#they just hate women and will cheer on any toxic male behavior

[iwatcheditbegin]

Anyway I hope tiktok ban actually happens

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @jesfreedark @amyk-37 @altarsw @feminist-violinist @spideysimpossiblegirl @lazybeeches @shameless-h  @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @mamacitapascal @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @asta-lily @aesnawan @frannyzooey @gaiuswrites @beskarboobs @honestly-shite @sherala007 @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @missminkylove @pedros-mustache @headinthestarz @leannawithacapitala @sharkbait77 @radiowallet  @danidrabbles @magpie-to-the-morning @mandocrasis @juletheghoul @javierpinme @voteforpedro09 @theorganasolo @aprilqueen84 @Prostitute-robot-from-the-future @wanderlustmags @darnitdraco @castleamc @outlawedmando @lawfulgranola @jaime1110 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @taticalsparkles @chasingdreamer @beautyagegoodnesssize @pintsizemama @recklessworry @tarolovesyoo @xgoldenjenny @prideandpascal @amneris21 @mylovelycomandante @ohhersheybars @heartsofbeskar

A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​ 

[heknewwhoyoureallyare]

This dance that he did in this video is almost the exact same replica of how he get laid every night. Even the costuming in this video are exactly right. Complete with the backward cap on to show his bad boy status to the world. Let me explain to you about the meaning of this sacred dance: First he walked into a random dodgy bar without any shirt on, only with his black shorts and sneakers, and the backward cap of course.

All bad boy and cocky, while smiling at the bouncer who will then give him respect and letting him in. After he get in, he walked up to the random hottest slut that he sees in that place. He then started to perform his mating ritual by doing his Pec bounce dance at the hot fine piece of ass and the big tits of his choosing. The bitch who tried to be an upstanding respectful good citizen of the society, will pretend that she is disgusted by it (even though, in reality it drives her wild and crazy! Crazy horny that is). She then turn around and show him her fine piece of ass, and bouncing it up and down a little bit, as a retaliation to his pec bounce. All the while pretending to talk to her real ‘friends’.

This Man who got so impressed by her hot bouncy juicy ass started to ask her a for a dance, by only using his fingers. He doesn’t say much only “come here girl” but judging by his body language, he was very commanding about it.

The cumdump who is allready horny because of the pec bounce that he did, can’t resist those killer smile and dominant attitude anymore and accept his invitation to a dance right away, (despite of her jealous friends objection). The two lovebirds then started to grind on each other in the middle of the dance floor, with her twerking her ass on his big dick and him grinding his big fat cut cock in her bum, with only a few fabrics that separated them and their intimate parts from each other. This public show of an affection, has ignite the excitement and intrigue to the emotion of the other people around them, at the bar. The other bar customers then starting to tell each other about what a beautiful and cute couple they really are. Which makes her ‘friends’ even more jealous.

The Bad boy then beginning to realize that bullying is about to be happen. He then realized that his immense charisma, his beautifully sculpted body, his killer smile, handsome face, and his bad boy attitude has led these beautiful but jealous bitches to start putting down his even more hotter and more physically pleasing in-the-eye sexual partner for the night. Their method of bullying is, by calling her demeaning words that are associated to women, for example ‘slut’ and ‘skank’. You know the word that only men are allowed to use in the bed with his sexual partner of his choice? The one to spice things up? Anyway these ratchet bitches try to slutshaming her and making her feel guilty for being with him. They are also trying so hard to make her fight her own sexual urges as a woman, which is her basic natural instincts for reproduction. This type of behaviors is very wrong and extremely toxic in the eyes of this particular Alpha. So just like a real true Alpha out there, this Man quickly take an action to this situation, and save the day. Like a Commanding Soldier helping a civilian at war, or a White Knight saving a maiden from a Dragon/Evil Witches. He then asked her if she would like to join him to go to somewhere else but here. Under the reason that he has a special gift for her. A very special gift!

The Superhot Slut who is beyond horny right now, say yes to whatever he said and start following him around to the street, while at the same time ignoring her used-to-be-friends/bitches say. Our protagonist Alpha Hero then took her to his place, which is practically a dirty room apartment full of jockstraps, huge ass television, some gym equipment, Gangster movie posters, Football equipment, Dirty Dishes, Unwashed Clothes, HP laptop and gaming console. He basically taking her to his Mancave. Naturally The Woman should feel grossed out about this, but for some reason this room awaken The True Essence of Womanhood in her. It gives her a sense purpose, to make her, to want to clean this place and help her Man to have a better and a more convenient life. She also can’t help to smell the arousing aroma in this apartment. The smell of Manliness. The smell of stingky, intoxicating, but protective aroma that can only be found in Alphas room.

The Alpha then say to his Lovely Fuck Meat, “Are you ready for the special gift that I’m about to give you?” The Woman just nodded shyly, he then dropped down his short pant and show her his big fat 10 inch cut cock. The Woman than open her mother in admiration, she never seen such a beautiful cock on such a beautiful man before. The Man then say “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you” The Woman then ask “what is it?” The Man then replied “I’m poor”. The Woman then felt confused and ask him again “so”. The Man then give her The Most Naugthiest Baddest Boy smile that he can ever give and said “I’m poor so I can’t afford some condoms right now, I guess we just have to fuck without protection tonight” say the Man slyly. The Woman start gigling, she become very shy at the presence of his huge amount of confidence. She just said “Can you pull out though?” The Man said “probably, would you care to find out?”

3 hours later The Man is Fucking her Vagina in the most gruesome way as possible. Punching his big fat long cock inside her pussy reaching out to her guts. She allready cum more than 10 times allready because of this, but he have not cum even once. He just got hornier and hornier every minute. When she ask him if he’s tired yet, he just flex his bicep and said “I’m not easily tired” and continue fucking her Doggystyle position. Eventually The Woman felt very tired, she couldn’t take it anymore and she just ask him to cum allready. Feeling pity to this beautiful but exhausted broad, he gave her two choices for this matter, either he cum in her back, but then they would never meet again, or he get to cum inside her pussy and into her stomach and then they can exchange phone numbers for more free fucking session in the near future. The Woman then ask him what if she become pregnant, of which he replied “Bitch than I just have take you to the abortion clinic! I don’t give a shit about any baby, I just want you to respect my seed..” The Woman who hated his personality, but is highly impressed by his big fat long cock, his stamina, and his fucking skill can’t pass up the chance to fuck him again in the future. She then choose the second option, and he started to poured cum all over the inside of her unprotected stomach. He really is such a kidney tickler. After he finished fucking her raw, he went outside fully naked to get some drink and check on his phone. When he came back to his room she allready fell asleep prettyly in his bed. He then take a photo of her using his Iphone and send it to his all boys Whatsapp group friends that called “The Bang Boys”. Where him and his male alpha friends posted all of the photos that the girls that they just bang out, but made promised to each other to never leaked any the photos to anyone outside the group. Any rule breaker will be severely beaten.

Below the photo of this woman, he type the caption “My Conquest for today boys, I made her to take all of my seed for tonight!” The Boys then start cheering him and showering him with lots of admiration, compliments, and congratulations. She really is a trophy fuck. When The boys ask him how did he manage to get such a fine speciment of a woman into his bed. He made this dance in the morning to teach them step by step guide on how to pick up girls his way. The dance has become sacred for the ‘The Bang Boys’ ever since.

[melting-puppets]

Unbeta-ed rant about Scarlett St. Claire’s Hades and Persephone’s series. 

(spoilers will not be hidden; those who haven’t read the books, read at your own risk) 

This is sort of short rant...I hope. So I have been honestly hyped from various forms of media; tumblr, Pinterest, etc. about “a Touch of Malice” by Scarlett St. Claire. It’s Hades and Persephone, everyone’s favourite myth (second favourite for myself~) and how could any contemporary myth loving nerd doesn’t want to read it, right? 

I’ve never read ‘a Touch of Darkness” or “a Touch of Darkness” until today, but I have just went through the first book, three-quarter way finished with the second book and I just have to...I just have to stop there. At that scene where Hades up and asks Persephone to marry him after a trip to the Iniquity.   

I just...cannot. I cannot anymore. I can’t do this. 

The...portrayal of Hades and Persephone’s relationship is...astounding to put kindly. I...What freakin’ development has there been in the first two books? I CANNOT PUT UP WITH THE UTTER BS THAT I AM SUPPOSE TO BELIEVE THAT THESE TWO ARE HAVING AN ENVIABLY HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. 

Okay, I hope nobody disses me about ‘if I dislike it so much stop reading’ but I am probably going to finish reading to see how it ends because I must. I need this book to introspect here. On Hades, On Persephone. On everything that is horribly frighteningly wrong about this novel and it’s portrayal of love. 

There’s no love here at all, and it makes my heart break. I feel frustrated for Persephone at every turn because at no point does she get control or form of footing with Hades, and it hurts. It’s like I’m baited to believe that she actually could be his equal but the writing *weeps* I’m despairing at the writing! Hades ruined to become an insatiable sex god, and Persephone unable to have any sense of agency when it comes to him. Hades caging and grooming and just basically manipulating Persephone at every turn and it isn’t beautiful at all. It doesn’t make my heart flutter or make me cheer for them-- instead it only just makes me want to cry because please stop, stop doing this. Stop! STOP!

Persephone’s drowning in him *cries* She isn’t finding herself, but learning to normalise Hades’s controlling behaviors, his stalking, his possessiveness, and that isn’t healthy. Persephone isn’t able to control whenever Hades comes to see her, Persephone isn’t able to ever have any privacy of her own-- basically going to Iniquity knowing full well that it is inevitable that Hades would find out. Persephone isn’t told of anything, consulted or even acknowledged whenever it comes to big decisions--for example the threats made by Apollo, Hades solved her problems, because he “cared” for her. He “loved” her. 

THAT IS TOTAL CRAP. That isn’t love. That’s possession. That’s erasing any agency and independent thought from your partner and making them accept only your decision as the best solution. ThAT’S USING SEX TO SUBDUE & MISDIRECT THE CONVERSATION, PREVENTING ANY COMMUNICATION AND SWEEPING IT UNDER ARUG BECAUSE WOHOO, nobody could resist carnality can they? Nobody can keep it long enough in their pants to even use they freakin’ brains and work this out like a pair of intelligent people. 

This rendition of Persephone is disheartening. This portrayal of Hades is just devastatingly disappointing. Where’s the substance the relationship? Where is the heart and brain without the arousal and attraction? The narrative is so flat...

I’m sorry but Scarlett St Claire’s portrayal of Persephone isn’t the defender of the people that I was hoping to see. Neither was Hades able to measure up in my eyes. 

This isn’t a hate letter by the way but I’m just...disappointed. I felt betrayed as a myth enthusiast-- and even as a contemporary myth enthusiast. It’s just...toxic. 

And if anyone wants my point of comparison-- because I suck at being just as eloquent as those who could write analysis and beautifully agreeable opinions that doesn’t offend anyone (sorry for offence by the way), I’d recommend those who read this (I doubt that anyone would but for few precious souls), to give this AO3 author’s take on Persephone a read. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023145

Artemysia93 (the author) way of building the relationship between Hades and Persephone and even Demeter, is simply, wholesome. It’s an ideal. And I just wish to have seen a similar in-depth perspective when I had read Scarlett St. Clarie’s novels. 

I’ll close this on the note that ‘a Touch of Darkness’ and ‘a Touch of Ruin’ just... propagates very toxic forms on what a healthy relationship should look like, the kind of things that I’ve seen most YA/Adult authors have been trying to learn to get past and rectify it. The male lead is a laughable caricature of what a man or partner should act like, and the female lead fails to prove that she is any better than the hopeless portrayal society has on women. In the end, they aren’t made to be equals. The disparity is there, and it hurts to see it. 

[lejacquelope]

Erase all talk of the nature of women (and, by extension, men)

Lots has been said by both me and others about the nature of women, and certain dreadful behaviors that seem to be ingrained. Just like the feminists who like to talk about the nature of men (most notably, “toxic masculinity”). The most notable of these discussions falls under talk about hypergamy. We all know the tales and the facts here so I won't get too deep into this. But some people take these discussions too far, going into the supposedly innate and unchangeable nature of womanhood itself. 

I just want to point out a few extreme examples, like Republican Senator Thomas Corbin who went way over the hedge by calling women a "lesser cut of meat" and the Council of 585 (Synod of Macon) where, reportedly, they debated whether women even had souls. When you start talking about the supposed unchangeable nature of women, Synod of Macon thinking is where you eventually crash and burn.

Just like men are not the inferior gender, women are also not the inferior gender.

But it goes further than this: discussing the behavioral nature of a gender, either men or women, either in terms of their innate or contemporary nature, is approaching the situation from all the wrong directions.

The real problem here, the entire problem here, is what we let women get away with. And this is also true of men, we only go so far as what women allow. You've heard the tales, and heard them to no end, of douchebags who do bad things to women and keep doing it over and over. Why? Because she kept letting him do it.

And there we have it. Women treat men like crap and treat us like disposable assets only because we let them. If men, in aggregate, required a higher standard for the women that they dated, all of the "inferior woman" crap we see today would end overnight. But it will take the vast majority of us deciding not to interact with, much less date women who are hypergamic. If enough men stop giving women attention and encouragement when they act badly, nobody will be talking about hypergamy for much longer.

Gender warriors on both sides love to throw around statistics that show one gender is better than the other: men are more violent, women abuse kids more, and so on. It’s all bogus. Absolutely no statistics that "prove" women are inferior to men, or that men are inferior to women, are in any way reflective of innate characteristics or genetics. 

All "proof" that women (or men) are inferior only reveal the consequences of cultural problems which intellect and conditioning can overcome.

All discussions about the nature of anyone must include self reflection on what we allow people to do to us, how that factors in, and what we must do as individuals and as a group to not let bad things happen to us.

Speaking to men by example: if you don’t like being taken advantage of on a date, go dutch, and be resolved to go dateless until you meet someone who doesn’t have a problem with that. It’s not the nature of women to hate going dutch. It’s the nature of human beings to take as much advantage as they are allowed to. If she refuses to go dutch, you have the option to walk away and look for someone else. If enough men decide go dutch or go dateless, going dutch will become the norm.

Another example: It’s not in the innate nature of women to expect men to be meat shields when a disaster or deadly crisis happens. The real problem is that men don’t shame women as hard as they shame men for being cowards in the face of danger. If we collectively shame men and women equally for not taking a part in the saving of their (and others’) lives in a life-threatening situation, and we encourage men and women equally to pursue prowess in self-defense and disaster response, and we prop up courage as a necessary trait for both men and women, there will be no more damsels-in-distress. (Remember what happened to Joan of Arc, and why it was so wrong.)

Third example: if a crowd of women cheer the gruesome and unprovoked mutilation of a man by his wife (see: Sharon Osbourne’s female audience cheering Catherine Kieu) this is not in any way reflective of the nature of women. It is reflective of society not shaming all of these people into social oblivion. We as a society have the power to treat these women the same harsh way we treat men who celebrate such acts by a man against a woman. If Sharon Osbourne were forced off the air for this episode and the people who cheered were shunned and harshly rebuked - as would happen to men - this behavior would not ever be a thing again.

Ultimately: If we don’t want to be the disposable gender we don’t have to be. We just have to refuse to play that role, and not play well with people who expect us to. Large scale resistance is the only catalyst that causes change. It is not in the nature of women to think they’re more important to the survival of the species than men. It’s all about our minds being shackled to junk science thinking about how “one man can repopulate”. Unshackle our minds, end male disposability.

Erase all talk of the nature of women (or men) and replace it with discussions of what we allow to happen, and how we can collectively stop allowing it.