule against touch. After all, the King of Hell was so downright vulnerable, it was delicious. Alastor was a simple sinner, with simple desires; desires to wound and rip into the flesh of anyone who dared to consider themselves superior to him, dared to be superior to him. Lucifer Morningstar was superior—he held a level of power, a command of sorcery, that Alastor knew he would never hope to achieve, and he hated the king for it. Resented him, tremendously. It wasn’t as though he kept that information a secret. He addressed Lucifer with outright hostility, seeking to undermine him at every turn, to flip the power dynamic of any interaction they engaged with to get the upper hand, to render him subordinate. Their encounters filled Alastor with a hunger, one that could only be sated by hunting the king as a predator would his prey, to corner him and taste that divine flesh for himself. It wasn’t as though Lucifer was oblivious to this; truthfully, he seemed to admire it, taking every opportunity to goad Alastor further, driving his appetite to spiral. It was almost like he was flirting, and Alastor was certainly the type to see an opportunity when it presented itself and use all manner of tools at his disposal to seize it.

Nobody better than the perfect enemy

Digital demons make the night feel heavenly

Lucifer knew better, yet here they were.

The sight below him was almost too much to bear as Alastor leaned up, cleaning the rose gold blood from his fingers with his tongue. The fallen angel was disheveled, to say the least; his golden hair tousled, his white blouse unbuttoned and bloodstained, his pants bunched up at the center of his thighs, just above his knees, underneath a cacophony of deep, oozing bite marks he’d left there. Alastor grazed his palm across his handiwork, digging a razor-sharp claw into one of the welts left by his fangs. Lucifer cried out in agony, but his face betrayed an opposite sentiment, glowing with ecstasy. He was a masochist, which paired far too well with the sadism all but written into Alastor’s genetic code. “More!” he whined, pleading with the sinner through half-lidded eyes. The deer happily obliged, twisting his wrist and exacerbating the incision, reveling in the way Lucifer’s body jerked, his hands grabbing onto Alastor’s fully-extended antlers for purchase, cheekbones illuminated by the faint, red glow of his eyes.

They only played in their purest demonic forms; it would be a pointless exercise otherwise. Their monstrous visages were the most accurate representations of who they really were, of the madness that lurked beneath the masks they tried so hard to maintain in mixed company. There was no need to keep up a pretense behind closed doors, not when they craved to indulge in the absolute worst of one another. Alastor pulled his finger from the wound, now made twice the size it had been previously, and smeared the blood across Lucifer’s lower lip. He leaned down to lap it up, his prey whimpering and inclining his head forward to make it a full-blown kiss; not that Alastor minded. It gave him the perfect opportunity to worry the man’s lip beneath his pointed teeth, drawing more of his sweet, practically addictive blood.

The Radio Demon’s hands whispered across Lucifer’s cock, the fallen angel twitching and gasping with each tiny caress. He was so sensitive when he was vulnerable like this, his stare betraying an emotion Alastor knew was there, but Lucifer would never speak into full form. It made him want to laugh as he thumbed at the slit, smearing precum across the head; to think, the King of Hell had fallen again, for someone so far below his status. How poetic, how predictable. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen in love with a human soul. Alastor wrapped his hand around the shaft, laying each digit against the fevered skin one by one, so agonizingly slowly that Lucifer’s hips bucked with each moment of new contact. He tightened his grip, flicking his wrist as he languidly moved his hand up and down at the perfect speed to make the king begin to fall apart beneath his palms.

These trysts had become so common for the two of them in the past few months. From the second they laid eyes on one another in the hotel, they believed they saw past each other’s charade. Lucifer, pretending to be a caring father—like he hadn’t spent the seven years since his wife left him wallowing in self-pity, not giving his daughter the slightest ounce of his mental energy, only getting in touch with her to slake off his responsibilities. Alastor, pretending to be a well-intentioned, civil hotelier—when in reality, he was only around to manipulate Charlie and everyone in her vicinity for his own selfish gain, a monster who found his greatest joy in watching others suffer, particularly those tried endlessly to do the right thing, only to fail. Their mutual disgust and disdain for one another had become a game of preying on each other’s weaknesses; Alastor’s gluttonous need to relish in the agony and flesh of others, Lucifer’s need for physical contact and emotional intimacy. They each came to the table thinking they were going to win, but Alastor knew he was the only one equipped for victory.

Tell me you met me in past lives, past life, past what might be eating me from the inside darling…

Half algorithm, half deity; glitches in the code or gaps in a strange dream?

Humans and angels both were made in the same mold, made to be images of a God who knew nothing but love—a love that Lucifer had muddied with his fingerprints and a few sets of bite marks on an apple. If Alastor could fill a human with infatuation, make them go against their better instincts to follow him to their final resting place in a shrouded wood, a fallen angel would be just as simple to manipulate. After all, they were modeled after the same Creator; there couldn’t be too many differences. He knew, the moment he agreed to this arrangement with the king, that after months of these encounters, Lucifer would fall in love with him; and he did, just as Alastor had predicted. Oh, he loved being right. It was truly intoxicating, stringing along someone who was in love with him. Watching them come to the realization, over and over again, that those feelings would never be reciprocated, but unable to prevent themselves from desperately accepting any shred of attention Alastor gave them, was a high unlike no other—a sumptuous feast of agony that, every so often, slaked his need to consume, consume, consume flesh and bone alike.

Alastor dragged the sharp point of his index finger around the base of Lucifer’s cock, down across his perineum, down even further to circle against the tight ring of muscle there. The disgraced seraphim bucked his hips downward, almost far too eager to indulge in carnal sin. The Radio Demon laughed, enthralled by how such a simple action could make the king squirm, make his mind start to go blank with desperation, lust, unadulterated desire. What a thing to experience—Alastor wouldn’t know what that was like, and he knew he never would. He didn’t want to, lest he end up vulnerable and exposed, writhing beneath the hands of someone as poorly-intentioned as himself.

“Please, just put it in—“

“Shut up.” Alastor withdrew his fingers, shoving them in Lucifer’s mouth with enough depth and force to make him choke; Alastor adored the feeling of the king’s throat convulsing around him. He briefly fantasized about those being the final twitches of the angel’s life—but if they were, would he ever have so much fun again? There would be no one else for him to play with that met his criteria, no other prey that would leave him truly satisfied—no one strong enough, no one with a high enough social station, for this weakness to be enthralling instead of pathetic. “You know you won’t get a thing otherwise.” He pumped his fingers in and out of Lucifer’s mouth, pleased with the way submission reflected in Lucifer’s demonic red eyes. He continued with that until he was content with the former seraphim’s demeanor, dragging his fingers across the king’s formerly pristine skin, now marred by the deep lacerations he’d left there with his teeth.

Alastor’s hand continued its slow crawl downward, blood gathering around his fingers, until it found that ring again, circling twice before beginning to press his middle finger in—more abruptly than any sane person would, not caring a bit for Lucifer’s comfort; the fallen angel wouldn’t like it if he did. He was providing far more compassion than in past encounters. Blood wasn’t the most effective lubricant, but it was better than nothing, more than he felt Lucifer even deserved. Lucifer seemed to enjoy the abrupt, thoughtless intrusion anyway, bucking his hips like a wild bull just to make that finger go in deeper, thrust faster; Alastor stilled the king’s movements and tore a scream from his throat all at once by adding two more fingers without warning, giving Lucifer a brief taste of blissful pain.

“Fuck! That—“

Alastor rolled his eyes; he hated the sound of Lucifer’s voice when those pretty lips formed words. He curled his fingers, the pointed tips of his claws grazing against a small bundle of nerves that completely cut off anything the angel was trying to say. He glanced up at Lucifer’s face, pleased to see that the simple motion had made his eyes cloud over with mindless lust, dragging him deep into a submissive headspace. He knew from previous experience that the king wouldn’t be speaking much anymore, at least coherently or in full sentences. He repeated the movement again, letting the pads of his fingers do the work this time, each stroke making Lucifer’s needy whine jump a few notes higher; the sound of Lucifer falling even harder, promising Alastor the continued entertainment of heartbreak and misery.

Alastor removed his hand, smoothing it across the litany of bite marks decorating Lucifer’s skin, smearing ichor around like paint on a canvas. Oh, how he wanted to bite in to that slight musculature, to pull and cut through muscle and sinew, down to the bone. Taking Lucifer apart emotionally was just a means to an end, foreplay for the event he truly wished to indulge in—literally, physically tearing Lucifer apart. It would occur in time, though he wondered how many more of these meetings it would take; how deep in love would the father of lies have to fall before he willingly gave up his flesh? As the question bounced around, repetitively, in Alastor’s mind, he pressed the tip of his member against Lucifer’s entrance, giving him only the slightest warning of what was next before he forced himself inside; only halfway on the first thrust, but even that was enough to make Lucifer’s spine arch so high off the mattress that Alastor was surprised it wasn’t followed with the beautiful percussion of snapping bone. A second thrust, a third, a fourth; Alastor was finally enveloped in the tight, white-hot warmth of his favorite prey.

Alastor stayed still, the head of his cock applying a constant pressure to Lucifer’s sweet spot, reveling in how the king himself twitched and convulsed around his length. His inky, black hands reflexively clenched and unclenched the bedsheets in the futile hope of keeping himself from falling further into subspace, past the point of no return. Lucifer was restraining himself, and Alastor wasn’t going to have that. He needed the king to fall harder for him, to inflame the torturous agony of unrequited love, to encourage him to give Alastor everything—his body, his flesh and bone; he withdrew from Lucifer’s shaking form only to immediately slam himself back in at full force, with enough momentum to fucking bruise the angel’s prostate. Lucifer screamed, leaving Alastor giddy as he watched the final flickers of rebellion fade away from his ruby eyes, replaced by a dazed, hazy look of unadulterated submission.

Tears welled in the corners of Lucifer’s eyes as Alastor established a rhythm that was brutal, punishing even. With each snap of the Radio Demon’s hips, the king’s moans grew lower and lighter, more infrequent, the angel so overstimulated he was rendered practically mute, at least momentarily. Good. The further Lucifer’s mind fell into that liminal space, the further he would fall into those insipid feelings of love; the further he fell, the sooner Alastor would get to use his teeth to rend and tear, to make Lucifer suffer physically just as he suffered emotionally. He closed his hands around the king’s throat, craning his neck down to lick away the tears that had begun to track down his cheeks, salt and pleasure and sadness intermingled into one. “What a good boy you are for me, cher,” Alastor growled, his brows knit together as a result of his own pleasure, eyes half-lidded and watching Lucifer with equal parts hunger and nefarious intent. “So talented at debauchery, so willing to embrace sin—it was your finest creation.”

Lucifer’s eyes snapped open, leveling a stern glare at the demon hovering over him; the comment had clearly pissed him off, and he was able to maintain that fiery annoyance despite the way Alastor was able to make him see stars with every collision of his cock into his prostate. “It—ahhh, fuck—it wasn’t sin,” he argued. “Th-that’s what—oh, god, please—that’s what y-you shitty humans—ahhhh!—chose t-t-to do—“

“What’s the matter, can’t use your words?” Alastor goaded, like he was paying no attention at all to what Lucifer said. “That’s alright, you’re much cuter when you can’t speak.” The fallen angel looked slightly wounded at the comment, once again acknowledging how Alastor didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t care in the slightest what he had to say. It must hurt—being in love with someone and knowing they prefered you when you were silent. Alastor pressed down harder on Lucifer’s throat, acutely aware of how the king’s pulse thrummed invitingly beneath his palm; he wanted to rip apart the thin flesh above his jugular and bathe in that sickeningly sweet ichor. He pulled out of Lucifer, the tip of his cock resting slightly against that ring of muscle, and commanded: “Flip over.”

The king was wholly obedient, immediately gathering his wits about him enough to do as Alastor ordered, rolling onto his stomach and bracing himself on his hands and knees—even though it was difficult, even though he was trembling so hard, he wondered if he’d be able to support his own body weight when Alastor chose to re-enter him. Lucifer gave Alastor a sultry look over his shoulder, but the sinner didn’t even notice; he was more transfixed by the six diagonal, narrow slits that ran down Lucifer’s spine at the center of his back, three on each side. Oh, how he wanted to dip his fingers into those crevices and pull, but he wouldn’t. Lucifer would have to beg for it, eventually; Alastor was damned and determined to drive him to that point. He ran a single, long finger between those openings, summoning a thin rivulet of blood. As he leaned down to lick up its length, he roughly slammed back into Lucifer and the angel howled.

The new position allowed him to fuck rougher, deeper, and Alastor could hear that Lucifer’s moans had turned into tearful sobs of ecstasy. Reaching forward, he grabbed a fistful of Lucifer’s hair, twisting harshly to keep his head at an awkward, uncomfortable angle, looking over his shoulder so Alastor could admire the mindless expression on his face. Alastor’s mouth watered, black drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he watched the angel cry in rapture, wondering in the back of his mind if this was the same expression he would make as Alastor tore him limb from limb, savoring the taste and texture of his divine flesh. The thoughts alone sent the deer into a frenzy, his hips pistoning at twice the pace; Lucifer’s brain seemed to short-circuit and switch off behind his glowing red eyes, and he whimpered and moaned as he could think of nothing but the pleasure being given to him. Alastor could read the emotion behind his pupils, as he’d seen it multiple times before; love. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with driving himself to completion, or fantasizing about how orgasmic it would feel to finally consume the king below him, he would have cackled in sadistic glee.

The hand in Lucifer’s hair violently shoved his face into the mattress, while the claws of his free hand fingered the slits where Lucifer’s wings emerged. The former seraphim’s entire body spasmed around Alastor’s fingers, around his cock, tensing so tightly that Alastor feared he might lose himself posthaste. But he reigned himself in, if only to dive his fingers in and out of those small openings to make Lucifer cry out in an addictive mixture of pleasure and pain. “St-sto—“ Alastor dug one claw in deeper, and Lucifer’s word was cut off with a wail. He repeated the movement again and again, deducing by the way each of Lucifer’s whimpers grew higher in pitch that he was close—and Alastor didn’t even have to touch his cock to get him there this time.

“That’s it, cher,” Alastor purred, maintaining the tempo he’d set with his hips and his hands. “Lose yourself for me, Lucifer. Fall for me.”

Alastor’s urging was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Lucifer gripped the bedsheets so hard he tore them, just like his orgasm tore through him. The Radio Demon laughed this time, unable to suppress the humor he felt at seeing the King of Hell so vulnerable, so debauched, in absolute shambles beneath him. Lucifer had tightened impossibly further around him when he came, and it only took a few more fast, hard thrusts before Alastor reached his peak as well. Unlike Lucifer, though, he didn’t emit a single sound, retaining his composure even through the high of his orgasm; he didn’t want to be as affected as the man below him, he did want to show how truly in control he was, after all. The two stayed there, twined together, for a brief moment, until Alastor pulled out, watching with the slightest hint of pride as his seed dripped out of the fallen angel. It was as though he was claiming his territory, an indication that this man would be his next meal—if he ever finished toying with him.

The Radio Demon was quick to extricate himself from Lucifer. He snapped his fingers and his shadow came forth with a towel, allowing him to clean himself off well enough to start redressing in seconds. Alastor offered no such courtesy to his bedmate, who laid half-catatonic on his sheets for a few seconds before trying to right himself into a sitting position. The deer had already started pulling his jacket back on and re-straightening his tie when Lucifer asked, “Um…Alastor? Would you, ah, like to stay the night?”

Alastor laughed, the sound full of mockery and derision. “And be caught leaving the King’s palace in the morning? Mm, no, I think not.” He picked up his microphone with a flourish of his wrist, stealing a glance at himself in Lucifer’s dresser mirror. Despite everything that had just happened, he still looked impeccable, as though he hadn’t just spent the last two hours of his afterlife railing Lucifer into his mattress, fighting back his own primal urges to turn his fuckbuddy into dinner. All good things came to those who waited, after all.

Lucifer’s face fell, disappointed. “Oh, I…I see. Yeah, you’re probably right…” his voice was forlorn, clearly upset by Alastor’s unwillingness to stay. No one ever stayed, and that was an insecurity Alastor would be a fool not to play with; it made the times he did come around even more effective, breadcrumb by breadcrumb. “It would get people talking…”

“Splendid!” Alastor chirped. “You’re a smart man, I knew you’d see it my way!” His smile widened imperceptibly with joy and entertainment as he watched how Lucifer’s heart seemed to crack behind his piercing, red eyes. The fallen angel gave him a sad, desperate look as Alastor faded into the shadows, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until Lucifer gave him what he wanted—the last bargaining chip he had to make the Radio Demon stay.

So I’ll take what I want and leave.

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runawaymarbles · 1 year ago

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I want to believe that the Secret Gospel of Mark is legit so so bad you guys. Can you imagine.

#op #secret gospel of mark #for today's lucky 10000 it's referenced in a letter from Clement and supposedly contains a scene where Jesus resurrects a young man #and the young man falls in love with him and they conduct intricate rituals all night #however that letter was probably forged in the 1950s #but like. imagine.

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therealslimshakespeare · 1 year ago

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Like Lightening

Summary: A Snapshot of Elvis and Elaine, newly married, hardly satiated, very in love

Warnings: 18+ entirely made up of fluff and smut and fluffy smut, sorry to the sweet ask -this got a bit off track. We don’t have them going at it like bunnies herein so much as alluding to that having been happening and determined to continue. What we do have is a lotta smutty thoughts, breeding kink, innocence kink, oral sex fem receiving, unkosher usage of baby oil, the very beginning of penetrative sex, some begging and dirty talk…most importantly we’ve got a bit of body consciousness, Elaine is slightly embarrassed by her new stretch marks and her pretty husband sets out to show her they’re incredibly cool

Word count: 5k

Hope you enjoy sweet anon, so sorry your original ask got eaten by tumblr, I hope this notification finds you!

Elaine had taken to water calisthenics classes at the Elders Club in Killeen Texas out of sheer need to move without dying of heatstroke. Swelling each day into a fluffy little matron, Elaine made house for Elvis on base one month after the next as May and then June and then July ticked on by in a sweltering dust cloud. And, whenever she wouldn’t be missed, the new Mrs Presley dashed to the pool and swam with the grandmas.

It drew a bit of a crowd, this swimming of hers, and Elvis, sympathetic and prouder than anything, took it upon himself to order from the catalogs the very best and loveliest and most advantageous swimsuits to accommodate his wife’s growing belly and plush breasts to their best advantage. He also threatened crushed jugulars and broken spines if any of his army buddies so much as drove by the dinky place for a peek at his ripe little woman.

Truth be told the larger she grew, the more evident her condition, the fruit of his loins obvious to the world, the more Elvis’ excitement for her grew. If breaking her innocence had proven more tantalizing in theory than practice and if her submission had been a versatile thing he found himself often teetering under the sway of, this, her ripening form, was one fantasy that matched his dreams.

In the early morning her plush body wrapped beside his was the only thing dragging him out of bed for basic and to watch her clip clop about in heels and a ever stretched apron while serving him breakfast was a sorta dream state of things he hadn’t dared hope would be as perfect as it was in reality. All that sickly pallor and nausea of the early months had vanished in its place he had a freckle-nosed bride shimmying into dresses increasingly too fitted. Zippers groaned and buttons popped in their little house on base and Elvis gloried in it, sat on the edge of his bed and watched her dressing struggles with splayed thighs and appreciative groans. He reveled in putting his hands on her to aid her and glutted at what he’d done to her fresh little self. He liked to tease her to “suck in” when her bust no longer fit in her old dresses.

“You’re carryin’ my whole world” he told her time and again, whispering it into her ear and squeezing her tight. He sang to his babies and they quited, he read to them from the Gospels and they kicked: “just like the John the Baptist” and in the latter months when he’d teasingly mimic a babe's cry when snuggling his wife, her breasts would begin to leak.

And now the swimsuits. Graduating up one size after another in these later months, Laney had packed on a bit of tush along with her belly and tits and the sway of it, atop long stems sat upon pretty footsies in heeled sandals, drove Elvis and half his army mates wild. See, after awhile, the secret was out and the other army wives came to swim, too. And their husbands became over eager to pick them up after class.

Threats be damned. Elaine Presley was sweet and pretty and often made chit chat with their wives and babies, towel slung uselessly over her shoulders and pool droplets running from her clavicle to the never-never-land of her bosoms when she bent to kiss a child or two goodbye. Just lanky enough to require a bend, that lady, and just affectionate enough to not content herself with head pats.

Dodger observed these things and pondered them but kept her mouth shut, sat like a disapproving crow under a umbrella and sipping gin and tonics after Elaine had insisted they wouldn’t kill her. Elaine liked to press the cold glasses to her throat when playing Bingo on the patio chairs. Eileen Macdermot went home, scandalized, one day at the way the girl splayed her legs over the side of the lounger, like a primitive or else - a man.

These things filling her days and bothering neither of the newlyweds much, if at all, Elvis had come home one evening to the smell of pork chops and gravy and no Laney in his kitchen. Their house was tiny with few rooms and after inspecting the empty single bedroom he proceeded into their bathroom and found her there, stripping out of her sodden swimsuit.

It was black, with lemons on it and white polka dots intermingled and it paired so well with her tanned skin and white headband that Elvis groaned aloud at the sight and spooked his wife who didn’t suspect him home.

“Lord, Elvis-“ She clutched her chest and heaved in a breath, smile breaking out as soon as her shock calmed, “-you’re home early.”

He wrapped a hand around the doorframe and practically lounged against it as much a person could lounge while standing, while vertical, stupid, giddy grin in place. She was halfway through stripping and there was something so very domestic, jarringly normal and almost raw about seeing his swim pink wife in a modest chipped tile bathroom of a single bedroom house, swollen and barefoot. Just one more regular American housewife among many in a tidy row of white picket fenced army accommodations.

Playing house, it was moments like these when it hit him just real enough to taste a dream and chew it and swallow it down till it fizzled out his fingers and mouth in a hunger fueled by gratitude. This wasn’t gonna last forever, not the normality of basic training or the ruthless hours of not belonging to himself, this too would pass he told himself when it got awful. But so would these precious days of just the two of them, Laney alone to putter around their house and think only of him and he to come home to her with only her on his mind and in his arms.

“Elvis?” she prodded again when he barely managed more than a soothing, faraway humm of greeting when she calmed.

“Yes Mrs. Presley?” he asked, doorframe digging into his cheek, wondering when she was going to drop the lovely sweetheart neckline she was clutching to those creamy tits that heaved under his stare like she didn’t endure such admirations regularly.

“A-are you going to-“ she was oddly hesitant, his pretty wife tonight, she’d been a bit voracious recently as the health came back to her but maybe it was just the fright.

“Am I gonna what, babydoll?” he asked softly, eyes flicking up to meet hers and he saw a little panic brewing in their warm depths. “Why, what’s this, huh? Caught ya at something?” he teased her, genuinely unsure of what was amiss and why she still clutched the soggy suit to her goose pimpled skin. “You’re gonna get cold, shuggums.” he straightened up and moved towards her, army boots mashing down the pretty green pile of the bathroom rug.

She stepped back reflexively before catching herself and giving a forced little laugh and shrug, a shrug that was very hampered in it’s carefree intentions with the way her arms crisscrossed over her chest. Perhaps he’d been too eager for her lately, he thought with self chastising consternation, perhaps she was flighty from soreness or neglect of more cerebral pursuits or maybe it was bad news from home.

“Is everything alright?” he finally asked, grave and soft spoken.

“Oh yes I was just-“ she mumbled, gesturing to the pink marbled countertop and its bottle of baby oil and pearlescent nail polish “-about to moisturize. The pool, the chlorine it…I’ve become itchy lately after going in. Doctor said it was normal, stretching and such but-“ she raised her eyes to his and they looked so young without the coal lining of cosmetics, sometimes he forgot his Tink wasn’t an ancient love goddess, just a sweet and unsure teenage girl. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

It didn’t make sense why her tone would be apologetic about that. He was early and she was industrious, dinner already baking and even if she hadn’t -they’d been making such ravenous love of late that often they ate charred remains of her carefully made meals or else opted for burgers at the joint in town. There’d been no apologies then; why now?

“C’mere babeh, lemme help.” he drawled and before she knew it he’d slinked across to her and laid his warm hand on her chilled shoulders.

Such lovely, large hands, they spanned her shoulders and a clavicle each, thumbs meeting like a little talisman adornment at the hollow of her throat. Seconds before he even did it she could predict the soothing swipe of his thumbs there, and so he did, and like clockwork she found herself taking in a larger breath, one that expanded her chest and made her clutched swimsuit a little obviously absurd. She used the breath he’d given her to let out a sigh of defeat.

“I’ve been growing.” she admitted rather resignedly and at this admittance Elvis had to check himself from nodding in furious, appreciative agreement, there was invisibly some catch here and in his own enjoyment of her ‘state’ he tried his damndest to recall it must be uncomfortable at best, growing and stretching and creating life inside one’s guts. Hell he wanted to die sometimes from too many sandwiches, how much fuller she must feel, about ready to burst with kids.

So he restrained his enthusiasm and nodded encouragingly. “Mhmm.”

“All perfectly normal, doctor says it is and others too, all the others say so. Nothing out of the ordinary and I was expecting it. Yet still, it’s quite-“ Elaine trailed off on this long prelude and Elvis held his breath lest his concern leach into impatience.

“Buuuuut?”

“But it doesn’t lessen that it’s quite ugly.” Once decided upon a course she finished up quite tidily but Elvis found himself further confused.

“What is, baby?” he asked, bewildered. “What’s ugly?”

“This.” she gestured resignedly at her belly and scratched the clinging nylon, her skin irritated from the pool.

“Don’t, stop that.” he chided softly, knowing it would make it worse and caught her waists in his hands, swaying them between them gently. “I don’t know what you’re on about but let’s get oil on there so you ain’t so prickly.” he suggested and let go of her hands, dropping them gently before raising his hands to her shoulders again and sensuously trailing his fingertips over the swell of her breasts till he met lemons and polka dots, and peeled the material down away ever so gently. “How’d you plan on hidin’ from me?” he asked her as the pert darlings came into view with the enlarged areolas and lengthening nipples.

“I wasn’t planning!” Elaine protested, biting her lip as he tugged further “It just- it showed up out of nowhere and it’s-“

He’d managed to peel the thing over half her ponderous belly, uncovering her belly button, when he caught sight of something entirely new. Red with a tinge of silver, a split, a crack, a bolt, scarred across her navel, running up and down -straight as a proper zig zag.

“Well. Goddamn.” he breathed, sitting back on his heels to take it in. His hand shook a little as he laid his palm on the stretch mark, an awed expression on his face as it was nearly the length of his whole hand. “Why, goddamn Tink,” he repeated, marveling, “you’ve got yourself an honest to God lightnin’ bolt on yous.”

Like her belly were heaven and in the paying of her dues for such a miracle as two lives with one body, it had been rent like a sheet. His stomach churned, something a little worshipful filling him. He took his hand away, marveling at the perfect design.

A lightning bolt. That’s not at all what Elaine expected from him, some kindness and maybe even relieving indifference, she anticipated that despite her embarrassment, but awe wasn’t on the cards. “I guess it rather does look like…that.”

“Looks like Shazam done paid you a visit, lil mama.” he nodded enthusiastically and Elaine laughed before she could help herself, thinking it funny her naked state was suddenly a costume in his mind. “Don’t you see it?” he crunched down to his knees and took her still suit clad hips in his hands and turned her towards the mirror.

“I-I suppose it bears some resemblance.” she muttered with distaste at the sight of it only more angry and prominent since the pool. “It’s a horrid color, looks like an scar already-“

“-oh hush up it’s amazing.” Elvis swatted her backside with his hand and she yelped, the jangle of his watch chain familiar as was his grinning face at belly level. “You’re mama’s all down on herself,” he loudly whispered to the babies inside her house, “don’t appreciate the fact she’s lookin’ like an gen-u-ine superhero. I know how to solve that.” he muttered darkly and Elaine felt him gather her hands again and he placed one in the counter for stability before he yanked the rest of her wet costume off, letting it pool round her ankles and helping her disentangle it.

“What are you going to do?” she asked with some trepidation as she stood fully naked before his keeling, uniformed, booted figure.

“Gonna convince ya.” he stated sure of himself before reaching for her nail polish, the pearlescent, silver shimmer of it drawing his eye like a magpie. “Gold would suit better, but between you’n’me doll, we’ll assume it’s platinum.” he murmured conspiratorially before giving her a solemn wink and unscrewing the cap.

Before she could worry for his trousers, he didn’t carry her foot to his knee and paint her toes. No. Instead he brought the tiny brush and its icy paint to her belly and began to swipe it along the design of her recent marring. Elaine gasped at the chill and in shock of his ingenuity, the tongue bitten concentration on his pretty face and the way his free hand splayed on her skin like an artist’s beside its canvas, anchoring his work.

Tink was yet a new little thing, barely broken into the art of the marriage bed and now accommodating his children, her bred little body hadn’t yet widened in all the ways it would eventually come labor. Her hips were beginning to comically expand whereas her waist in the back remained tapered and gave her a nearly illustrated quality to her proportions, that Elvis had begun to obsess over watching in the mirror when he was taking her.

Everything about her was ripe and taut and now this. He found his eyes going glossy and he tried to finish his painting in a tidy manner, his groin pusing distractingly beneath the material of his slacks as he worked lower, catching a whiff of her own interest in those soft curls.

He could almost taste her by memory.

He pulled away and surveyed his work, immensely pleased with the glistening silver lightning bolt stamped across his children's abode.

“It’ll smear with the oil.” was all she said, soft, distant.

“Then we’ll have to let it dry.” he decided, letting his fingers trace up the backs of her shapely thighs, appreciating soft flesh and toned ridges. He gave it some thought before he pursed his lips and blew. His cold breath blasted against the freezing polish and Elaine felt herself start, a gush of arousal puddling between her lips, almost burning at her entrance as she tried to clench it shut, keep some demureness in the face of it all. She thought she’d caught him sniffing, it wouldn’t do to have her legs a running mess with her need.

But the chilled ghosting of his breaths, the tantalizing burn of his fingertips’ trail- they made her throb and Elaine let out a helpless little moan, shifting on the pink rug in restless wanting.

“What’s that, baby honey?” he asked softly, looking up at her equal parts eager and questioning. “Makin’ you feel funny?”

“It’s the oddest sensation.” she shivered.

“What’s it make you want?”

“You.”

“Which’aways?”

“All of the ways.” she giggled bashully and stared at her swollen reflection and his at faucet level in the mirror, kneeling still. She chose to put her foot on the counter top, opposite hand balancing against the wall, “Elvis, won’t you lick me, please?” she asked.

“Since you ask so nicely.” he whispered, “And since you hold the power of a million universes.” he gestured to her belly once more before ducking his head running his nose along the seam of her slit, nudging her nosing like a puppy.

He hadn’t even kissed her mouth in greeting. He regretted that before opening his poofy lips and beginning to caress her pretty pink labia like he was smooching a lover. A gush let out against his chin, she must’ve been keeping that to herself for some time, there was too much of it. As was the pained moan that followed as her cunt clenched around nothing at his expert manipulations and teases. He opened his jaw and gathered as much of her in as he could before closing his mouth and sucking, amused at the sounds of shock she made as he swirled her, guarding her from his teeth, just his tongue and lips and the hot inferno of his mouth turning her to puddy.

He reached into his pants pocket and adjusted himself, and finding the need to touch too strong to ignore, he kept his hand there and jostled his stick and balls like a boy, moaning further into the taste of her as she came down from her high. She tasted different since pregnancy, and of late, was wet at whim. Elaine was as puzzled and shocked by the changes in her own body as he was, and it gave Elvis immense satisfaction to further surprise her with what he could draw from it. It drove him mad, this shock of hers, and he flattened his tongue and gave her a few parting, broad strokes to collect his winnings as she shoved at his shoulders in helpless, sensitive distress, yelping and shuttering and her propped leg kicking the bottle of oil over and off the counter.

He caught it before it hit the ground without even pulling his face from her muff. Elaine giggled again at his skill before whining at his repeated attempts to slurp at her sensitivity.

“You still gots an itch, lil mama?” he asked her, finally pulling away and looking up at her from under the dome of her belly, his hands planted on hips and his face aglow with her pleasure.

“I do.” she whined breathily, slumping against the wall.

He neared her again with his face and she questioned his motive the whole way until he stuck out his tongue and tried the nail polish on her belly. “S’dried.” he informed her as if he hadn’t just done a stupid thing and then with a decisive nod of his head, swiftly rose back to his full height and presented his hand to her.

“You come with me now, and I’ll tend to it.” he said and, meek as a lamb, Elaine put her little hand into his sticky one and he tugged her into the bedroom, oil bottle in hand. “If we’d been bad, mamas, if we’d been real naughty like, if I’d been a lil less good to ya, we’d be a couple of young folks new married and you swellin’ and barely a pan on the stove or a mattress on much else but floor. We wouldn’t be playin’ house in this lil shack, we’d be livin’ it and barely makin’ it.” he explained to her and Elaine was confused by his meaning, his analogy too, and where this was coming from, but pliant and tripping over her own feet from post orgasmic clumsiness, she chose not to question it, assumed it was play acting of sorts as he led her to the foot of their bed and sat himself down on the floor, still holding her hand. “But even then, Laney baby,” he glowed up at her with a bright, crooked grin on his slick face, “even if we was poor as dirt, I’d invest in a mirror so I could watch that tight lil snatch under your pretty belly swallowing me down like it’s got hunger pains.”

Elaine whirled around and stared at the mirror opposite the bed, positioned lovingly in the tiny space of a walkway where she might view the effect of her outfits and he might straighten his uniform, but perhaps more intentionally, it was placed opposite the bed where Elvis managed to configure them most times in some manner and at some point in their lovemaking so that they were near the foot of the bed and he might watch. Recently Elaine had come to enjoy the nearly lewd prospect of her growing body being gripped and kneaded and caressed, the unarguable beauty of it in the reflected image convincing her of prettiness she herself did not always feel.

The act, him, her responses to them both -they were all still new to her and now this, this pregnancy and the surprise of a million unexpected things.

Surveying themselves in the mirror she thought he looked a bit more debauched than herself, fully dressed though he was. He sat on the floor like a drunk, pussy dazed and loose, legs splayed and collar wet, pit stains prominent and swollen outline bulging in his pants. In his dishevelment he looked worse news than her wholesome nakedness and she licked her lips at the thought that it wasn’t at all wrong to indulge in such a dangerous fella. He belonged to her, and she to him.

“Did you ever think about it, Elvis?” she asked eagerly, her face aflame.

“Think of what, darlin?” he murmured, lazily undoing his fly and pulling himself out, pumping his fat pink member with an elegant pump of his wrist, ogling her appreciatively like she was a poster looming above him and not a living woman stepped between his thighs.

It made her drip. Elaine could feel the slick down to her knee, a stray dribble escaping her curls. Since marrying, since rubbing shoulders with other married women and being allowed into the gossipy little circles on base, she had begun to grow an inkling of awareness that her case was rather special. It was true, all couples made love, most couples had children, and plenty of couples were in love. But there were extracurriculars, such as she had been led to believe quite common in her own marriage, that were rarely mentioned by others, and if so, done with scandalized and hurried admittance. Elaine had begun to notice that while plenty of men liked their wives, wanted their wives even, there was a peculiar singleness of focus to her husband‘s interest in her that was not matched by others. Why, she’d even become aware of men’s magazines and the reasons for their existence, and yet never had seen one in her husband‘s possession, although she had awoke plenty of times to the sight of him pleasuring himself over her sleeping form, or as he was now, unabashedly admiring his view. She was in essence, both fantasy and form for him.

It was enough to make any woman proud and wet.

“Think of what?” he repeated with a laugh and an edge to his voice, looking up at her under an arch brow.

Elaine snapped out of her daydream and stepped up to him, enjoying the way his hands cupped the back of her knees, a little tickle, his head leaned back against the mattress. “Did you ever think to -think of…taking me sooner?” she asked, carding her fingers through his hair. “Ruining me early?” she smiled at the thought, at how clueless and helpless she’d have been if one of those nights on the den floor at Graceland during their short engagement, if one of those times he had rolled atop her - her sleeping father be damned - and had his way. It wasn’t his style but she wondered, what with the way Elvis could barely make it to the wedding, now that she knew what she knew, she wondered. In another world, would she have been a plundered little thing and he a dutiful young bachelor with a set of twins in need of a baptism to cover their conception?

“Thought of it every goddamn night.” he admitted earnestly, “Ruined a couple dozen pants over it.”

“No!”

“Mhmm.”

“Heavens. But never- you never-“

“-not while I was with ya. Bad as I wanted it.” he tisked, “I done told ya, you’re special baby. I was savin’ ya, couldn’t have brought myself to it, had plans for ya.”

Those plans of his were kicking and rolling in her belly as her heart rate sped up with the gentle trailing of his fingers over her thighs and the sight of his bobbing cock, jutting out from his uniform pants.

“I see.” Elaine simpered and pressed her palms to his own, swaying over him before he tugged her down, doing a pretty, clumsy little split over his lap. He groaned at the contact and the sight of her bare backside in the mirror.

“I missed ya today, Mrs. Presley.” he informed her as always and Elaine was grinning when he slotted his mouth against hers in a long overdue lover’s greeting.

Elaine blithely allowed him his smooching way across her throat and the swell of her decollage as she set to undoing his tie with loving firmness, and then stripping the pungent material of his worn shirt off his shoulders and at last tugging his trousers further down which broke his kisses contact and caused much protest. She stayed firm however, insisting that painting her belly with polish was one thing, but if he thought she was going to risk baby oil stains on that uniform, he had another thing coming.

“Your supposition bein’ that I’ll be in some position for stainin’!” he protested as if she were the one with all the wiles and meddlesome ideas.

“What plans did you have for it?” She asked dryly, crouched at his feet and yanking his boots off with much eagerness and little finesse.

“I intended to slather it on my wife.”

“Funny how what’s slathered on me always ends up slathered on you.” she pondered with a pretentious finger to her lips before she was tugged back atop his now bare lap, and spun so that she could lean against his chest.

“S’not always slathered.” he rebuts in a low tone, his voice gone intimate at the new position and their bare cuddling. Elvis hooked his chin over her shoulder and petted the lightening bolt gleaming so well in the mirror, the late summer’s sun beaming through the slanted blinds. He should close them before he did what he intended, before they got nekid in the first place, but if they were just any ole new couple there’d be no need with being off the road and the blinds partially drawn.

He squeezed her harder and reached for the oil. “S’not always slathered, sometimes I manage to get it real nice’n’deep, don’t I?”

Elaine sucked in a shaky breath as she felt him shift beneath her in his reach, the hot, eager firmness of him cradled under her cunt lips. She felt their privates begin to pulse in unison.

“Don’t I?” he asked her, one oily hand splayed low on her belly and the other gripping her jaw.

“Yes.” Elaine moaned, her head lolling back against his shoulder so she might keep his gaze.

His hand began to move again.

Slathering.

“Hmm?”

“Yes, daddy.” she whispered, and saw him smirk in satisfaction.

Witchcraft, it was, the way his hand could go through all the same motions as before but like a switch flipped, his own intent could bleed into his touch and suddenly he had gone from tending her stretched skin to driving her mad, oil and warmth spreading all over her, her breasts shining, her shoulders shining, her thighs aglow and golden.

Shining, all of her.

Elvis hooked his hands under her knees and spread her legs, bent and wide, feet settled far apart on either side of his own thighs. She could see little Elvis twitching futilely against his thigh, glossy, shiny, leaking oil himself. She cupped them both and did some slathering herself, wiping his arousal up her slit, rubbing his head and her puffy bud with her fingertips, the both of them moaning and whimpering in unison at the tease.

“Baby, baby let’s…let’s…” he was saying urgently and she pulled her hand away at his direction, allowing him to bring the bottle between their legs.

She felt that patter of drops against her clit and the silky run of it down to his cock. She ached, back arched and hips grinding against him like she could start a fire with the friction if she moved insistently enough.

“I-I-I want it!” she begged, overcome and her neck straining as she tilted her face to the ceiling. Waterstains patterned the white paint and she squeezed her eyes shut in a exstastic grimace as she felt him pull at his cock and tap it, all oily slapping, at her spread petals. “Elvis, please, please put it in.”

“Mm, m’not sure you’re slick enough.” he disagreed slyly, rubbing his glans against her fiery little hole as her legs kicked out in frustration. She knew he was staring in the mirror at his handiwork without even having to glance there herself. She squinted harder and aimed a thrust downwards, catching him. It was bend or enter. She had him, it took great willpower to hide her smirk as his breath gusted against her cheek.

“My baby still got an itch?” he asked softly, his large hand cupping their joining, just the tip of him snug and cozy inside her swollen channel.

“Yeah.”

“Where?” Elvis rumbled in her ear.

She took his shiny hand and spread it low on the lightening bolt, “Here, real deep.” Elaine whispered, “Right hyer.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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@powerofelvis

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@elvisabutler

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koolades-world · 4 months ago

Text

Spellbound Secrets

chapter four: light in the dark

synopsis: The House of Lamentation caught fire one night, and you were the only one they recovered from the wreckage. The brothers were in the house as well when you went to bed that night, but they were nowhere to be found. The pact marks are faded, and seem to be getting more and more indefinite by the day. You and Solomon get to investigating but oddly enough, nobody can seem to remember the missing brothers. It’s up to you, with the help of Solomon, to find your beloved demons, lest you never see them again.

authors note: nothing to say this time. enjoy <3

Behind the both of you was Simeon and Luke. You'd hoped to have kept your little shopping adventure with Solomon hidden solely for the reason that you'd have to explain yourself. There was nothing wrong with the toothbrush you had now, and was still in decent condition. But, you felt almost ashamed to try and explain the mental barrier you felt nobody else would understand.

"Hey there, you two!" Solomon stood in front of you and waved. He held the basket behind him. You tried to tug it from his grip, but he was unrelenting. You gave up pretty quickly and instead peaked out at Simeon and Luke from around his arm.

"Hey there yourself. If you needed us to pick up anything, you could've just asked. I thought we were under an unspoken agreement that Mc needed rest." Simeon gave the both of you a stern, motherly look with his arms crossed. The way Luke looked over to the older angel and copied him would be adorable if you weren't the one under the fire of his scorn.

"We just wanted to get some fresh air and remembered we'd forgotten to tell you about a few things we needed. So, instead of bothering you, we just decided to make the quick trip ourself. The last thing we want is either of us going stir crazy, anyways." You'd have to remember to thank Solomon later. His quick words softened Simeon up.

"Alright. Just, please let me know you're headed out next time. You of all people would know best about how alert we are right now, Solomon." Simeon uncrossed his arms. Luke followed suit after glancing at him several times through the corner of his eye. He nodded along to Simeon's words like gospel.

"Sure thing. See you back at the house. Don't forget popcorn for the movie tonight. We didn't get any yesterday." Just like the interaction had started, it ended. Solomon whisked you away and into an isle far away from the two angels. Solomon went back to shopping as normal.

"Thank you." You said timidly.

"It was nothing." He turned his back and spun back around with two different colored towels in his hands. "Which color do you like more?" You were a little confused, since you'd only asked for a toothbrush.

"The blue one?" You pointed to a blue that reminded you of the toothbrush you'd just picked out. He put the blue towel in his basket and put the other one back. He kept power walking with determination, so all you could do was trail behind him, befuddled.

"Solomon, I don't understand." You reached out and put a hand on his arm.

"About what?" He stopped again, this time in the section with soap.

"What is all this for?" You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking hard.

"You, of course. Who else?" He stated that fact like it was common knowledge.

"But why?" You asked.

"Well, you asked for a new toothbrush for a specific reason, so I thought you'd also want to replace your other toiletries too. Now, which scent of this soap do you prefer?" Solomon pointed at a couple of elegant sounding scents. Right now though, you could care less about that. You caged him in a hug and squeezed as tight as your arms would allow. He chuckled and wrapped his free arm around you to hug back as best as he could.

He let you hold the hug for as long as you wanted. "We still have a couple more things to buy. Come on." The two of you continued your shopping. Just because, the two of you bought some cookies to enjoy later that evening. Once you got home, the first thing you did was brush your teeth. It was refreshing, to say the least. While you were there, you decided to shower as well. Thanks to a spell taught to you by Solomon, you had no need to remove the bandages or worry about them getting wet. It didn't grant you the mobility you once had, but it was better than nothing, and totally beat not being able to shower at all.

Once you were out of the shower, Solomon was already back in the library, sorting through the books. He stopped once he heard the door open, and shut the book after placing a bookmark between the pages. "How was your shower?" He got up from his seat on the floor.

"Energizing! I'm ready to keep searching." You moved to sit on the floor again, but Solomon stopped you.

"I actually thought we might eat the cookies we bought earlier? I have a couple things I want to discuss with you anyways." He moved aside a couple books allowing you to see the cookie container on the table.

"I appreciate the thought, but we're supposed to eat dinner in less than two hours. Aren't you worried about Simeon scolding us?" You sat down on the couch regardless and picked up a cookie.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him." The sly grin on his face summed up his mischievous nature well.

"Alright, that aside, what did you want to talk about?" You asked.

"I thought a little more about what our next course of action should be once we get through all these books. We just started, but it never hurts to plan." He explained. "If we can't find anything useful here, I think I know another place we could check." You nodded along.

"And that is?" It was very like Solomon to drag things out, and make you wonder, even if it wasn't for too long.

"My home in the human world!" He smiled again. His statement sent you reeling.

"You have a house?" You were mystified, to say the least. Your response was a little funny to think about.

"Where did you think I lived before the exchange program?" He turned that impish smirk back to you again between bites.

"I dunno. I guess I never thought about that." You responded, thinking about what he'd said. You had many questions, but that could be revisited later.

"Once you're feeling good enough to travel, and we get the blessing of our housemates, I figured we could take as long as we needed up there. I have my own personal library that could be of use, as well as couple other things that come to mind." He informed you.

"How long do you think it'll be before we go?" The prospect of headed back to the human world was exciting. While you loved the Devildom, it was no replacement for where you were born and raised. The whole reason you stayed in the Devildom was for the brothers anyways, and now that they were missing, there was less tying you there.

"I think about a month. I'd have to double check the paperwork the doctor sent home with us, but I think you'll be ready by then. Even if it's shorter than that, I'm not sure Luke would be ready to let go sooner than that." The two of you giggled at the thought of the color Luke's face might turn if you suggested you leave sooner. "Don't mention it to them, though. I haven't run it by them yet and I don't want them to think it was your idea."

"But I didn't even know you had a house." You stated.

"You can never be too safe." Solomon shrugged.

"Alright, my lips are zipped." With that, you mimed zipping shut your mouth and throwing away the key. You saw his features light up at the gesture, and some laughter escaped from behind his hand.

"If we really can't find anything in my library, we could always consult the library in the Demon Lord's Palace. It easily has hundreds more references for us to consult. The reason I suggested that as a last resort, however, is because that's a much larger of a task and we'd need a reason to be there anyways. It would be hard to explain." He paused to take a bite out of his cookies, leaving a window of time for you to speak.

"The last time I think I was in the human world was before the exchange program." You mulled over that thought. There was lots of things you missed that were unique to the human world, like the sun, human food and restaurants, and most importantly, your family. You hadn't seen them since then either. You weren't sure what excuse they'd been given for your absence. Perhaps if you had time, you could convince Solomon to take you to see them, even if it was only for a few hours.

"Of course, we'll have time for recreational things. It doesn't have to be strictly for business." It was like Solomon had read your mind. He brushed some crumbs off his face. "Don't forget to eat, dearest apprentice." He gently booped your nose before getting back up. He'd finished his and was already shutting the container

"Right." After he'd mentioned the human world, you'd forgotten about the treat in your hand.

"We should have time to get a little more reading done before dinner and the movie night. I'm not sure if Lord Diavolo and Barbatos are eating dinner with us, but I'll go ask after I sneak these back into our room. Be right back." He winked at you before leaving the library with a swish of his cape. It took you a moment to process his words. You almost choked on the crumbs in the back of your throat. It was endearing of him to call it "our room" rather that just his. It meant a lot to you just how much he cared about you.

In the meantime, you went back to reading and hoped the warmth you could feel on your face would subside. By the time he had returned, you were wrapped up in the book. He placed a hand on your shoulder to get your attention. "Dinner is ready. Simeon asked me to get you. Lord Diavolo and Barbatos are already here. They're anxious to see you." You set the book down, and took his extended hand up to get off the couch.

"Thanks." Dinner flew by. Again, everybody you asked rejected the idea of you helping out. By the time it was time to watch the movie, they'd sat you down on the couch and instructed you to wait for them to return with everything you needed. It was odd to not be in the center of everything, but you heeded their request because you knew they'd just usher you back to where you were currently seated if you even entered the kitchen. Soon, they reentered the room one by one, all with a different item in hand.

The movie was longer than you'd expected it to be, but you enjoyed yourself regardless. You ate plenty of popcorn and a few more of Barbatos' treats than you probably should've. By the time the movie was over, you were half asleep. Luke was slumped over, asleep, on Simeon's shoulder, so Solomon saw the prince and his butler out. Simeon excused himself of the room to put Luke to bed, but promised to be back to help clean up. Solomon had you head back up to his room since he too was insistent on not letting you lift a finger. You got changed and sat awake, waiting for him.

It didn't take him long to return to your side. He insisted on changing your bandages, so you sat still, looking at him bleary eyed the entire time, not saying much. As soon as he finally laid down, you shut your eyes, mumbling a good night to the sorcerer. You promised you'd help him getting a better night of sleep, but since you were more asleep than awake, you simply wrapped your arms around him before drifting off. What you weren't expecting was to be awoke in the middle of the night by Solomon, breathing heavily.

"What's wrong?" You rubbed your eyes, willing yourself to stay awake.

"Mc, I think I have my memory back."

tags list: @bagofmice

#spellbound secrets #gn reader #obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

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