#this man thinks i can just click and make things happen

[quarterlifekitty]

ok but what happens if/when Simon’s down for the count after a rough op, and it’s more than a little while until his worried nonverbal gf is allowed to see him. does soap step up? make sure she’s taken care of until Simon recovers? reassure her than Simon will be ok in the end? i MUST know, desperate to find out how this affects their dynamic

(Note: I’m gonna start referring to reader as selectively mute because I was made aware that this is a more accurate description!)

So, to be quite clear, I think she can take care of herself. She’s a whole adult. Simon knows this, and Soap does too. But the real question is what bullshit is Soap’s hindbrain telling him?

It’s that her mate’s down for the count and as a fellow pack member, he’s responsible for stepping up to provide. But he’s trying his best not to crowd!! He knows his LT would kick his ass for that. So he’s dropping by once a day, telling her exactly where he’ll be and when in case she needs him, and says to call him any time, for any reason at all.

She’s just nodding and humming affirmatively occasionally, and she leads him around the house. Eventually he figures out that she’s bringing him stuff to bring for Simon— because Soap is in his unit, he can visit, but civilians like her can’t (live in my magical reality where this is how the military works for a sec). He thinks she looks like a pretty bird— gathering up the best of the nesting things for her man.

He’ll ask if she wants him to stick around for a while, and she doesn’t say anything, but he can see her grind her teeth a bit. And it’s like another little pin inside the lock of his mind clicks into place.

“Know what, bonnie? Dinnae feel like goin’ out today, actually. Errands sound like a fuckin’ ballache right now. Gonna stick around if y’dinnae mind.”

He orders dinner for the two of them— there are some menus stuck on the fridge that have some highlights and underlines in them. There’s a little asterisk and a note in Ghost’s chicken scratch. Safe foods (haha what if I said she had food anxiety too. Then what heehee). So he just orders a few things— he’s a trash can, more than happy to eat whatever she doesn’t want. Puts on a movie he remembers— some ghibli-type thing that was relaxing enough to put her to sleep when they watched it during movie night.

The true mark of progression in their relationship? He keeps blabbing, sure, but he doesn’t try to placate her with words. He just keeps the little activities coming so the time can pass without her noticing.

And Simon doesn’t even have to ask to know that Soap’s been looking after you. He smells like you. That brown sugar milk tea kinda smell.

“How’s my birdie? You been keepin’ her good company, Johnny?”

“You know it only takes her about a day to finish a thousand piece puzzle? Too fuckin’ smart, she is.” Simon chuckles to himself.

“Good man.”

[tinythebunni]

perv!stebro!Rafe Cameron <3

you had to know what you were doing. there was no way you were this fucking dense that you couldn’t see what you were doing to Rafe. walking around in those tiny fucking skirts and thinner than a piece of paper crop tops and baby tees. and you never wore a bra. Rafe was 90% sure you were sent up here by the devil herself to punish him for something. but it really was just the fact his dad happened to wanna fuck your mom more than just as a one night stand.

you always seemed to be tanning outside right when he was about to leave for the country club. as if you were trying to tempt him into staying and fucking you into his mattress and bruising your throat. you wore low cut tops almost everyday and it made him fantasize about leaving hickies there. how you’d whimper and lift your hips to try and get some kind of friction. how you’d try and make him touch you but he wanted to spend his time making you wait. making you feel as insufferable as you acted.

the first thing that made him lose his cool was when you came downstairs while Topper and Kelce were in the living room. now sure Rafe was still getting used to you being in the house with him since the wedding. but you had come downstairs in the tinies bikini top known to man. with a barely there skirt that didn’t even cover the swell of your ass. he was sure his eyes were bugging out of his head.

“nah. who the fuck do you think is letting you out the house like that?” you tried changing his mind, jus bc you really wanted to go to the pier and shop! but he wouldn’t budge.

“you look like a whore, go change. ‘not dealing with bullshit while i’m sober.” you cried all the way up to your bedroom and slammed your door. while Rafe only sat back down in his chair, manspreading and rubbing his jaw.

“jeez man you were kind of harsh” Kelce tried to defend you but he didn’t get far.

“nah y’don’t know the shit i gotta deal with here. fucking teasing me all the time.”

the second time he almost lost his cool was when you decided you were going to go to one of Barry’s parties, which Rafe was not at all gonna let fucking happen.

Barry always threw crazy ragers that basically turned into fucking or orgies all night. you’d never been to one of his parties but Rafe knew some bitch ass little boy probably invited you, trying to get into your panties.

once again you tried your hardest to get him to let you go but he didn’t let up. “not letting you go to some party just so you can get roofied and traumatized for the rest of your life. ‘r too sweet for all of that and i don’t feel like having to kill anyone today.”

you stomped your foot and pouted up at him. “this is so not fair! you’re not even my daddy!”

hearing that name come out of your mouth had Rafe groaning and looking up at the ceiling for some kind of strength to grasp onto, so he didn’t choke you or fuck you against this door. he gave you one last look and reached behind you to lock the door. he could hear your breath hitch as his head was right by yours, locking his eyes onto yours as you heard the click of the lock.

“stay in the house. ‘m not fucking with you bambi.” he chastised, walking back to the couch without even glancing your way. you looked at him a little longer, watch as he palmed himself through his jeans and slid back in the cushions. you let out a sad sound and slouched back upstairs. crying all your pretty heart out into your heart shaped pillow.

the last time, Rafe couldn’t take it anymore. you finally started to notice his attraction to you. and boy were you happy. you’d been wanting to fuck him for months now! fingering yourself and rubbing your clit raw to the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hands on you. you were basically in heaven!

Rafe didn’t know what changed but all of a sudden your teasing got more evident. you’d drop the remote and bend over to pick it up, giving him a view of the plump lips you had hidden behind cotton underwear. sometimes you’d leave the bathroom door open so he could see you shower behind the steamy glass.

in the present day you asked him to bake cupcakes with you. something innocent and sweet, what could it hurt? but when you asked him to try it, that’s when it all went downhill. Rafe dipped his finger in the batter and brought it to his lips, sucking the flavor off and deciding if it was done.

“taste perfect bunny, now you try it.” and you did. you looked up at him, taking two steps forward, and grabbed his right wrist. He looked at you with a confused glint in his eyes, as you dipped his finger in the batter and wrapped your lips around it. tenderly kitten licking the tip of it and suckling as you let it pop from between your lips.

“sweet and creamy, just perfect!” you smiled, like a cheshire cat. he only stared at you, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. you began to get a little bit nervous. you wanted to turn around and rgo to your room to sleep for all eternity!

as you frowned and turned to walk away, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you to him, and as you skidded to a stop he wrapped his hands around your waist and flipped you over his shoulder. he walked away from the oven preheating oven, turning it off of course, and up to his room.

“Rafe what are you doing! come on put me down!” you yelled at him. he only slapped your ass, effectively shutting you up. you felt shame, arousal, and nervousness creep into your gut as you could only watch his backside walk up the stairs and away from the kitchen.

you saw him walk into a room and when he turned around to lock the door, you saw he was in his room. you heard the lock click and felt him start to walk towards the bed, finally putting you down.

“do you know how much self control i’ve wasted trying not to fuck you against every surface of the house, just for you to kiss me in the goddamn kitchen?” he asked pacing with an angry look on his face. you shook your head with your lips parted slightly and eyes glossy. you felt like a bunny in front of an angry wolf. you couldn’t tell if it was sexy, scary, or both.

“i’ve tried so fucking long to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t know how much of a fucking nuisance you were. how everytime you walked out the house in those tiny outfits, i’d go up to my room and jerk off to the thought of ripping them off of you.”

you were sure you looked stupid as fuck right now, only glancing up at him between your lashes and biting your lip. “say something bunny. speak up.”

“m sorry.” you whispered, choked up a little. he stopped pacing suddenly and turned to you. kneeling in front of you he brushed the single tear that fell from your eye off your cheek.

“oh baby, i’m not really mad at you. i’m sexually frustrated from the teasing you’ve been doing but i could never be mad at you sweet girl.”

he kissed both your cheeks and held your face in his hands. “lighten up baby. can’t give you what we both want if your sad.” he whispered, making you look up at him with only need in your eyes.

“what we both want?” you asked, albeit dumbly. “don’t play. i know you want me to fuck you. i can hear your moaning through the fucking walls bunny.” he began to mock your moans and whimpers as your whole face turned red and your chest flared with embarrassment. you finally stood up on your tip toes and kissed him. letting your lips collide in a feverish dance.

he kissed you at first, tenderly, tentative even. as if he was scared to break you. but the slight noises you’d let out as he applied pressure slightly made his thoughts go into a frenzy. he couldn’t keep up with his mind. his hands going from your waist, your ass, your neck, your back, and back to your waist.

he walked you backwards until you fell onto the bed where he crawled over you. “is this okay baby?” he asked as he kissed down your tummy between each word. you nodded with slight anxiety from what comes next.

as he slid your skirt up you yelled out a “wait!” he immediately pulled back as if he was burned.

“did i do something?” he asked, slight worry in his eyes.

“no no, not at all!” you replied, relief flooding through his veins. “i just, i haven’t shaved.”

he stared at you like you were dumb. “i don’t give a fuck. baby i’m a grown man, ion care about a little bit of hair.”

he kissed your clit through your panties after dat sentence and slowly pulled the down to your ankles. he tugged them off and wrapped them around your wrist to keep you still.

pulling a leg over each shoulder he licked one long stripe up your slit, kitten licking to wear he saw fit. this was what he was waiting for. drowning between your thighs. he could feel your arousal gushing out of you and mixing with the saliva on his tongue.

he laps at your cunt as if it’s his last meal, savoring everything he can. he’s mumbling gibberish, pussy drunk almost. babbling about how he needs this, how he wants to become full off of your juices and nothing else. he pushes his tongue inside of you and flicks at your g spot with his tongue. it’s a stretch but it’s worth the reaction it pulls out of you.

your back arches and your hands pull at the sheets next to you, looking for something to ground you. Rafe pulls a hand to your hip to hold you down, his dominant one going towards his pants. you can barely register the clink of his belt.

He pulls himself out of his confines and rubs his tip with b his thumb, spreading his precum around as lube. he tugs his cock in tandem with his long and steady licks of your cunt. he cums right before when you do. the groaning and moaning of his orgasm rushing through him vibrates on your cunt, making you hit your peak with a flame alight inside your whole body.

your orgasm rips through you and it’s blinding almost. you come to after he kisses your neck and lets his half hard cock sit on your tummy as he rubs your head trying to get you to come back to him.

“come on sweet girl, don’t tell me you’re sleep.” you drearily respond, barely there. he smiles starting a bath for you, grabbing a snack, and getting ready to take care of his best girl. only you.

[voxofthevoid]

*banging pots and pans together* Goyuu gremlins, come get y'all fucking juice.

I say this as if I'm not inundating you in goyuu every week, but Gojou has been conspicuously absent from my current WIP for...10 chapters and over 70k words. A major character and one half of the endgame ship, and he shows up halfway through the story—JJK has got me making more and more novel (in terms of my writing) narrative choices with each fic.

Gotta say, it feels great to get back into writing Gojou. Last time I tackled him was at the end of September, for the fem!Gojou no-powers oneshot. The necrofic from October beginning has a lot of Gojou, sure, but he's a...well, a corpse. Sinking back into goyuu banter and interactions felt like coming home.

Now, here's Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #9, featuring Gojou Sluttoru Satoru in the flesh.

There’s a man on the platform.

It’s the height that startles Yuuji first. He’s freakishly tall. The tallest person Yuuji’s seen—unless he counts Sukuna, which he won’t. Besides, this guy’s all legs, and it’s weirdly fascinating how they move, smooth and graceful under shiny pants reflecting the platform lights. They eat up the platform with long, languid strides, getting closer and closer and—

Yuuji blinks, dragging his eyes from the man’s legs to a face that’s a lot closer than he expects, even though he has to crane his neck to make eye contact—kind of. The man’s wearing sunglasses, those thick black ones that show nothing of what’s underneath, so Yuuji just ends up staring at his own distorted reflection.

His eyes are wide, his mouth a little open. Yuuji closes it, his teeth clicking together.

The height isn’t the only startling thing about the man. His hair is a shock of white, messy strands covering his forehead and even falling over the sunglasses. And Yuuji’s got no leg to stand on when it comes to people with eye-catching coloring, but there’s still something about this man that makes it hard to look away.

“Hi?” he offers warily.

“Hello,” comes the answer, immediate and cheerful. “You a local?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”

A tilt of the head. Those snowy strands shift with mesmerizing motions. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Why…am I reassuring you?”

The man claps, once. “Good point! You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

Yuuji’s so confused. “No?”

“Hmm, you don’t sound very sure about that either.” The man leans closer, which involves a lot of bending. Yuuji blinks at his reflection in the glasses, which blinks right back. “Nah, you’re too cute to be a serial killer.”

“Thanks, I think. Who are you?”

“Gojou Satoru!” The man declares, straightening up and sticking out an arm. “And who are you, my young, uncertain friend?”

Yuuji takes the proffered hand. It’s big, almost swallowing his whole hand when it closes around it. There’s warmth too, seeping boldly into his flesh.

“Itadori Yuuji,” he introduces himself. “I’m very confused.”

“I did get that impression.”

“No, I mean, you’re—” Yuuji shakes his head. “Never mind. Why are you asking weird questions?”

“Hey now,” the man says, his lips pressing into a pout. They’re very shiny. And pink. “Those were very sensible questions. There’s no point asking for directions from a non-local, is there? And it’d be very unwise of me to put myself in the maw of a murderer.”

“Well,” Yuuji says, slightly less confused, “I’m not a murderer. And I do live here. Moved here a few months back. Pretty sure I can give you directions. To where?”

“A recent transplant. I see,” Gojou murmurs, his head still tilted slightly down. Despite the opaque glasses, Yuuji has the distinct sense of being looked at. “Would you happen to know the way to the Fushiguro household, Itadori Yuuji-kun?”

“Fushiguro?” Yuuji repeats. “You know him? Or are you here for Tōji-san?”

“Both,” Gojou says, his smile widening. The glossy gleam of his lips doesn’t hide how sharp the expression is, and for the first time, Yuuji really takes in the rest of his face—the chiseled jaw, the straight nose, the prominent cheekbones. A sharp face, but pretty too. Like Fushiguro’s, except that while Fushiguro’s soft around the edges, this man looks like he’ll cut if touched. “—to me?”

Yuuji blinks back to himself, trying and failing to make sense of what Gojou just said. “Huh?”

That smile grows even bigger, flashing a hint of very white teeth. “I asked if you’re listening to me?”

“Oh. No,” Yuuji admits. “Sorry?”

Gojou hums, tilting his head like a curious cat. “I don’t think you are. But I’ll forgive it if you’re a good boy and take me to the Fushiguros.”

Yuuji swallows, his throat very dry. “I could, but…”

“But?”

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer, Gojou-san?”

Gojou snorts. It’s an ugly sound, rough and nasal. Something inside Yuuji unclenches, like that’s the proof he needed that this guy is human and not some abnormally pretty dream he conjured up. It’d be a kinder dream than usual, but Yuuji can’t trust his imagination anymore.

“I’m too handsome for that, don’t you think?” Gojou asks, his grin grown lopsided.

“Yeah, but—” Yuuji makes a sweeping gesture with his free arm, covering Gojou as well as the rest of the platform. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“So there is a brain under all that pink fluff,” Gojou says, his tone weirdly approving.

“I don’t think you get to talk about anyone’s hair,” Yuuji points out, eyeing Gojou’s snow-white strands again.

But Gojou just tosses his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial. “It’s all natural.”

“So is mine,” Yuuji says drily. “Not the point.”

“Oh? What is your point then?”

“Serial killing. I think.” Yuuji shakes his head. “Whatever. Yeah, I’ll take you to the Fushiguros’ place. Do anything weird and I’ll punch you.”

“Careful,” Gojou purrs. “I might be into that.”

Yuuji just looks at him for a moment, before taking in the rest of the platform with half a mind to foist this guy off on someone else. There’s no one, obviously. It’s not like this place is bustling even during what was the rush hour back at Sendai. Nanami and Yuuji were alone the entire time they waited, and he’s pretty sure no one but Gojou got off from the train.

Plus, he probably shouldn’t inflict this guy on anyone else. Yuuji doesn’t think he’s a bad person or anything, but he’s kinda weird. And Yuuji’s pretty immune to stranger danger.

Except when he walks into cursed churches.

“Come on then,” Yuuji says. “It’s getting late, and Tōji-san usually turns in early.”

Gojou’s lips and cheeks do something very weird. “Fushiguro Tōji has a bedtime.”

“Uh, not exactly—”

Yuuji’s cut off by demented laughter—full-on cackling, filling up the open air of the empty platform. All he can do is watch, nonplussed, until Gojou calms down, and even that’s startlingly abrupt, the noise stopping so suddenly that the resulting silence seems to boom.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gojou says, not sounding all that sincere. “That was just too funny. Guess the single dad life suits him.”

Yuuji thinks of what Fushiguro sounds like every time he has to talk about his dad. “I…wouldn’t say that. Anyway, you coming?”

“Sure,” Gojou says easily. “You going to let me go first, or are we holding hands the whole way?”

“What’re you—”

Yuuji realizes the answer before he even finishes the question, blinking down at his own hand—still clasped firmly around Gojou’s bigger one. He lets go quickly, snatching it back. For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Wiping it on his pants would be rude. And it’s not like Gojou’s palm was sweaty or anything. It was just warm, and Yuuji’s whole hand sparks like it’s stolen that heat for itself. He settles for folding his arms across his chest. 

Gojou looks entirely too amused. “Pity.”

“Don’t tease me,” Yuuji grumbles, hoping the heat on his face doesn’t actually show on the skin; he knows his odds though, and they’re not good. He’s about to march off, leaving Gojou to choose whether to follow, when something occurs to him. “Wait, are you…”

“Yes?” Gojou prods after a moment, that curling grin still in place.

Yuuji squints up at him, specifically the sunglasses. He doesn’t think Gojou’s blind. People wear sunglasses all the time, though he’s rarely seen ones so dark. And Gojou navigated the platform pretty easily earlier, no cane or anything. Still, the thought won’t leave his head, and Yuuji’s mind refuses to accept the vague sense of being watched as enough proof, so he asks, “Are you blind?”

“How blunt,” is Gojou’s response. “I like that in people.”

“That’s not—”

—an answer, Yuuji doesn’t say because Gojou proceeds to give him an answer, raising one long-fingered hand to pluck his sunglasses off.

A maelstrom of blue slams into Yuuji.

He’s seen blue eyes more than a few times. People he knew, people he passed in the street. Bright ones, dark ones. Then there’s Fushiguro, whose eyes act like some deep-sea trench, shifting from dark green to depthless blue based on the lighting and his mood.

But he’s never seen eyes like these.

It’s not just one shade of blue, but every blue, all at once. Thin threads of shuddering color, spreading out from pupils that swallow all light. It’s breathtakingly bright, like the colors are reaching out of the eyes to claw at the air. Or maybe they’re just swirling inside, chasing each other inside the confines of those irises.

A part of Yuuji knows that he’s imagining it, that Gojou’s eyes aren’t actually nuclear ghosts. But that logic doesn’t quite penetrate the blue haze in his head.

Gojou blinks, cutting off that stream of color, and Yuuji sucks in a breath like a drowning man.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi! I don't know if I can ask you this (if I can't, please delete it and I'm sorry!). But would it be cool if you could to do a Mystic Gods, Same Face AUs with Boba or Jango? (I'd go with Boba because Fav, but I'm dying to see what you'd come up with for Jango), nsfw 👉👈

Let The World Burn

Summary: After your parents marry you off to a man old enough to be your grandfather, you find yourself unwilling to care about the state of the world. Drowning in misery and choking on your rage, you do the impossible.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 2505

Warnings: Smut, reader is not having a good time before she meets Jango, reader sold into marriage

A/N: Hihi! Thank you for your request! As it happens, I have a half written Boba fic for this AU sitting somewhere, just waiting for Boba to come back from the war and settle into my brain so I can write him. I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

It’s been ten years.

Ten years ago, today, your mother and father married you off to a man old enough to be your grandfather. You had been 18 years old at the time and, for some reason, believed that your parents had your best interests at heart.

That belief was quickly shattered on the day of your wedding. When you begged your mother to not make you do this, and she smacked you and told you to grow up and stop being selfish. 

That specific moment was the moment you lost all faith in people as a whole. 

Although, you’re one of the lucky ones. Your husband has no interest in children or a family. He married you because you’re young and attractive. “The perfect trophy wife,” he calls you as he gives you a couple thousand credits to get your hair done and have your nails done.

All you have to do is wear make-up, plaster a pretty smile on your face, and ensure that everything everyone does in his house is done to perfection. And, you’ve managed it.

You’re more than capable of managing your husband’s ridiculous expectations. You do the hair thing, and the nail thing, and the make-up thing. You’ve gotten so good at faking a smile that the other wives you regularly interact with genuinely think you’re happy.

And your husband is happy with you. Happy enough that your weekly allowance is nearly three thousand credits.

The truth is you hate them. Every single one of them. If you could get away with killing all of them, you would do it and you wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep.

“Wife,” You set the delicate mug you’ve been nursing for the last fifteen minutes to turn in your chair and regard your husband. “You’ve been staring out the window for several minutes.”

And it’s weird, and you need to stop, goes unsaid.

“Apologies, husband.” You offer lightly, “I was thinking that I should ask the landscapers to change the garden for this season. The roses did atrociously last spring, and I won’t have it this year.”

There’s the sound of a newspaper rustling, “As you like, wife.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you’re about to cast your gaze back out over the garden, when he speaks again, “The other Moffs are having a gathering tonight. Formal wear only.”

You sigh silently, “I will check my spring wardrobe for an appropriate dress.”

“Good. You know what I like.”

“I will also ensure that your dress uniform has been pressed.”

“Good.” The room falls silent again, and you fold your hands lightly around the mug, helpless rage threatening to strangle you.

If only there was a way for you to be free.

Ah, well. Castles in the sky.

Later that evening, you find yourself sitting at a small table with several of the other wives. Your husband had been pleased with your choice of a dress, long and form-fitting, and a pale shade of blue that you accentuated with matching make-up and nail polish. 

All in all, you look amazing. But then, so do the other women here. 

You’re half listening to the woman on your left, you can’t for the life of you remember her name, as she talks about her most recent shopping trip. You wonder if she’s as vapid as she acts, or if it’s an act to keep herself safe.

Maker knows you’ve once had a whole conversation about nail polish with another spouse since you’re supposed to be a brainless trophy wife. So maybe they think you’re vapid too.

You murmur a quiet excuse to the women who are supposed to be your friends and slip out of the banquet hall. If anyone asks, you’ll tell them you need to check your make-up. But no one is going to ask.

Because no one cares.

You’ve been completely alone in the world since you were 18 years old. And it’s not fair.

You take a moment to slip your heels off, and then you pad down the hall. Escape is impossible, you know this, but maybe you’ll find a library. Or a garden. Or someplace where you can just be yourself for a moment or two.

Stars, do you even know who you are anymore? Probably not.

You push open a thick wooden door and pause as you enter the room. The room is large and grandly decorated. With a massive bed in the center of the room, though this doesn’t look like any bedroom you’ve ever seen in your life. 

For one thing, the room is lit with braziers filled with blue flame. For another, weapons are covering a table against the far wall. You step into the room, and there’s the oddest sensation of someone watching you.

“Ah. So this is the Grand Moff’s kink room.” You murmur as you pad across the room to peer at the weapons, “Gross.” You pick up a blade and examine it carefully, “Maybe this is why he’s not married. Every time someone sells their daughter to him, he kills them.”

You pause, scrunch up your nose, and set the blade back on the table. “Or, I’ve been watching too much reality tv.” You’re not paying the most attention, though, and the dagger drags across the tips of your fingers. Blood pools on your fingertips, and then drops to the stone floor.

“Fuck,” You hiss, the familiar curse feeling unfamiliar on your lips after so long not using it. You stick your fingers in your mouth, to try and stop the bleeding. 

It’s then that you notice that the feeling in the room has changed. 

You turn to look at the room properly, your brow furrowed. You watch as the flames grow higher and higher, and you watch as the stone carving on the floor, which you hadn’t noticed until that moment, bursts into flames so bright that you have to throw your arm in front of your eyes to shield them.

You’re still blinking the spots out of your eyes when a warm hand presses against your cheek.

The man standing in front of you is not any of the Moffs in the building. He’s younger, with darker skin and curly hair. He’s also a lot more fit than most of the men you’ve interacted with over the last decade.

He’s also completely naked.

Your face flames and you immediately focus your gaze on the ceiling. Ironically, despite being married for ten years, you’ve never seen a naked man before.

The man releases a low chuckle, and you shiver at the sound, “There’s no need to be shy,” His gentle touch encourages you to bring your gaze back to him, “There you are.”

“I…who are you?” You ask, “I’ve never seen you before.”

He smiles, it’s a nice smile, “My name is Jango. I’m here because you summoned me.”

“...I did what now?”

His smile widens, “You summoned me. You’re the only person in the room, after all.”

“I…have so many questions.”

“I bet you do.” He drags his fingers down your bare arm, and then takes your hand in his. He glances at the rings on your fingers, and clicks his tongue, before removing both rings and tossing them into a brazier, “Married?”

“Unfortunately.” You’re still staring at him, “My parents sold me to my husband when I was 18.”

He hums in understanding, “Ask your questions.” Jango is still lazily touching you, his fingers trailing down your arms, and across the satiny material of your dress, before gliding up your bare back and across the back of your neck and down your throat.

“You said I summoned you?”

“You did. Not intentionally, perhaps, but you still did it.”

“Okay,” His fingers glide across your lips, “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re my priestess. You serve me, and I protect you.”

“Serve you how?”

He chuckles and moves even closer to you, and you should probably be nervous. Right? But you feel comfortable. Safe, even. It’s been a long time since you felt safe anywhere, let alone in the presence of a man.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Jango’s voice is low.

And he’s right. You can feel something. A connection towards the man standing before you. You can feel his devotion to you, and it kind of makes you want to cry. 

Jango’s fingers find the zipper on the back of your dress and he slowly pulls it down. You don’t stop him. You don’t even consider stopping him. His gaze remains locked on your face as he pushes the dress off your shoulders, “Tell me to stop,” He murmurs, “And I will.”

“I’ve never—”

“I know.” His lips glide across your cheek and down your jaw as your dress pools at your feet, “I’ll teach you.” Jango takes your heels from your hands and drops them on the floor, and then he guides you to the bed, “It’s better this way,” He murmurs as his lips move to hover over yours, “I don’t have to unteach you shame.”

Jango’s lips catch yours in a passionate kiss, and you eagerly surge into his touch. You feel cherished. Loved, even. You’ll give Jango anything, so long as he continues to make you feel like this.

He turns the both of you, so he’s able to sit on the edge of the bed, and he positions you so you’re standing between his spread legs. A glance at his cock reveals that he’s already hard, and there’s precum leaking down the side of his length.

You have the ridiculous notion that you want to taste him. Though the words seem to stick in your throat. You don’t even know how to ask if you’re allowed to.

Jango smoothly removes your panties and bra, both can be classified as lingerie, though he’s the only person who isn’t you, or the laundry staff, who’s ever seen them. 

You jolt in surprise when his fingers dip between your thighs and find your clit with ease. “It’s okay,” He murmurs, “I’m going to make you feel amazing,” Jango kisses around one nipple, and then moves to the other, and you’re pretty sure he’s driving you insane.

“J-Jango, I don’t—”

He watches you calmly, his thumb moving in slow circles around your clit, “Tell me, priestess.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You whisper, helplessly.

He laughs softly, though you know instinctively that he’s not laughing at you, “I’ll teach you. Don’t worry.”

His thumb continues its slow and steady movement, and you find yourself clenching around nothing. For a moment, you worry that your legs are going to give out, but Jango seems to be attuned to you, because the next thing you know, you’re straddling his lap.

Slowly he eases you down his cock, a heavenly groan escaping his lips as he settles you completely on him. You feel full, so full. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and press your face against his shoulder. 

“There we go,” he murmurs as he strokes your back and lightly thrusts up into you. How he’s managing that with you sitting on him, you’re not sure, but you’re also pretty sure you’ll figure it out, “Such a good girl,” Jango praises.

His words send lightning down your spine, and you release a quiet moan as you clench around him.

He pauses and then his arms tighten around you, “Taking me so good,” Jango continues praising, “Like you were made for me. So good.”

You whine quietly, “Jango—”

He chuckles and grips your hips tightly so he’s able to bounce you on his cock, “I’m going to take such good care of you, Princess.” Jango breathes, his voice heavy against your ear, “You’re never going to go without.”

He feels so good, you didn’t know it was possible to feel this good. You clench around him tightly and accidentally drag your nails down his back, pulling a pleased groan from him.

“There we go, cyar’ika. Mark me as yours,” One of his hands slides up your back to fist in your perfectly curled hair, pulling you back so he’s able to crash his lips against yours. 

Jango’s tongue slides against your lips, and then presses passed your lips to map out the inside of your mouth, and you immediately submit to him, your arms tightening around him.

He breaks the kiss, though he keeps his lips just over yours, “Tell me, beautiful.” Jango’s hand dips between you and presses roughly against your clit, pulling a strangle moan from you, “What do you want?”

You hear him, but you’re not able to answer. There’s a coil tightening inside you and you’re so close. So very close that, when Jango stops thrusting into you and stops pressing against your clit, you almost sob.

“Shh, shh,” He kisses you slowly, gently, “I’m going to give you what you need, I promise.” Jango presses his forehead against yours, “What do you want?” He repeats.

You know, instinctively, that he’s not talking about sex.

“I…I want,” You whisper, a whimper falling from you as he starts to slowly thrust into you, “I want them all to burn.” It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted it out loud, but Jango looks pleased with your wish.

He starts thrusting harder and faster, his lips closing over yours in a deep kiss that seems designed to steal the breath from your lungs, and with a press of his thumb against your clit, you clench around him and cum with a muffled whimper.

Jango’s pace becomes a little harder and a little faster, as he chases his release, then there’s warmth as he spills his seed deep inside you. He flips the pair of you so that you’re lying on the bed, and then he pulls out of you.

You’re breathing heavily, and you’re trying to reengage your brain, but you seem to be struggling with it a little bit. You watch Jango watch you, his gaze locked on your pussy, a hungry look on his handsome face.

And then his gaze meets yours again, “Stay here,” It is both an order and a request, “I’m not done with you yet.”

You blink at him, “Where are you going?”

The smile he directs at you is vicious, “You have a wish, and I’m going to fulfill it.” He leans over you and brushes some hair out of your face, “You want them to burn, so they’re going to burn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, “You don’t have to—”

“My beautiful priestess,” He kisses you again, “I am the God of Vengence. I’m happy to do it.” Jango presses one more kiss against your lips, and then he turns to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Then Jango is gone, and you stare at the closed door for a moment wondering if, when he comes back, he’ll let you suck his cock. That’s a good reward for killing the people you hate the most, right?

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

@maniacalbooper

@rebell-ious

[thuganomxcs]

━━   ❝   𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬..   ❞  Said Yusuke as he found himself in a sitting position only to avoid the insistent lecturing. God, and to think she pretty much implied that he wouldn’t be needed to explore just what’s making the miasma this strong since he couldn’t FLY, nor enter in the astral plane to avoid detection, and now he’s off to talk to parents about their sick children.

“Fine, fine I’ll go see what I can find out about the brats.” Both hands into his pockets as he reluctantly makes his way towards the hospital’s entrance. ‘Stupid Botan…WhY dON’t YOu dO soME DetECtinG?!’ He mutters in his mind. “I’ll show you detecting when I DETECT what color your panties are.” Yusuke spoke under his breath. He just wanted to be lazy and receive a mission update after a good nap. He wasn’t prepared to witness what he’s seeing.

There were so many adults here..men and women. Were they parents?? Some even flooded the main desk, flooding the poor receptionist with question that she had no clue on how to answer, there were even nurses coming from the elevators and other rooms to try and calm the parents down. “Damn..didn’t think it’d be THIS rowdy..has it really been THAT many brats?” Yusuke asked. Clearly the rumors might have downplayed the severity. There must have been at least thirty adults in here.

“Oh yeah, this has been happening for a few days now, they think it’s a variant of the first strain that hit a few weeks ago.” Said a man overhearing Yusuke’s sentence.

He spoke of a similar epidemic, then it clicked. It must have been when Gouki was devouring souls..but this was different. The children weren’t instantly comatose were they? WAS this just a repeat of what happened then?! FUCK, now he cares..and Yusuke knows when he starts to develop any sort of empathy he’d do what it took to see things be set right. So once he arrived close enough to a nurse he calls out to her to get her attention. “Hey lady…I have a little cousin that’s sick..but I wasn’t sure t’ bring him here..” Said Yusuke.

“I’m afraid this hospital might be quarantined soon, whatever’s happening seem to only affect the children. We’ve tested the majority of the parents but they were all fine..whatever this is it might be targets only to children. If you’re cousin experiences, lack of appetite for several hours to total lethargy then please bring him here.” Said the nurse.

Looks like his PLAN worked, the kids start to feel bad for several hours..so it must mean that their souls are still in tact..but it also mean something in the neighborhood might be the cause for concern.

“OH, and also if he develops a bruising on his back..please bring him.” The nurse added.

“Bruising?” Yusuke asked.

“Yes, we’ve noticed the children having strange bruising on their backs..different spots..but it seems to be a common physical symptom of whatever they’ve contracted.” The nurse said. “I’ll go check, thanks a lot lady.” Yusuke said as he quickly ran out of the hospital. A bruise.. “A friggin’ Yokai..plus the miasma Botan talked about..I wonder if that connected..” He wonders as he looks up into the sky..pretty much fidgety at this point as he REALLY wants to go explore the neighborhood.

BOTAN WATCHES HIM flop on a nearby bench, seemingly preparing to take a nap while she does all the hard work. What a pain, couldn't Koenma have picked a more responsible human? She marches after him and jabs him with her knee.

"Oh no you don't! What do I look like, your maid?" she shouts with her hands on her hips. "You're the detective, so get up and do some detecting, otherwise I'll just drop you back off at school." Ugh, she should talk to Koenma about a salary increase, she's just a ferry girl, not a babysitter.

Botan hops back onto her oar and floats upward. "I can observe the current conditions and trace spiritual energy but it would be helpful to learn what the children were doing before getting sick," she says once she's sure Yusuke is up. "Why don't you try some of that boyish charm and see if you can't find a parent or nurse to talk to. I'll find you when I've finished surveying," she says before floating up and into the hospital.

[beansnpeets]

My manager to the store owner: we've got the homepage of our new website up! Blair is working on the rest.

The store owner: ok here is my outboard motor I am selling, please post it on your website now

Me:

[tubbytarchia]

Points at my pinned message. There's a message there in bold. I'm sorry I don't clarify that I'm talking about CHARACTERS ONLY in posts that I don't maintag. I presume if you're on my blog to see these posts at all, you would already know as much. CHARACTERS please... just characters.... I've acknowledged that CC Jimmy is not bothered by the bullying many times. I'm very aware... I'm talking about characters......................

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[everymlmhybrid]

This is awesome just remembered I get to write the frottage scene soon assuming I actually write more than 4 words this week.

[mostly-imagines]

Hi!! If you're up to it do you think you could write something about the first time Jason brings his gf to the manor. Like maybe he brings her in but doesn't tell anyone and so everyone is trying to sneak a glimpse of her??

meet the family

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason has a girlfriend???

warnings: none

The manor sits full as ever—a cloud of mild boredom sweeping over the Wayne clan.

Dick sits perched on top of an armchair reading a catalog, Stephanie’s splayed out across the couch, Cass is bundled up in blankets atop the ottoman, and Damian leans up against the center table from the floor.

It’s a relatively slow afternoon, until Tim comes bursting into the room, out of breath.

“There’s a girl here!”

Everybody looks at him, disinterest scattered across the room. “There’s a couple of ‘em.” Dick says, flipping through the pages of the magazine.

Tim huffs, “No! In Jason’s room—he has a girl in there!” Eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Now I know you’re lying.” Damian mutters.

Tims head snaps over to Damian. “Dude, go see for yourself. I heard her!”

“You really think Jason would bring a girl here and not even introduce us?” Steph asks, unconvinced.

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously.”

Cassandra nods fervently.

“Okay, yeah. Maybe.” Stephanie mutters. “I bet he’ll introduce me before any of you guys, though.”

Dick barks out a laugh, “You’re nothing short of delusional if you think he’s introducing any of us.”

“We’ll have to take matters into our own hands, then.” Tim says, decidedly.

Damian audibly sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I’m meeting her first.” Steph confirms. “I’ll put money down right now.”

“Meet her or see her?” Cass signs.

“Same thing.” Stephanie shrugs.

Dick shoots up from his seat, “First person to see her gets to be the ring bearer!” He announces, racing out of the room.

Knock knock knock knock knock…

Knock knock.

It takes a good forty seconds, but Jason opens the door, an annoyed frown already on his face.

Dick gives him his brightest smile. It beams of deceit in Jason's eyes. “Hey man. What’cha doing?”

He crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Dick tries to peer around Jason into the room, but Jason made a point of barely opening the door and his large frame isn’t doing Dick any favors right now.

“Just wanted to say hey…You wanna hang out?”

“No.”

Dick lingers awkwardly. “…Are you sure?”

Jason shuts the door.

A couple minutes later, Tim comes running up the stairs. He opts to skip over the courtesy of knocking and go straight for barging through the door himself. Or he would’ve, if Jason hadn’t seen that coming from a mile away and locked it.

“Fuck off, Tim!” Jason calls from inside the room.

“You lost your right to privacy the second you walked in this house!” He shouts back, hitting his fist against the door.

And Tim swears he can hear a sweet laugh as he trudges away. The authenticity of that claim will be heavily debated downstairs for the next several minutes.

Not even a thirty seconds later, Stephanie comes a knockin’. Jason opens the door wordlessly, patience clearly dissipating more and more.

“Hey, Jason! I can’t find my comm, you wouldn’t happen to have it, would you?”

His face deadpans. “No, Steph.”

Stephanie clicks her tongue, “Can you check?”

He stares at her.

“Actually you’re right, it would be faster if I did.” Stephanie tries to push past him into the room, but Jason, unsurprisingly, doesn’t budge.

“Stephanie.”

“I just want to meet her!” She pleads. “I won’t even tell the others, I’ll just say you wouldn’t let me in either!”

“Bye.” He closes the door.

He doesn’t make it all the way back to the bed before the next knock, singular and short.

Jason snaps the door open again, looking down at Damian with a glare.

Never one to waste any time, “Is there a girl in here?” Damian asks, seeming thoroughly disinterested in the answer.

Jason shuts the door in his face.

Several minutes later, another, quieter knock. Jason’s groan can be heard from outside the room. He pulls open the door once again.

It’s Cass.

She stares at him.

He stares at her.

“Can I say hi to her?” She signs.

Jason sighs. “I’ll pass along the message.”

She smiles and turns back down the hall.

Jason closes and locks the door once again, trudging back over to the bed where you lay. He collapses onto your chest, your arms wrapping around each others bodies immediately.

“Cass says hi.” He mumbles, the sound obscured by his face-down position.

“That message would be a lot more meaningful if I actually knew Cass.”

He groans. “You don’t want to meet them.”

“I do.” You say, running your fingers through his hair. “And I think you do too, or you wouldn’t have brought me to the house where the world's best detectives live.”

“I’m starting to regret it now.”

“Come on. Please?” You plead.

He picks his head up to look at you.

“Are you sure?” He asks with a grimace.

“Absolutely.” You say, topping it off with a kiss on his cheek.

He sighs.

Well. It’s never been within Jason’s skill set to deny you, anyways.

You descend the stairs hand in hand with Jason, his energy mopier than usual. You can hear a gaggle of voices coming from a room ahead, all talking over one another.

“Okay, Tim, you climb up outside the window and—”

“—It’s your plan, you scale the side of the house.”

Jason drops his head and mutters a “Jesus Christ…” as you near the commotion.

You give him a reassuring smile and pat his back as you both move into the doorway.

Everyone’s heads snap to the doorway, eyes wide and waiting.

Jason takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for torture. “Guys…This is my girlfriend.”

“Hi.” You smile sweetly, waving to the room.

There’s a moment of still silence before the room erupts.

“Hold on—”

“—my god, she’s so pretty!”

“Oh wow—”

“Wait, what?”

”—You’re real?”

“—didn’t place that bet.”

Stephanie comes scurrying up to you and grabs both of your hands in hers. “Hi, I’m Steph!” She says with a beaming smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m—”

But the others are right on her tail, crowding around you.

“We didn’t even know Jason had a girlfriend.” Tim says.

“Still not convinced.” Damian mumbles from the back.

Cass waves and signs something to you.

“She says we’re really happy to meet you, which we are.” Dick tells you.

Damian moves closer within the huddle and inspects you closely. You have no idea what he’s inspecting you for. You don’t need to dwell on it for long because Jason pushes his head away from you with mild force making Damian scowl.

Stephanie chimes in, “Did he bring you here to meet us? The others said—”

Jason cuts her off, already knowing exactly where that sentence was going. “I brought her here to show her my old room.”

Dick snickers, “Oh, is that what you were off doing?”

“Watch it.” Your boyfriend warns.

You nudge him with your elbow, be nice.

Tim moves closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “So you’ve like, spent time with him and everything? And you still want to be around him?”

“Okay and you’re done.” Jason takes your hand and leads you out of the room and back down the hallway.

“No wait!”

You’re already out of the room and into another and then another before you can even realize that you’re headed for the front door.

You stop in your tracks, pulling him to a halt as well. “What about—”

Jason shakes his head. “You don’t want to meet him.”

You lower your chin at him, “Jay. Do you want me to meet him?”

He’s silent and doesn’t look like he particularly does.

You sigh, “Okay, do you want him to meet me?”

“I—yeah…” he trails, and you give him your best sweet eyes, the ones that he knows he has no business saying no to. “I…okay. Okay.”

He leads you down another hallway, the sounds of his siblings clambering echoing in the distance. You end up in a room that looks like a never used study, where Jason pushes on one of the walls. It slides open with a bit of force from him, revealing a door with a keypad next to it.

He types a series of numbers into it, and opens it up to a narrow passageway that looks remarkably like a cave.

The passageway leads down to a set of stairs, and you can hear the loud sound of water in the distance.

You’re quite nervous about walking into the Batcave, but you know Jason wouldn’t bring you anywhere near it unless he was sure it would be okay. Okay for you that is, more so than his father.

“Careful. It’s slippery.” Jason holds your hand the whole way down anyway, making sure to linger no more than a step and a half in front of you.

You see Bruce Wayne, sitting at a desk with a large array of computer screens in front of it, and case files scattered all throughout the surface.

He doesn’t acknowledge your entrance, though you have to imagine if Jason got his observation skills from anywhere, it would be him.

As you approach, Jason switches your hands so that his left is holding your left. The result has his figure half covering you, you can only assume partially limiting Bruce’s view of you.

“Bruce.”

Bruce turns his chair around, regarding Jason with a raised chin. The greeting is somehow even more formal than you’d expected.

“Jason.” He readdresses his gaze to you. “Who’s this?”

Jason has a hell of a feeling that Bruce already knows exactly who you are. He’s probably known about you since you started dating. He would’ve had to, to not be pissed as hell that Jason brought a civilian into the cave.

Jason introduces you, his hand reluctantly letting go as you step forward to shake Bruce’s.

Bruce looks surprised, though pleasantly so. He smiles and shakes it kindly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He says.

“You too, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You say, smiling.

He laughs, “Oh, I bet.” Looking to Jason, he says, “I can’t say I’ve had the same pleasure, unfortunately.”

Though Jason’s behind you now, you can practically feel him roll his eyes.

“No, I can’t imagine him sharing anything unprovoked.” Bruce smiles widely at that.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Jason, who’s probably on the brink of losing his mind down here, interrupts.

“Alright. Time to go.” Jason says, grabbing your hand again. He doesn’t give you much time to protest before he’s guiding you by the waist past him and towards the stairs.

You let him nudge you out and call over your shoulder, “It was nice meeting you!”

He’s halfway up the stairs as you exit, only to be stopped by Bruce addressing him again.

“Jason.”

Jason stalls his steps, turning around slowly. You’re out of the cave now, and Jason’s not excited to be alone with his Dad for even a minute. It doesn’t help that he has no idea what he’ll say.

“She’s kind.” Bruce says, simply.

“Yes.”

He tilts his head at Jason, observing him. “You love her?”

Jason looks at the ground. “Yes.”

Bruce nods. “Good.”

He returns to his work at the computers wordlessly, and Jason has to take a moment to realign himself before he climbs the rest of the stairs.

Jason doesn’t particularly seek his fathers approval, nor does he place any definable value on it. However, hearing him give his own version of his blessing to you struck something inside Jason. Something deep in his chest.

He re-enters the study, finding it empty. He walks out into the hallway, where you’re nowhere to be found. Despite being halfway across the house by this point, he can distinctly hear his siblings chattering in the living room. Chattering. And chattering. And chattering…

Oh god, you went back to the living room.

As Jason approaches the conversation becomes clearer.

“—long have you been together, anyways?”

“Well—”

Stephanie gasps suddenly, cutting you off. “Oh wait, you have to meet Alfred!”

“Oh, we’ve already met.” You tell her.

Dick’s head snaps up. “What? When?”

Jason enters the room, draping his arm around your shoulder. “About six months before you met her.”

A chorus of gasps and shouts ring out.

“What?”

[zincbotted]

homestuck is being too good rn

[lycandrophile]

i clicked on the original tweet just to see if anyone else felt as weird about it as i did because at this point i’m just tired of seeing people going on and on about trans men dating cishet men who try to convince them not to transition as if it’s a funny joke about a trans man doing something silly and not a manipulative and generally very unhealthy relationship dynamic that can hurt the trans man involved really deeply (as forcing someone back into the closet tends to do.)

did i find anyone else feeling that way? no. there were a few people pointing out that it was weird in general, and plenty saying it’s a weird thing to say about a cis woman, but nothing expressing any sort of concern about the tired stereotype it’s perpetuating.

but you know what i did find? replies like the one in the second screenshot, using the tweet as their chance to tell the world how much they hate trans men and how repulsive they find the idea of ever being compared to us. and replies like the third one, shaming trans men in relationships like that as if the fact that they’ve found themselves in an unhealthy relationship makes them deserving of public shaming, as if their relationship is hurting anyone other than them.

stereotypes like this just feel like yet another way of indirectly calling us stupid little girls who don’t know what’s good for us, and the fact that a picture of a woman is being used (even jokingly!) as an example of what trans men “like that” look like should make the implications of rhetoric like this all the more obvious.

it’s relationships like these that keep us miserable in the closet for so long and drive up our sexual assault rates even more. they’re not funny and if anyone is going to be making jokes about them, it certainly shouldn’t be people who have never been in that situation. if you actually cared about us you’d be looking for ways to support the trans men you know who are in relationships like that instead of hopping on twitter to joke about how stupid they must be.

i don’t care if it’s a joke. if it victim blames trans men for the transphobia we face in our personal relationships, adds to the common idea that we can’t be trusted to make decisions about our own lives, and invites even more blatant transphobia against us by people who unabashedly admit they see all trans men as “disgusting and phony”, it’s not fucking funny.

(i also want to note that the people making these jokes never like to mention that this also happens to trans men in relationships with queer women. they also hate those trans men, of course, and are happy to express that when they get into fights about trans men who date lesbians, but they’ll never talk about it in the context of this particular stereotype. it’s always a man being manipulative in a relationship and pressuring trans men to not transition, as if a woman would never be capable of such a thing.

they also like to conveniently ignore the existence of older trans men who transitioned after already being in a committed relationship with a cishet man and were able to make that relationship work despite their transition, because acknowledging that would require recognizing that trans men can be in seemingly contradictory relationships and genuinely be happy with their partner. who needs nuance when you can simply choose to judge all trans men for our relationships regardless of what they’re actually like?)

do you think they also would call me “a trans man being purposefully misgendered” with this kind of vitriol because i’m still living with parents who don’t recognize my gender instead of moving out before i’m ready to be financially independent? at this point, i’m starting to feel like they might, with the way every decision a trans man ever makes is the subject of a public debate and people have decided that trans men are secretly using being misgendered as a weapon to somehow hurt other trans people.

as a general rule, i’d say the only people who should be making “X looks like a trans man” jokes about literally anyone/anything are trans men, and posts like this show exactly why those jokes being made by anyone else (even by other trans people) just isn’t a good idea.

[dabisqueen]

Pornstar!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x female reader

⇢ word count: roughly 7K

⇢ plot: as a broke student, you sign up for an assistant job at a movie set. It turns out the job is more than you bargained for.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, swearing, size kink, pierced big-cock Touya, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, overstimulation, exhibitionism (sex in front of other people (movie set)), creampie, sweet aftercare

⇢ personal note: thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for bring my beta again! As for what you're all about to read – I have no regrets. Virgin kink goes brrr

"College has always been so crucial, such an essential part of what measures a person’s worth and determines their future."

They say college life is quite challenging. That it can help you come to realize your potential, that you learn more about yourself while in it. That the challenges you experience in university help you grow into a mature person in society.

You have several challenges to face. There's the problem that you focus entirely too much on your studies. In some ways, it’s to secure your future and to compensate for your lack of private life. In other ways, it makes you, because of inexperience, too naive for your own good. Or, as your friends have called it: too innocent. You've never had anyone touch you, never been with anyone in that way. Thus, you never get the hint when someone hits on you or finds you attractive. You have excellent grades – but unlike many of your peers, you’re still a virgin. 

Another challenge you are facing is that you aren't wealthy. One semester into your studies, you are closer to the end than you expected. Leaving your landlord's buro, you take a few steps before coming to a halt and close your eyes as if to gain some semblance of composure. You're broke and desperately need money to cover your rent and living expenses. The bank isn't going to give you another loan, and you find yourself on the verge of having to leave college without a family to support your education.

They say you have to fail first to be successful in the future. But you are beyond failing – you are simply screwed. 

You are very aware of your financial predicament. And you loathe having to live day to day on just pennies. To put it short—you are sick of being a broke-ass, loser virgin.

You sigh. 

Giving up is not a choice. So you do the next best thing: grab life by the horns and start looking for a job. Searching under your bed, clothing pockets, and between couch cushions, you scrounge up enough money to get a local newspaper. In its classified ads, only a few offers deem themselves feasible with your busy school schedule: a late-night shift at a local diner, pizza delivery, or a job doing telemarketing. None of those sound too appealing, but there might not be a choice. Then, your gaze stops at an offer that sounds too good. A movie company is looking for a production assistant on a film set; you don't need prior experience, work hours are during the weekends, and pay is double what the other jobs offer.

You don’t think before hastily grabbing your phone, punching in the number, and waiting while the dial tone rings.

After a distinct click over the other line, a man hisses, "Shimura?"

"Uhm, hi. I- I am calling about the assistant job offer. I was wondering—"

"You're hired. Tomorrow at 5 pm," the man at the other end interrupts in an annoyed tone.

He rattles off the address as you fumble around for a pen, hastily writing it down when you find it.

Before you can reply, he finishes with Don't be late and hangs up unceremoniously.

You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath since he started speaking.

What the hell just happened? 

***

The path to the location is littered with brown leaves, and you struggle to keep from slipping as you walk toward the building. The address given to you is an old warehouse on the edge of town. Its monotonous, featureless walls covered in graffiti make it feel abandoned. There are no visible signs that anything is happening inside at all.

As you walk across the parking lot, you start to see small indications of life: fancy cars—far too fancy for this area- and sensual music permeating through the corrugated steel walls. 

You weren’t sure how to dress for a job you knew nothing about, so you opted for blue jeans, a white blouse, and pointy shoes with heels. Your hair is tied into a neat ponytail, and simple smokey eyes complete the look. 

You aim for a large steel door that the cars are all parked close to. As you lift your head, you take in the old brick building you are standing in front of, lined with large casement metal windows. 

There is a single doorbell, no name on it, and you hesitate before inhaling and pressing it with the tip of your finger.

You hear a clicking sound, and then the heavy door swings inwards. 

Alright, here goes nothing.

***

The set is surprisingly professional—like a luxurious bedroom sliced in half. A row of chairs faces the set on a concrete floor behind multiple cameras and some sound equipment, with the crew standing around talking.

The producer, Tenko, as he introduces himself to you–with tufts of pale hair and seemingly chronic dry lips in dire need of some chapstick – explains that your job will consist of helping around the set, distributing beverages, and handing out the script. Simple work you could do. After introducing you to the crew, he hands you a stack of papers, instructing you to pass them out.

Then you see her—the actress. She is gorgeous, dressed in an ivory-colored silk robe. Her hair is the color of the sun. Her skin is flawless and tanned, and her body is perfect- although almost definitely sculpted by a professional surgeon.

"Where the fuck is he?" You hear Tenko grumble, pulling a phone from his pocket, thumb tapping against the screen.

A flurry of activity breaks your concentration. A door flies open, and a man strides through—the leading actor, you gather, from how everyone else suddenly perks up.

"Fucking finally," the pale-haired director groans, tucking his cell back into the pocket of his jacket.

The man's hair is coal-colored, falling in messy strands into his face. His eyes remind you of the bright ocean, almost glowing in the dim light of the set. His sharp lips pull into a wide grin, his canines peeking out. He is casually dressed, wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, allowing you to notice just how well-toned his arms are. He is handsome, with delicate yet masculine features and sharp angles set in his face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his thin lips form a troublesome grin when his eyes meet yours. 

Shit. 

He holds your gaze before dragging his sinfully blue eyes over your figure and looking away again. Your heart skips a beat because even in the low light, you can see that the actor is incredibly hot. Totally your type. You can't help but stare at him, watching how he moves, the way his muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his thighs bulge in his tight pants. 

Speaking of bulge. 

It's the biggest one you've ever seen, and the sight of it sends a pang straight to your core. Your cheeks heat up automatically. 

Stop it!

You curse inwardly a few times for thinking lewd thoughts on a professional movie set.

But—you can't help it. He just looks too handsome. It stirs something inside of you you've never felt before. You sigh, knowing that this man has already made his way into your dreams, but in the end, they’ll stay just that— dreams. 

Someone like him would never want to lay a hand on you.

As he approaches the stage, the man stops dead in his tracks, staring at the actress with a bored expression. 

“Not her again.” You hear him groan.

The actress snaps her head around, a stunned expression on her face. “Pardon me?”

"The script calls for an innocent girl." The actor deadpans. "No one's gonna believe that with you in the female role."

The actress jumps to her feet. “How dare you talk about me like that!”

Tenko hisses, “Didn't you read the script? You would have known you film with her today, Touya—"

“I told you not to use my real name on set,” he says with a blase, somewhat impatient gaze.

“And I told you not to let out your frustration on the set, Dabi.” The director retorts.

“Frustration caused by your actions.” Dabi deadpans.

You hold your breath as your eyes dart from the director to Dabi and back to the actress. The rest of the crew acts like this is an everyday commotion on the set. 

“This is not a request— I'm not doing the scene with her, " Dabi says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The actress jumps from her chair, visibly outraged, as her cheeks flare red with anger. “You're such a dick!”

“Yeah, you're right. But I’m the best dick in the industry.” He turns around, a sardonic finality in his tone.

You stare at the scene before you, the forgotten papers clutched tightly to your chest. The blonde woman stares at the dark-haired man, infuriated. 

“So, it's either me—or her.” Dabi addresses Tenko, who isn't even trying to de-escalate the situation. “That's my final say.”

“I can't believe you're doing this to me!" The woman wails exaggeratedly.

"Sweetheart, we need someone who conveys innocence. Not some chick as fake-looking as you," Dabi purrs with false care. “Go carry your plastic off the stage already.”

Tenko scratches his neck in annoyance. He watches as the actress slings an array of profanities at Dabi before storming off with quick strides toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.

The dark-haired man stands at ease, reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “Thank god she's gone. What were you thinking, Tenko?”

“Dabi, she's the most requested—” 

“I don't give a fuck.” he runs a free hand through his dark bangs. “She sucks.”

You listen to them bicker, getting more confused by the second. 

“So—what do you expect me to do now?” Tenko's scratching increases as he starts pacing up and down the set. “Production costs will double if we cut and pick things up on a different day. Not to mention the cost of finding a new replacement.”

He jumps off his chair, pacing around the set. Then he grumbles, “We’ll take a ten-minute break. I need to come up with a solution or else—”

“We need someone Pretty, no makeup, normal clothes.” Dabi suggests, "That won't be too expensive. Someone who looks undefiled, innocent.” Dabi's gaze wanders across the room. “Like a student or something.”

Then he sees you, and a smirk tugs at his lips. His stunning sapphire eyes look you up and down. You swallow hard, your shaking hands almost crumpling the papers in their tight grip.

"Like her." Teal eyes narrow as they focus on you. 

You blink back at him dumbly, the room around you completely silent.

"Me?" You answer, his words catching you off guard.

"Yep. You." Dabi's smirk returns, a playfulness in his eyes. 

The director stares at you with the same baffled expression written on your face. "Her?"

"Yep. Her." His grin widens.

"B-But, I can't!" You counter. " I'm a simple student, not an actress—"

"That's exactly what we need." The twinkle in his eyes is still there, "And you have a pussy, don't you?"

"Yes, I—” You catch yourself, your cheeks flaring hot. “W- What does that even have to do with this movie?"

Suddenly, the room goes alive with murmurs and whispers.

Dabi quirks a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"

"Don't know what?" You helplessly look around.

The dark-haired man turns to his director, "You didn't tell her?!"

Tenko mumbles something about how you would have found out eventually. 

Dabi steps toward you and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Doll, this is an adult film set."

"A what?" You dumbly blink at him.

"An adult film set. You know, where people fuck." He leans forward, deep azures sparkling salaciously. "You know how fucking works, don't you?"

"Yes, I mean—in theory?" A heat washes over your face and flushes down your entire body.

"Yes or no. What is it?" Dabi asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

The heat in your face has reached the tip of your ears as you stammer. "It's none of your business."

He steps even closer. "C’mon, sweetheart, tell us."

He smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes. You can smell him with how close he is leaning in. His deep, masculine scent surrounds you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your core. Even though your mind wants to scream at him, to tell him off, you hear a timid voice whisper, "I’ve used my fingers? Maybe some toys?"

It is your voice.

"You're telling me you've never done it with another person?" This time, it is Dabi’s turn to sound baffled as he leans back, taking you in. "That you're a virgin."

"I-I…" You stammer, swallowing dryly.

Looking over his shoulders, he calls over to his director, "It'll break records if we film this. You're aware of that, right?"

"I am." Tenko snaps, scratching at his neck irritably, "You don't need to tell me."

"Ok, then it's a deal.” He nods towards you. “I want her—or I'm leaving."

"You little piece of—" Tenko growls. "That's extortion."

"You won't regret it," Dabi says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Shouldn’t I have a say on this too?" You ask, but both men ignore your words.

"Ok, it's a deal," Tenko murmurs. "How much do we pay her?"

Dabi turns his gaze back to you. "You need money, right? Or else you wouldn't be here.”

"That’s none of your business."

"C'mon, sweetheart, This is your chance."

“Yes, I mean… " a sound of annoyance bubbles up your throat. "I can't afford my rent anymore, and my landlord will kick me out if I don't pay up soon."

“I sense an opportunity here," Dabi smirks. "Tenko, how much will you pay her if she agrees to do this with me?"

"How much do you want?" Tenko asks you.

“I-I don't know. I've never thought about it." You shyly add.

"Pay her rent plus an allowance," Dabi suggests. "Tenko, you know she's worth it."

"That’s too m—" You swallow hard.

Tenko mumbles disgruntledly: "OK, I'll do it.” 

“You what?" His words leave you stunned.

Dabi interrupts quickly. "What he's saying, sweetheart, is that he'll pay for your rent - if you let me fuck you.”

His lewd words and the deep blue pools of his stunning eyes send a flutter through your stomach. 

“In front of all these people?!" 

“That's what porn is all about, doll.” Dabi chuckles, studying your reaction.

You swallow hard.

"So? What's it gonna be?" He cocks his head, waiting. 

You have always prioritized safety, so common sense tells you to stick to your usual way of life. However, look where common sense has led you: You're almost broke and may need to drop out of college. 

This could be a bad decision. But, it's time to throw safety to the sea.

"OK, I'll do it," you proclaim, and a round of applause and cheers erupt on the set while Dabi nods appreciatively.

“Congratulations, you're hired. Now, get ready before I change my mind.” Tenko waves a hand. “We still have a movie to film here.”

Your heart starts to race, a crushing weight bearing down on your chest. But you know that you have no choice. It's either a free porn loan—or being a forced college dropout. Taking a deep breath, you ball your hands into fists, trying to ignore the signs of panic your body is giving you.

"Okay, everyone, resume positions. And hand her the script.” Tenko moves to his chair, sitting down in it. “Let's do the first take." 

"Hold on," Dabi says. "Why not do it a bit differently this time? No script, no acting— just raw footage. The whole thing.”

“You mean a one-shot film?” Tenko looks surprised. “I suppose that would work. Especially with a new actress.”

“Are you okay with that, doll?” Dabi smiles at you, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before.

“Do I have a choice?” you sigh.

“Not really.” He winks.

"Are you two lovebirds done flirting over there? " Tenko asks, " Because we're ready to film.”

“We weren't flir—” you protest, but Dabi bridges the distance between you.

"So, sweetheart?" He leans in, his face hovering close, sharing a breath with you. "How are you feeling about being fucked on camera?"

“Nervous.” you bite your lips, your face starting to burn.

"Doll, don't be; just focus on me," he soothes, stroking your cheek. “Forget about everyone else; I'll take care of you.”

He takes your hand and pulls you towards the bedroom set.

“Quiet!” Tenko raises a hand, and complete silence falls over the set as the crew prepares to film you both. 

Tenko calls out a set of commands, which different crew members around the room answer.

“Sound?”

“Set.”

“Camera?”

“Set.”

“Roll sound.”

“Sound rolling.”

“Roll camera.” 

“Camera Speed.” 

“Marker.”

A man with a clapper board enters the scene and calls, "Scene one. Take—uhm— whatever." 

Dabi nods, and that is the cue. The lights dim, and the cameras vanish into the darkness; only the red lights betray their existence. 

You glance around, your stomach in knots, as you realize that this is no game, that this is it. The only thing visibly lit was the bed standing a few feet away. The crew's faces are barely visible as everyone watches you, the man behind the camera tilting it, filming you from bottom to top.

“Hey baby, you alright?” You hear Dabi's voice.

“N-No, not really.” You stammer, your hands trembling, your breathing picking up, as your eyes frantically dart around the dark set. “I don't know if I can do this.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” You feel a finger hook under your chin when Dabi tilts your head to meet his gaze. It's intense, the turquoise of his irises gleaming almost unnaturally. 

You feel your heart sink into your stomach as his thumb caresses your skin. When he closes the already minimal distance between you, your eyes flutter close in reflex. His lips are sensually warm and addicting against your cheek, and your heart starts thrashing wildly inside your chest in response. Something changes between you, an intimacy blooming as the voices of the people mute.

It's all you need to distract your mind, to make your body heat up. Not with anxiety—

—but in anticipation. 

“Are you ready to give me your virginity?” His low voice rumbles close to your ear.

You nod, like in a haze, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, to burn with passion. He shifts, and you feel him faintly brush your lips, and a zap of electricity courses through your veins. Then, your lips are united in his first tentative kiss. They are so soft, and the way he kisses you is so delicate, almost tender— deliberately slow.

You relax, giving in to how wonderful this feels. His tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, and you feel your brain short-circuiting. Angling your head to the side, you part your lips, begging him to enter. Dabi reacts instantly, his tongue slipping your mouth, delving deeper, tasting you, consuming you.

You groan—how could a man taste so good?

It makes your knees buckle, and you start panting into his mouth, your instincts taking over, your body reacting to his touch. A desire, a passion, awakens like a wild animal roaring, and you feel a wave of arousal pool in your panties. You can't help it, and you slide your hand underneath his shirt, your other hand circling his neck. You can feel him smirking into the kiss, but the sound carries off into a groan when you rake your nails down the small of his back. 

As he breaks away, a warmth lingers between you and him while he admires your wet, pink, swollen lips, "A little eager for your first time, huh?"

The kiss leaves you dizzy, and you can't seem to form an answer, too stricken by his closeness and intoxicating scent.

The moment passes, and then his lips smash against yours so fast you don't even have time to react. He presses his hips against yours, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat, letting you feel just how hard you’ve made him.

Holy shit.

He's not gentle anymore; he's rough and demanding now. He is taking you, enjoying the shaky gasps that leave your lips. Dabi’s hands trail down your side to find your ass cheeks. He lifts you by the thighs onto his waist skillfully, never breaking the kiss. Carrying you easily toward the bed he releases his hold and you topple onto it, panting heavily.

The lights around you heat the air, and you notice one camera panning across the set while the other tracks toward you on a dolly. Just as your heart starts picking up an anxious speed again, you see a movement to the side. Dabi yanks his shirt above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing with every movement.

The second the fabric touches the floor, he's on you with his lips pressed to yours and his tongue in your mouth. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment of passion and all you can see is him. Your stomach somersaults and the world around you ceases to exist; it is just you and him— the people around you and the cameras wholly forgotten. The world, right now, only revolves around the two of you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes into your mouth, hazy eyes glowing with arousal. "How do you taste so fucking good?”

You feel his hand sneak underneath your shirt to slowly pull it off over your head. Next, he skillfully removes the rest of your clothes off until you are lying below him, sex and breasts cupped by delicate cotton underwear. 

“Look at that,” he muses. “So innocent.”

Sliding his hand behind your back, he unhooks the bra with an expert pinch of his fingers. Your breasts spill out as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. Then his gaze lingers on your soft, round tits.

“Damn,” he cups them and squeezes them gently, “Where have you been hiding, girl? You're perfect.”

He slides his fingers over your nipples and a low moan tears from your throat. Dabi lets out a low rumble as his hands continue to work your breasts, rubbing and plucking at your stiffening nipples. There’s a deep throb low in your body, pulsing between your thighs, and you're startled at the way you’re reacting. You are so turned on—his touch only adds to your body’s cravings, and as his large palms glide over your breasts; it pulls the breath from your lungs as it simultaneously fuels your desire. His thumbs drag over your nipples again, rolling it between his fingers before leaning down to lick at your pebbled nub. He makes you feel breathless with excitement the more he focuses on toying with your breasts, rolling the tips back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. 

It makes you crazy with need until you're aching, shivering throughout your entire body. You're gasping for breath the entire time Dabi has his lips wrapped around your erect nub, sucking it to send a tingling sensation straight through to your core. Then he's biting just hard enough to make you squeal before soothing the puckered nub with a flick of his tongue.

“You’ve got the most amazing tits,’ Dabi murmurs against your skin. “So soft and full. So natural.”

While he switches from pliant nipple to pliant nipple, you feel a stray hand hook its fingers under the seams of your panties. He releases your nipple with a pop and peppers kisses down to your tummy while he adeptly pulls the little piece of fabric down and off your legs. You're now utterly naked below him while Dabi continues revering your body with wet kisses and nibbles, moving downward until you feel his warm breath on your pubic mound. He spreads your trembling legs, his eyes glazing over your pussy, pupils expanding and then retracting into pin slits.

"Look at that pretty pussy." His breath is hot against your soaked folds. "And so fucking wet—you're dripping."

A shameful sound spills from your lips at his words, and you writhe in his hold. But his hands keep you in place. 

"You're seriously telling me,” he slides his fingers up and down your glistening folds, “No one's been here before?"

You squirm below him as a camera zooms in on where Dabi’s eyes are affixed– between your thighs.

“Cause you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He snickers. “And I've seen a lot.” 

His warm, calloused fingers slide up and down your slippery folds, his hot breath fanning over your sex. Then he spreads apart your sweet lips; it makes you shudder in anticipation, and Dabi chuckles.

“I can see you twitching for me.” A finger sinks in, making you arch your back the deeper it goes. 

The camera behind him zooms in on your blushing face, and you cover it with trembling hands. 

"Nu-uh, no hiding. Look at me." He slaps your clit lightly—making you jolt. "Let us see your pretty face."

You whimper softly, because you've touched yourself before—

—but this just feels so much more intense.

“Dabi—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your ass, 

raising your hips to have more access to you. 

“Relax, baby, I'll take care of you.” A growl tears from his throat, and then he drags his tongue over your gleaming folds, tasting you. 

You cry out, your body shuddering. Over and over, Dabi licks you with deep, claiming strokes, using his tongue to explore every bit of you. 

“Damn, you taste better than anything I've ever tasted.” He pushes his wet muscle into your core, frantic to have more of you. 

“Oh my God. Dabi!” Your toes curl, and your thighs tighten around him. You're both – startled and aroused at his eagerness. Any worries you have are melting away as he drags his tongue over you again and again, making you squirm with need.

A moan escapes your lips– loud, uncontrolled– when his tongue flicks over your folds. When he grazes your little button, you jolt as if you've been stung. 

He hums appreciatively and buries his face into your warmth, seeking out that sweet nub. Your body jerks as he moves his tongue over it, repeating the action when he does it again. You give a little wail, and your hands curl into the fabric the longer he teases. He eagerly works that spot, and you cry out with little choked gasps.

As his tongue circles your clitoris, your sensations spiral out of control. You can feel the tension increasing in your body with a growing urgency to be released. 

“Dabi,” you pant with every flick of his tongue. But he doesn't respond, does not hear– or pretends not to. He buries his face in your folds, hands holding you down by your hips.

With every quiver that moves through your body, with every shiver of response, every tensing of your muscles, you draw closer to the edge.

You writhe against Dabi, with his face between your thighs, lapping at your juices. All the while, he continues to work your little clit with his tongue in slow, steady strokes. 

Suddenly, the feeling that you’re about to cum overwhelms you. Your pussy clenches, dripping with your juices, and your clit is ready to burst.  

Your hips jerk against him, and then a release explodes in your mind, your thoughts crashing all around you. You come with a slight scream that morphs into a moan, but Dabi does not stop his ministrations—

—no.

He continues to lick and suck as you come and come and come.

It's too much; you feel like exploding. You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between Dabi’s strands, pushing and pulling at his roots unsure if you can take it if he keeps going like that. 

Your entire body is on fire. The orgasm continues to surge through you– more intense than anything you’ve experienced by yourself– with Dabi gently sucking and licking at your clit. You are delirious, feel like you are floating with no way to find your path back to earth. 

“Dabi, please—” you choke out.

Dabi’s mouth detaches from your overstimulated nub and straightens up, licking your cum’s sweetness off his lips. Crawling on top of you, he gazes into your eyes. “Doll, tell me—what do you want me to do?”

You see his jeans straining from the bulk of his erection and swallow, your body responding with a flood of hormones. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, thinking in ways you never have before.

You want to beg him to be gentle, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him unbuckle his belt before unzipping his jeans, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he does. His cock springs to life, and you swallow thickly. It's enormous—and pierced. 

You feel a momentary pang of doubt, questioning if that monster will even fit inside you. The previous excitement and adrenaline pumping through your veins gradually turn to panic. Your breathing picks up as you stare at his cock, wide-eyed. 

“You look worried,” Dabi says, stroking it with one hand. His raised eyebrows and amused grin tell you he's used to this type of reaction. 

“Are you sure…” you nod towards his cock.

“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. It’ll be the greatest thing you'll ever experience.”

Your entire body yearns for his touch, and there’s no way you're saying no now. He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves to hold himself in hand to align his cock with your entrance.  

"Do you want me to fuck you?’ Dabi asks as he drags the head of the tip up and down your slit. 

“‘S not gonna fit,” you whine with a worried expression.

“Don't be scared,” Dabi says, "I know what I'm doing. So, you'll be a good girl and take it all, right?”

“I'm not sure,” you whisper.

“I know you can...” His eyes stare at you with a desire so intense that you almost feel intimidated. 

He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. The pressure between your legs increases as Dabi nudges the pierced tip of his cock against you.

“Get ready,” he whispers.

A mix of a gasp and a cry leaves your lips as Dabi strains against you, feeling like he’s trying to shove a massive pole inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather in your lashes, and Dabi holds back, kissing you, waiting for you to relax.

“Easy,” he says softly, “I’ve got you.” 

The softness of his tone relaxes you and the tension in your shoulders lessens. Then, somehow, something gives way, and he enters you. You gasp, your body opening up to accommodate the massive dick that is now sliding inside of you. 

"Oh my god—” You throw your head back, hands clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him away.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyebrows furrowing before he hits resistance and then pushes forward.

There’s a sharp pain slicing through your core, and you don't know if it's from the stretch or a tear. Probably both. It hurts, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheek. Dabi continues to push his hips forward, only stopping once he’s entirely inside, heavy balls pressed against the crease of your ass. The cameras zoom in on the bulge in your womb, where his dick sits buried deep inside of you. But you don't notice them, your brain too consumed by him filling you up, his whole weight resting against you. 

“You ok?” Breathing heavily, he drags his eyes back and forth over your face. 

“Gimme a sec.” Your lips press into a thin line as the pain from the stretch slowly turns into a dull throb. After a moment, you nod...

"I'm gonna start moving now," Dabi says— and then does precisely that. 

Just as you start to feel your body relaxing, he withdraws, only to plunge himself in again. The sudden shock of the movement is incredible. You feel every ridge, every single thick vein. It feels fantastic, and as he slowly slides back in, you can appreciate every inch of his cock. He starts an even rhythm, rocking inside you gently. 

“Shit, just squeezed me so fucking tight,” he moans in response. "I’m warning you, don't make me lose my composure. You don’t want to see me act up.”

Your mind feels detached from your body; you don't hear him, don't even notice the camera zooming in, focusing on how your face scrunches and your lips quiver because of how good he makes you feel. 

He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer to him. Raising both legs in the air, he pushes them forward until your body is folded in half.

“Oh—shit—” You choke out, the walls of your sex stretching to accommodate him. 

“I’m gonna make you cum,” Dabi is panting hard as he starts driving his cock rapidly in and out of you. “You won't be able to walk for days.”

“I-I can’t—” your jaw slackens as you tighten around his dick again, the ability to form comprehensive answers having left you the moment he breached your walls.

He rams himself deeper while his fingers slip between your strands, guiding your face upward, your mouths colliding in a frantic kiss. 

It starts as a slow burn that gradually builds into a white, blistering heat. A feeling begins coursing through you, making you lose control of your body. You tense and arch your back, your head digging back into the pillow, voice caught in your throat. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, all that tension releases, and you cry out loud, a turbulent wave of pleasure hitting you like a storm. All your nerve endings are seemingly set ablaze while Dabi fucks you through your orgasm. 

His eyes are wide with wonder, hearing and feeling you come undone around him. The way your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, your entire body trembling and shaking in ecstasy, is the best thing he's ever seen. It makes his chest swell with pride. Still, it feels like it's not enough, though, and he needs more. He wants to own you, possess you, make you his.

Dabi snaps. 

With a suppressed growl, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He's not letting you catch your breath before he propels his cock back inside you again. His hand slides from the dip in your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your face is buried in the sheets. At this angle, he reaches even deeper than before, his piercings rubbing your G-spot just right. Your hands tightly fist the soft duvet with every drive of his hips, knocking the air from your lungs.

Dabi seems delirious, pistoning in and out of you now. Reaching forward, he gathers your hair around his fist, tugging it to keep you in place, forcing your head up from the sheets. You sob out his name, your chin and cheeks covered with your drool and tears. 

But Dabi is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice. 

"I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never think of anyone but me in your fantasies," Dabi growls while your elbows shake under the pressure of his forceful thrusts.

Slowly, your mind is falling apart with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Dabi starts drilling his big cock into your even faster now. You tremble below him, thighs quivering when you feel another orgasm building up. 

“You gonna cum for me again, princess?” Dabi groans, “I can feel your pussy clenching around me.”

You nod, too exhausted to form any words. Dabi tightens his hold on your hip, fingers digging into your plush skin, holding you still. 

“I’m gonna cum with you,” he tells you. “I’m gonna fill up your tight hole, gonna breed you so good—fuck!”

"Please—" you whimper pathetically, finding yourself trapped in his lewd promises. 

And then you lose it, feeling like the world is disappearing underneath your feet. Pleasure rips through you, leaving you with no strength. It’s an intense tingling pleasure that starts in your core and spreads through your whole body, from your fingertips down to your toes. It's all-consuming and euphoric, your body not knowing what to do with that much sensation at once. 

You feel your body falling off a cliff into a pile of tingling ecstasy as you cum again with a broken whimper escaping your lips. The orgasm is even more potent than the last ones, like a massive burst of pleasure; all that tension explodes and shoots up the back of your legs and everywhere else. You moan and shudder, your pussy clamping around his cock. 

“That’s it,” Dabi lets out a long, shuddering groan. “Just like that.”

You forget to breathe while Dabi keeps fucking your harder and harder, feral with desire, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can.

“Oh fuck—” You gasp out, arching your back, fingers twisting against the sheets.

No sooner have the words slipped from your lips that you feel your whole body lock tight again—and then unravel. You forget to breathe as an unending cascade of euphoria detonates deep inside of you. You come undone, shaking uncontrollably as juices gush from your pussy, dripping down Dabis balls, drenching the sheets below. 

Dabi groans, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping back. With one final possessive thrust of his hips, he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. You feel his cock twitch as he moans heavily, eyebrows sewn together. His body is shuddering, his hips hitching while he rides out his orgasm.

You’re faintly aware of your surroundings, buried too deeply in your bliss. Unable to take any more pleasure, you slump backward. Dabi slides his softening cock from you with an obscene wet sound before dropping down onto the bed beside you, taking you with him.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, caressing your skin. “That felt so—”

‘And—cut!’ You hear a voice call, speaking its way into the mush that is your brain, slapping you back to reality.

You open your eyes and look around in shock, having completely forgotten where you are. The lights switch on, almost blindingly bright. People start hustling about the set, and cameras mere inches away from you now pull back into their waiting positions. 

“That was perfect,” you hear Tenko say through the noise filling the set now.

Your breath catches in your throat, an unsettling feeling beginning to well inside you. Your heart starts pounding at an increasingly rapid pace while you feel panic stretch its icy fingers up your spine.

You feel a warm hand cradling your face, angling it to the side. It’s Dabi. He places his mouth over yours without further ado. 

“You are perfect.” Dabi coos into the kiss, and it happens again— butterflies erupt in your gut, the world around you fading until there's only you and him.

Instinctively, you let go, feeling the tension slowly dissipate and your heart calming down. Dabi smiles as he breaks away from you, and you feel it— a lingering warmth, an unseen connection that spins fragile threads between you both.

A man approaches to help you get out of bed, but Dabi, whose face is still dewy with sweat, moves between you both. He takes the bathrobe from the guy and wraps it around your shivering body before getting dressed himself.

Helping you off the bed, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and leads you past the celebrating crew members from the set until you’re backstage. 

Once in the changing room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it. 

“That was something…” he muses. “You’re a natural. Would you ever consider doing this again with me?’ 

You're caught off-guard, his face radiating a tenderness that fills your heart with something joyful. A warmth spreads across your face, your hands gripping the soft belt of your robe as you nip at your lower lip. “I-I don't know.”

“You should,” Dabi kicks off the door frame and saunters over you with a sinful, obscene sway of his hips. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Think about it…”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second. When he pulls away, his arms wrap around your neck, lower half still pressed against you as if you’re not a stranger. He looks down at you like the two of you have been dating for years.

“So, I was wondering… what are you doing later on?” Dabi kisses the tip of your nose. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat and get some drinks?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” A new desire for him grows inside of you. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently play with his dark hair.

“Maybe?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.

“Is this even allowed?” Chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly catches up to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.

“Maybe?” Dabi repeats, his thumb gently brushing along your lips.

When you look into his eyes, a tenderness softens the rough edges of his sharp features. It makes you wonder, he’s been so sweet and caring after everything that happened today– you actually believe he’s a genuinely sincere and nice guy. You feel your heart quiet when you’re with him, as if you have found peace. 

“Well…” you consider, “I've just thrown all my morals into the wind. So, might as well go on a date with a pornstar, right?”

“You won't regret it.” Dabis laughs softly. “Even though you might not be able to move after I'm done with you—”

“Is that so…” You are torn between scolding him or laughing because he's so cute. “Ok, big boy, whatever you say.”

[janumun]

A Relentless Conquest (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 10.7k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: dueling (Sylus fighting), semi-public sex, oral and vaginal sex, Sylus’s brand of manhandling, dry humping, praising, dirty talk, rough sex, wander in wonder AU/historical AU, based in ancient Mongolia, creampie, size difference, mild rich/poor class power dynamics

Summary: What happens when you end up catching the unwanted attentions of a sleazy magistrate on a day out in town? A duel for your honor — or lifelong imprisonment — is what awaits you. That is, until Sylus, leader of the exceedingly notorious Onychinus gang, and a man you dub reluctantly, an old acquaintance, intervenes and offers the immoral magistrate a deal he cannot refuse.

[A fic where Sylus engages in a precarious duel in order to free you from the clutches of a corrupt high official; wins the duel AND the prize at stake, you.]  

Author’s Notes: The things the Wander in Wonder trailer did to me were unspeakable, I had to get started on this fic right away. Another long monstrosity so it took me quite a while to hammer it out smoothly. Some terms used within, to note: *tögrögs is an old Mongolian currency and *Lungtang is the Mongolian city used loosely within this fic’s setting, as per Sylus’s alleged outfit inspiration drawn from the Mongol’s hunting fit in the current event, “Wander in Wonder” . An amazing twitter thread for the rest of the inspirations drawn for the boys’ outfits can be found here. 

Link to Ao3

Perhaps you should’ve considered your course of action through before you’d tossed yourself voluntarily into the metaphorical den of lions. Caleb did always tease you for your often impudent ways, declaring you’d get yourself into hot water someday.   

You didn’t quite think past saving the small, unfortunate child in front, when he’d careened straight into the Magistrate, staining the sickly bone white of his gaudy robes with the treat he’d been brandishing in hand. An action of careless innocence that could’ve saddled the boy with a severe punishment of thrashings at best. And at worst —   

You didn’t even wish to entertain the horrifying notion.   

You whisper a quick note of warning to the trembling child in your arms before he’s nodding his assent, making a clean dash away from the Magistrate and his burly procession of hired cronies. They do not move to stop him; the official’s beady eyes sweeping cursory across his fleeing figure before he focuses upon you once more.   

“Well then, speak up, girl. How do you plan on making up for the crimes of the filthy criminal you just let escape?” He leers at you, sending a frisson of disgust through your veins. “I do not mind much, provided you are able to compensate me in full.” He holds up two thick, swollen fingers. “two thousand tögrögs.” Your stomach revolts in near horror at the exorbitant price he names.   

“Speak, lass, do you possess the means to compensate me?”  

“...Apologies, Sire, I do not.”  

The Magistrate clicks his tongue at you, as if that son of a cur had not already anticipated your answer; your garb alone giving away your status as a mere commoner while he stood, a tall, foolish braggart of a Magistrate, who’d been a constant source of worry amongst the townsfolk as of late. “What a pity. I guess we shall have to make you pay off with what you do have on person, shan’t we?”   

His eyes rove down the length of your body in a manner greasy enough, it has your fingers itching to claw them out of his skull. Thoughts of the consequences of your actions extending to your family after — your grandmother and Caleb — are what stay your hands, firm by your side. You try and maintain that demure grace firm within your body instead.  

“What else are we to do if she cannot pay for what she has cost me, yes?” The Magistrate flourishes his arms wide and turns, towards the crowd that has gathered to watch, setting the stage for his perverse demands. “An eye for an eye, an honor exchanged for honor; that is the Law of our Lungtang, is it not?”  

None of the commonfolk dare to speak against the tyrant’s words, lest they make of themselves a new target to harass. And you do not blame them either, the burden of your reckless actions, yours to bear alone.   

The man trundles forwards on heavy steps; the large, ugly stain left across his robes growing wider in your lowered line of sight before the expanse of his bloated, sweating hand fills your field of vision. The rings around his fingers, nearly engorging the base of them as he curls his hand about your jaw to heave your gaze up towards him.   

The ugly, toad-like sweep of his tongue against the top row of black and gold teeth has a chill skittering down your spine. “You’re rather lovely, you know that?” He croaks in a low, creeping voice.   

You bite harsh into your bottom lip to revolt against the bile that threatens to reflux past your throat and onto the bastard’s face. “What say you become my whore then, dearest? I’d treat you very...” A slimy slip of the hand down the expanse of your body, to settle at your hip. “ well . And if you please me, you could even climb the ranks and become first Mistress, you know?” You judder at the stench of his breath, nearly in your face now. Unable to help the revulsion he inspires in you and you know; the cur in front takes it for a show of abashed innocence, with the way his leer stretches wider across his face.   

“I am far too plain and discourteous for a man of your stature, my lord. If there is anything else I could do for you in recompense, I would be more than delighted to offer my services.” The words uttered, sit sickly sweet on your tongue. “I have a good arm on me and can do any physical labor you may require of me.”   

The rat makes a show of deliberating your words. “It’s a pity the only ‘physical labor’ I require of you lies within my bed, dear girl.”   

You visibly recoil from his revolting touch at your arm; perhaps you aren’t able to quite keep your emotions from surfacing upon your face this time round as the man grabs at your forearm tighter, gaze darkening in simmering displeasure.   

“You know the law, woman. If you wish to run scot-free without offering anything in return, you must put your life on the line and agree to a duel with the offended party.” He chucks a thick, swollen thumb back at his minions, voice seething into a threatening octave. “And I wouldn’t suggest that unless you want them to crush that pretty face of yours.”  

You consider ending it all; cutting the bastard open for him to choke in a pool of his own gurgling blood. You think you could do it too, before his bodyguards could get to you.  

And with the loss of their Master, they wouldn’t be able to hold you prisoner within the dungeons for too long: you hoped. The stray, wild thought is all you can see within your vision.   

Your hand twitches for the dagger fastened right beneath your satchel, one Caleb had lent you for protection. Fingers barely grazing against the polished hilt of the blade, cobbling together courage to see your mad plan through.   

Before large, thick digits are slipping against yours to halt — a fleeting touch of caution — from behind, fracturing your hasty plan entirely.  

You’re barely able to comprehend the sudden, unnoticed proximity of your interloper, before a great arm is coiling fast about the expanse of your waist, snatching you swift from the Magistrate’s claws and firm against a warm, broad chest.  

“Now, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” The well-known burr, welcome, in that moment stirs joy within your belly as you reach to crane your neck to meet eyes with that familiar scarlet.  

“Sylus.” You croak in near disbelief.   

He exhales, low, against the shell of your ear, before he slowly lets go of you. “I’m away from Lungtang for a mere fortnight, only to find you scrounging for trouble, upon return.”   

Your irritation might’ve flared at his words if not for the phlegmy clearing of the Magistrate’s throat in front.   

“And who do you think you are to touch my property so carelessly, insolent fool?”  

Your ire directed from the man behind to the bastard in front. You feel Sylus’ hand soothe a flex about your shoulder.   

“My bad, honoured Magistrate.” He sweeps an insouciant palm at him, the grin upon his face edged to a dagger’s point. “We did not think you would be gracing Lungtang so soon with your noble presence. Or we might’ve arranged for a far better reception, for your Grace.”  

Each word that slips past Sylus’ lips is a sarcasm heavy barb that turns the official’s face in front purple with each syllable uttered. “That woman owes me, you dog. I shall make her my mistress, as is only fair I extract proper recompense from her for her grave offense.”  

One of the Magistrate’s men behind scamper forward in that moment to whisper urgently into his ear. The official’s eyes nearly burst out of his sockets at whatever he’s learned, wide toady gaze skittering towards Sylus as if he is indeed a rabid beast that would bite if disturbed.   

He thrusts an accusatory finger at him. “You are the Onychinus’ leader.” He spits. “That gang of lawless hounds.”  

Sylus’s mouth quirk into a vicious smile at the allegation. “That I am.”   

“You— you,” The Magistrate seems to sputter for the space of several moments before the man at his side mutters something else into his ear.   

The official straightens at whatever he’s heard, clearing his throat, once. Twice. “I am willing to pardon your crimes.” He begins once more. “Provided you can prove yourself worthy in a duel against one of my men.” The crowd around you breaks into quiet murmurs. “But,” he continues. “if you lose, Onychinus dog, then along with your little woman, you shall give up your life to my service, your autonomous tyranny within these lands shall cease to exist and you shall follow my sole command.” He pauses for a moment’s breath, as if to let the weight of what he believes to have been a devastating challenge, sink in.   

But all he earns from Sylus is a raised brow. “Sounds like a deal. Let us raise the stakes, though, shall we?” He cocks his head at the procession of guards right behind the Magistrate. “I’ll take on all your men, not just your best. Give you a real crutch to get started with.”   

The crowd of onlookers erupts into gasps of surprise and gibbering discussion amidst the concerning blue coloring the Magistrate’s face at the taunt. You desperately clutch at Sylus’s arm. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”  

He meets your wide-eyed panicked gaze with a cool, gentle one of his own. “Calm yourself down, kitten. I’ll be fine.” A large hand, he places gentle at your head in reassurance but all it does instead is send your alarm flaring higher.   

What had you roped the man into? Infuriating though he was. Sylus was a confounding acquaintance of years; you could not help be lured into irritation any time he were around — a man whose companionship you’d come to cherish in begrudging gratitude over your time together — but this is not what you’d wanted.   

Your reeling thoughts fractured by the screeching Magistrate in front. “You think you’re all that, you shameless scoundrel? Oh, you’re just a man and I’ll make sure they break your limbs, bone by excruciating bone, before we drag you bloodied and defeated, to my estate.” He spits the time of the duel to be held tomorrow in that same fury before he’s turning on you both and trudging back off to where he came from, his procession of cronies falling along right in line.   

And you’re left behind, with the metallic poison of your regret within your mouth and bone deep worry within your body as you stare up at Sylus’s form.   

The next day arrives much too soon, even as sleep evades you through the entirety of your night, spent tossing onto much too warm sheets.   

Now, having dragged yourself to dress and prepare yourself for the dreaded day, you trudge out of your home, chancing a brief, longing look upon the humble place over your shoulder, in case it were truly your last.   

You hadn’t divulged the details of your itinerary for the day — which possibly entailed getting sold into slavery to a sleazy official, by the time noon rolled in — to Grandmother or Caleb and you preferred it remain that way for as long as possible. Your Grandmother was coming along in her years, with weakened nerves now and Caleb tended to be a frightful worrywart in matters concerning you.   

“Someone’s starting the day rather early. That eager to see me fight, are you, kitten?” The familiar voice beckons. You toss a raised brow over your shoulder at your previously truant neighbour, now returned — his house having settled long vacant in his absence, over the course of his journey to Gods knew where. And the root cause of all your fretting; Sylus moves to join you by your side in two easy strides.  

“Don’t you even dare try joke about it, you absolute madman,” you mutter darkly under your breath, reaching to knock a fist against the side of his torso.   

The same old routine you tumble into, with him; you aren’t able to tamp yourself back from biting into the man as soon as he’s in your sights; the only person capable of wrenching out your honest, most reflexive reactions. And you hate the ease with which this incendiary of a man manages to drag them out of you.   

“What took over you to throw that offer out at that bastard, when you all but had a nice, even playing field to yourself? Now you’re just—” Your mouth snaps shut against the rest of your words, bitterly swallowed.   

How did you even begin to disentangle your bunched feelings on the matter? You knew how all of Lungtang chanted the tales of the fearsome Onychinus head. A conundrum of a man with a reputation as daunting as his influential mien, one that never failed to instil the fear of God in lesser men; criminals and bandits, who sought to rob their small town on the rare luckless occasion — dubbed this obscure town’s own Warrior God.   

But to you, he was also just Sylus; the man you’d grown in close proximity to since your late teenage years and a person you’d grown to care for in the natural course of your odd tug-and-push relationship.   

And though you remained constantly wary of the type of people Sylus associated with, in his particular line of work — a job you did not wish for, to bring even a modicum of harm onto your family by association with him, you could not help the restless agitation that needled at you each time Sylus left home, sometimes for weeks on end, on any number of his covert expeditions.  

And each time he did, the very nagging, unwelcome thought intruded, that perhaps this time he might not make it home.   

“Are you worried for me right now, kitten?” Sylus’s airy query breaks through your reverie, your gaze leaping to find his, fixated firm on you. Those scarlet eyes seem to lose part of their mirth at the face you’re sure you’re pulling.   

You tear your gaze away first, choosing to watch the path you two trek on, instead. “Of course, I’m worried. What a silly thing to ask.” A muted wisp of words.   

Ones that spark an immediate stroke of mild discomfiture at the admission; you prattle on before he can speak. “I know you’re strong, I know that. But just you against what — 13 or 14 grown men? More if that bastard intends on killing you. Anyone with half a wit and eye can see it’s a self-slaughtering mission from yards away. I don’t understand—” your indignant voice breaks, to throttle in much needed air into breath parched lungs. “I just don’t understand why you’d do that. I don’t understand you.”    

Help me figure out what you’re thinking; are the words you wish to speak but your voice refuses to assist.  

Sylus hums a low, throaty sound; in admission that he’s heard you.   

And then he opens his mouth to speak. Divulging a ‘reason’ that makes no sense to your muddled mind, simple though his words are. “That cad disrespected you.” Garnet tips your way to meet your surprised gaze. “That’s reason enough, is it not?”   

“I—”  

“Don’t fret anymore.” he continues. “I won't lose, you have my word.” Long, tapered digits brush gentle at your temple, in reassurance of your worries. “And once I’m done with that weasel, he won’t ever be capable of crawling within a mile of you, let alone dare a finger your way again.”   

The confession, sudden and honest, spurts warmth within your chest that readily clambers up your cheeks and floods down into your belly. A knot pulled tight within seeming to relax just that bit, in comfort of his words. Truly, he confounds you; this odd, beautiful man.   

You capture his fingers against yours in an insistent hold, halting him in his tracks. “You better keep your promise to me, Sylus,” you speak, meeting his gaze, firm on yours. “Do not forget the prize that’s at stake here. You'll come out of there, victorious. I won’t afford you any other options, you hear me?”   

A pleased grin edges across that beautiful mouth, skewing it wider. He angles forward, so that garnet gaze is level against yours. Flexing the catch of his digits in between yours before he’s sweeping your hand towards his parted mouth in a fleeting brush of lips against your knuckles. “If it is my victory the Lady commands, so it shall be done.” He elaborates, a mild tickled inflection to his thick baritone.   

You disregard his little jibing use of the title for this one instance; his solemn promise you know he’s sealed to you; in the gentle grip of your fingers against his, garnet that refuses to stray until you see the resolve of his vow settle within that gaze too.   

By the time your deliberately protracted journey finds its end at the arena, edging the outskirts of Lungtang, the Magistrate along with his chosen warriors are already there, positioned and waiting by the great stone pillars of the vast grounds.   

The coming fight having attracted the townspeople to turn up in droves to watch the weaselly Magistrate take on their best warrior — hordes of curious eyes you feel boring into the two of you as you make your way towards where the Magistrate awaits.   

“Here you are. Any later and I might’ve started considering you’d fled with your tail in between your legs.” The Magistrate crows out loud. “After all, my men shall soon prove how Lungtang’s criminal they so falsely worship as a hero, is more bark than bite.” The swarm of brutes — big and terrifyingly bulky — he’s brought along, laugh at their Master’s goading.   

Sylus, however, remains unperturbed. “Is that so? I can’t wait to find out,” he responds, scrubbing an insouciant hand through his hair.   

His apathetic response seems to key the Magistrate’s ire even higher, sputtering his rage at him. “Y-You absolute— you imbecile. I will crush you.” Creeping a hand forward for you now, “I’ll hold the girl with me. We might as well quicken ourselves, in preparation for when you inevitably fall and watch me claim my rightful prize.”   

You steel yourself against the touch, palm rising to curb his approach with a polite denial but your companion is swifter; large hand darting forth to curl a harsh fist against the official’s greasy wrist.   

“No.” Sylus speaks, voice a low, lethal burr you haven’t ever heard from him before. “I don’t think you will, Sire.” Whatever it is the foolish Magistrate discerns within your companion’s steady gaze, has him flinching in visible fright at the sight, sweat beading wide across his pale, swollen face.  

He wrenches his wrist from Sylus’s grip, as if scathed just as you angle a curious look up at the Onychinus head; his face an impassive mask — hardly unusual — before it breaks into the tiny quirk of a self-assured grin when he catches you watching.  

The Magistrate yelps in frustration, turning in on a ferocious heel. “D-Do not waste my time any longer than you have.” Barking the rest of his words; he heads toward the makeshift dais he’s had set up for himself at the edge of the ring. “Come onto the fields now so we can commence the match.”  

“Sylus,” you place a hand at his arm to stall. “Duck down for a moment.”   

He raises a careful brow at you and you think he’s going to refuse for a moment but then he surprises you in the wordless, compliant drop of his head close to yours. Allowing your eyes to trace his features; those familiar scarlet eyes steady against yours, the slope of his broad nose, sweeping into the bow of full, slightly scraped lips.   

You realize you trust this man and what he’s offered you, whole-heartedly. And so, you wish to extend the same sentiment, reaching for the precious beads adorning your neck — an heirloom from your late parents, your most prized possession.   

Plucking it up and over your head in between cautious digits before you reach to place it about his neck instead. Leaving part of your most priceless gift with him, just as you’ve decided to entrust him with both your Fates. “A charm,” you clarify, “for good luck. It has been my most invaluable escort and has kept me safe all these years.”   

Sylus mutely treks delicate fingers across the worn beads of the chain, grasping it in between a loose fist, in acceptance of your faith.  

“Return it to me once you’ve won.” You tell him, rapping a firm fist against the leather guard at his chest.   

Large, warm digits move to curve about yours, gripping your fist against himself. “As if I could turn down such a heartfelt request, sweetheart.” A spirited grin tugs at his features.  “I’ll bring your little treasure back to you in one piece.”   

“Good, I’ll wait for it.” You respond. “Now, go out there and show them the might of our Warrior God.”  

The Magistrate flourishes open an official scrolled document, no doubt detailing the terms of their duel as soon as Sylus shifts to take position within the field, on opposing side of the assembly of his hired goons.   

You move to occupy a place up front, to stand among the vast gathered crowd, observing the proceedings as the Magistrate clutches the scroll up into the air and begins to drone out the conditions of the fight and the prize at stake — your belly stirs in nausea — you . “The duel shall be declared closed when all members of a party have been knocked unconscious; or killed, under the rare, unfortunate circumstance.” His beady eyes rove Sylus’s way. “Any objections?”  

Sylus shrugs the question off entirely in the flex of an arm against his chest, in preparation of the duel. “Let us not waste our time debating inanity now, as you said earlier. Commence the fight.”   

The Magistrate’s face colours a foul purple — you hope he may truly burst — but all he does is spew a cold, curt, “Begin.”  

The arena hurtles into instantaneous chaos, along with the crowd’s rousing cheers and gasps of terrified delight as the Magistrate’s cronies hound Sylus all at once. Your body hunching forward on reflex to watch as the first set of blows streak straight for Sylus’s face but he ducks down with an agility, unusual to a man of his stature.   

He catches two of the oncoming blows against his palms. Jamming his fists tight about their wrists before he contorts them sideways in a dull crackle of bone. The men immediately buckle to their knees in an agony of groans, their peers stepping over their fallen companions after, to grab for their opponent who springs out of their way, as if dancing the men around, with a noose placed about their grappling bodies.  

A sharp jab comes right for Sylus’s side after, the crony tries and lands a hit against his ribs; the latter’s grasp flexing about his arm to break his momentum, wrenching him close into his body. Before Sylus jostles his elbow harsh into the man’s back.   

Two men lunge for Sylus, aiming for his blind spot; your scraped call of warning lost amidst the thunderous din of the crowds as Sylus rounds upon his assailants. Grabbing the man he has on hand, fingers fisting tight into his garb before he hurls him onto the approaching minions, with a force violent enough, the three go bowling straight into the dirt.   

The crowd’s cheer is raucous; wild as the grin that splits wide across Sylus’s face as he stretches his body tall to full length. “Come now, that’s surely not all of what you’ve got for me.” Sweat barely beginning to make itself known across the firm muscled expanse of his arms, his torso. He's hardly out of breath while his opponents gawk at him as if cornered against a rabid beast.   

Your heart thrills in unexpected, startled pleasure to witness the strange, sensuous virility to his almost savage visage as he paces forward on swift, easy steps, within the ring.   

You’d always known Sylus to hold a rich charisma compacted within that strong personality; an ability to entice all he came into contact with. A brilliant, perceptive mind along with that tacit, undeterred will; he’d brought flourishing business booming within Lungtang over his period of unofficial rule of the place. The uncrowned Onychinus King and a fearsome warrior; the first time you’d truly stood witness to what he was capable of, outside of devious negotiations, professional and unalike.   

And to know, it was for you that he stood in that place now, socking down enemies with the streak of a great, terrifying beast that had your heart skittering within your chest and your blood thrumming within your ears, alongside the adrenaline roiling through your veins. He truly was an infuriatingly perfect man.   

You joined your voice to the shouts of encouragement rolling off the townspeople, in waves for their Warrior God just as Sylus brings an opponent down to his knees with a violent sweep of his knee to his torso.   

“Enough!” You hear the squeaked, enraged bellow of the Magistrate as he watches the proceedings with an increasingly incensed face. Whipping his reddening face towards the crowd to shake a threatening fist at them. “Quiet down before I have you all thrown into the dungeons!”   

But the townsfolk refuse to relent; their cheers rising to a deafening roar as the Magistrate nearly tumbles out of his seat to thrust a trembling finger at the ring as Sylus tosses another of his men over his shoulder to taste the ground at his feet . The attendants at his side scamper towards the arena at once. A quick, urgent rush of communication seems to pass in between the attendants and Sylus’s remaining opponents. Before the servants are tossing weapons into the ring, ones the cronies lunge for as soon as they hit the field. Rising slow once more as they brandish their newly obtained unfair advantage at an unarmed Sylus.  

A great wave of shock and indignance passes over the crowd just as you push past the row of onlookers to jostle yourself to the very front. “Hey! This was not among the rules!” You shout at the Magistrate. A sentiment the rest of the crowd joins you in mirroring but all it earns you is an insouciant shrug from the bastard, shedding any remaining responsibility of hosting a fair fight against Sylus. “And the rules didn’t indicate the participants were not allowed the use of tools at their disposal either. The opposing party’s principal should’ve brought his own if he wished for one, as well.”  

“That’s not—” Your voice breaks in agonised distress just as the Magistrate turns away from you entirely to press his rotund body back into the comfort of his seat to watch his laid-out massacre once more. Son of a cur.   

“Sylus!” You try and yell for his attention amongst the horrified cries of the crowd. “ Sylus, you don’t have to fight anymore! Get out of there, now! Sylus . ”  

His gaze sweeps over the mass of spectators for that one split moment, as if foraging for yours. Until it seems to find and fixate upon you, his mouth forming slow shape over words you cannot hear but understand on instinct, “Stay right there.”  

Your heart leaps and slams violent against the back of your breastbone with the crowd’s rising screams, just as a hefty brute lunges for Sylus; a battle axe heaved high above his head to strike a killing blow.   

The first cleave of the blade, Sylus avoids, to the tumbling pummel of your frenzied nerves. The man’s fervent swings, he dodges left and right. Avoiding another enemy’s assault with a dagger aimed straight for his gut; Sylus streaks the side of his palm flat onto his wrist in a hit vicious enough, the knife goes flying out of his grasp to stick, hilt-up, useless onto the ground. Before Sylus pummels a heavy fist into the assailant’s face, plastering him down onto the ground.   

The metallic chains of a flail come streaking for him, just as he side-steps past another heavy swing of the axe, catching the iron fetters of it harsh against his wrist. He ducks close into the enemy, manoeuvring the momentum of his attack into his own advantage, to wrench the man harsh into the fist he rams straight into his gut. Tumbling him sideways into the ground, unconscious.  

The bulldozing axe wielding maniac, now in close proximity, careens straight for Sylus on a fervent bellow, sweeping a blow straight for his head. Sylus seizes his last standing opponent’s assault against the strength of a muscled forearm. Catching the brunt of the axe’s hilt at it before he shoves back on a ferocious, inhuman show of force.   

Sylus, your heart hammers, lips forming shape over the syllables of his name in urgent prayer.   

The momentum of the wide, stone blade pushed back in such violence, sends the wielder staggering back with the weight of it; Sylus turning that precious moment of weakness to his benefit as he lunges straight for his neck, seizing it within a thick fist. The core muscles of his arm, rippling with the force with which Sylus hauls him off his feet entirely to drive the man down onto the ground with a vicious snarl.   

The combatant stops moving immediately, knocked out cold on the dirt; Sylus rising slow onto his feet as he stares at the man, chest heaving with the efforts of his strenuous exertion.   

A grave’s quietude slumps across the gathered crowd for several, tense moments.   

And then shatters into raucous chaos as the Conqueror of the duel is cheered to the high heavens; Sylus’s grin, wide and daunting, as he shifts off his fallen opponent, scrubbing a large hand back through sweat soaked locks as he starts ambling over toward the edge of your side of the arena.   

And your heart — your silly little heart — soars from its place within your chest and out for him, the high of his victory, as if it were your own, throbbing brutal within your blood.   

Before you know or comprehend it, your legs are moving; pushing past the crowds of onlookers, the wooden slates of your sandals skidding at dirt, as you fly across the ring toward Sylus. Your gaze entirely filled with your brilliant warrior’s expression shifting into surprise as you hurtle into him. And Sylus — that big, beautiful man understands — catches your careening body within his embrace; your momentum, he breaks against a half-swivel about his heel. Large, warm arms come tight about your body, wordless, without a question uttered, to seclude you further into that private space; just for you both in that moment.   

Your arms stretching about the thick expanse of his neck as you hold on hard to him; Sylus’s low exhale you feel warm gently, into the crescent of your neck as he sinks into you. The people, his duel; none of it matter when you embrace him this close against you, the adrenaline of your unbound joy, his impressive triumph settling into your thundering heart, you feel pressed against him.   

His soft, heavy laughter curls pleasant into your ears. “To the victor go the spoils, I guess.” He breathes. “Although this treasure seems particularly eager on jumping into my arms herself.”   

“Of course I am.” You press yourself away from him enough to afford yourself a proper survey of his face. “Gods, you were brilliant. Thank you, Sylus.”   

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye; a slow, testing touch. His gaze simmers in unusual, unexpected gentleness that siphons the breath from your lungs. “You need never thank me for anything, sweetheart, let alone this. I do not want it.”   

Your own relief blooming into a smile, but before you can respond; an unpleasant, harsh voice fractures through the air — the Magistrate seething and raging as he makes his way over to you both, an army of guards right behind. Clearly, the man could not stomach a sore loss; rabid fire and venom within his gaze as he trudges toward you, screaming obscenities.   

“Step back for a bit, kitten.” And you obey without further prompting, granting Sylus a wide berth for whatever he plans on doing.   

He doesn’t spare a moment longer before he’s striding forward, snatching one of the Magistrate’s unconscious minions off the ground. Hoisting him high up by the scruff of his neck. The Magistrate’s steps stagger just then at Sylus’s mad display, perhaps sensing the disaster he’s called upon him.   

But it’s far too late. “Here, have a present from all of Lungtang, Sire.” Sylus tows his arm back, wide, and aims — to the scurrying cries of the Magistrate — before he violently hurls the man in hand, right at the waddling official, bowling him and half his guards over like a stack of gambling plaques.   

“Sylus.” You gasp at his insane spectacle.  

Before the corrupt, toppled lot can even think to get their bearings back, Sylus is strolling back toward you; a quick flourish of a large hand thrown over his shoulder, in signal. “Take care of them,” he instructs out loud.   

A swarm of dark clad men melt away, on his sole command, from the crowds, to pack around the Magistrate and his men, blotting their figures entirely out of your sight. “Come on.” Sylus’s voice fractures through your reverie, his frame crowding your field of vision.   

“Whe— aah!” A hefty arm swoops beneath the back of your legs, sending frantic fingers scrabbling for purchase against the strength of Sylus’s shoulders as he hoists you up against his body. “What’re you doing?” 

He flashes a devious grin up at you, completely at odds against the bewildered shock you know is wide across your face. “Time to get out of here, sweetheart,” is all he offers in response before he’s sweeping you away from the pandemonium he’s wrought and the boisterous crowd; discarding all of that well-earned glory behind.   

The throng of on-goers tapers out the farther you get on to the road winding away from the arena; curious and awed looks alike garnered your way: at your position, and at the man — the infamous Onychinus head — who strolls easy through the streets of Lungtang, in possession of the strange woman he carries snug on the crook of an arm.  

A flush creeping hot up your face the longer this spectacle goes on until Sylus’s pace — thank the Gods above — dwindles to a halt. “This should be far enough.”   

“Yes, thank you. Put me down now.” Tapping fraught fingers against his shoulders in emphasis. Sylus raises a sculpted brow at you but relents, nonetheless. He steps past the mouth of the nearest back-street, well clear of people, before he helps you down onto your feet.   

You lean a hand across his arm, taking a moment to scramble your bearings back.   

“The brief walk back has you this out of breath, huh?” You turn a half-hearted frown at his mild ribbing; the man barely having broken a sweat himself, for having carried you all the way down here.   

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to lug me the entire way, you know,” you return.   

“What can I say, sweetheart? I’m rather protective of my treasures being made to rot too long among the grime.” He gently pinches your cheek in between thick, tapered digits; voice descending to a softer baritone. “And I won, as promised.” Long, tapered fingers skim heat across the angle of your cheekbone. “So, you’ll give me a pass this once, won’t you?”  

Vivid scarlet flitters in inscrutable emotion to witness you cup careful palms about his own, as he touches you.   

“You also pulled that insane stunt with that sleaze of a magistrate at the end there. I don’t know how you plan on getting out of that one,” you point out, but there is no actual heat to your accusation.  

He exhales a half-laugh. “That’s probably long taken care of.” Stroking the fall of your hair back against your ear. “No one will come after you now.”  

You step closer to him. “You do know I’m capable of worrying about you too, right? I’m not heartless.” His mouth quirks at your peeved admission. “...You’re important to me Sylus.”  

A streak of something akin to surprise fulgurates for a moment’s notice within that garnet gaze, at your confession.   

Your fingers trek a steady path against the painted beads of your necklace dangling at his chest. “Although I do hope you’ll never pull something like this on my behalf, ever again.” He'd brought it back to you, safe and unscathed, just as he’d said — a vow made, he had honoured.   

Relief was still warm within your chest, along with the turbulence of long nursed vexing emotions, brought forth to the surface — for a man you’d known for almost half your life — by the day’s sequence of events. “I don’t think my heart could handle it.” You huff out a soft laugh.   

An inscrutable emotion streaks across Sylus’s face, too quick to pick apart until it retreats entirely once more.   

“Unfortunately for you,” long, tapered digits sweep about yours at his chest, capturing your hand steady within his grip. “that’s not a pledge I can offer you.” His whisper is low, throaty as it settles against you and you realize the sudden proximity of your positions.   

His striking face is all that floods your vision. His gaze flickers from yours, down toward the bow of your parted lips — a remiss on his part, you can tell from how it rolls back swift to catch your eyes once more. If you did not know any better, you might’ve almost thought he meant to lean further and—  

But was it really the mad conjuring of your mind and a reluctantly hopeful heart that wished to see what it thought it did? Or had you been this obtuse on purpose all along?   

Your brow knits in consternation; this far removed from the persistent babbling of voices — your anxieties, the people, his duel, your uncertain fates at the time — and sequestered within the quiet alley; your roiling thoughts are loud and insistent.   

“And why’s that, Sylus?” You ask quietly.  

The skewed pull of his mouth is devastatingly beautiful even in its lack of mirth, this up close. “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart. Or are you going to pretend otherwise?” His thumb strokes its gentle path across your knuckles — lighting an incendiary course — your hand still placed firm at his chest. “Whatever your choice, however, know it has always been yours to make.”  

The muted, steady beats of his heart beneath your palm seem to thrum past the sensitive pads of your digits as they skim a line past his pectorals, and up your body, warming it from the inside out.   

You swallow against the surge of a nervous fever that takes you all at once; ploughing past that pluck of anxiety at your chest, to bet your entirety on the one gamble you’re about to make.   

“Come to think of it.” Pink tongue slinks past a mouth parched, to trek a slow path across your bottom lip, end to end; the intolerable burning intensity of Sylus’s scarlet gaze scouring each single motion, sending your light-headedness thrumming higher. “You haven’t truly won yet, have you, Sylus?”   

“What?” He exhales heavily. His breathing has quickened just a snick higher, you notice, underneath your feathering ministrations. You’re fascinated by how he sounds much short of breath in this one instant than he did throughout the entirety of that match. The fact sending a deluge of warm pride and desire threading through your heart.   

“A winner is only one when he has been crowned as such, and received his dues.” You clarify, shifting closer against him.   

Stretching up on the balls of your feet until you’re a mere hair’s breadth from his face. “You however, have yet to claim your prize.” Sweeping forward until your lips are skimming against his in a tentative, testing brush of kiss — your hammering thoughts of uncertainty, of whether he wants this too, swiped clean with the soft, guttural choke of sound that slips past Sylus’s lips at your brazen initiative. And before you can bask under the simmering warmth of what that sound does to you, Sylus is curving a large palm firm within the thread of your locks, wrenching your mouth back against his in a bruising, fervid kiss.  

Eager fingers skitter at the strength of his shoulders to ground yourself against the sudden, pleasurable onslaught just as he captures your waist within the ironed grip of an arm. Almost lifting you up entirely against him until you’re suspended barely at the tips of your toes.   

His grunts are warm against the inside of your mouth as his tongue skims past the easy access of your parted lips to taste you against himself. The wet muscle sliding against yours before he sucks it into his own mouth on an approving groan of desire.   

You're nearly nerveless by the time he parts from you on a wet stretch of sound, barely enough distance, his breath cascades hot against your damp lips with each guttural word, keying you higher. “This is getting a bit too dangerous, kitten. I suggest we stop here if you don’t wish to reach a point of no-return.”  

“No. No,” Your hands flit in fervent frenzy from the stretch of his shoulders to bunch into the thick silver weave of his hair. “We don’t ever need to stop. I want this, I want you, if you do too.” Your mouth descending back against his in the dizzy crush of lips and tongue, Sylus’s groans of pleasure you drink down against your own moan.  

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t desired you, sweetheart.” He whispers in harsh breaths into the pocket of space you allow him in between your kisses. “You’re the one who said it now. So, brace yourself.”   

A hand you skim down the thick length of his neck, grazing at the base of his hair to support yourself against the large arms that cage your waist to lift until he’s driving you both back against the wall of the narrow alleyway, shrouding you deeper into shadows.   

His kiss of gentle affection skids past the cut of your cheek, so at odds against the fierce brunt of his arousal you feel grinding into your belly. You buck against the touch just as Sylus eases you down, only enough you’re on your feet now; bodies still moulded tight against the shape of each other.   

His mouth continues its work of feathering kisses across the curve of your cheek, down the delicate line of your jaw. His hips stroking against yours in gentle motions, sending the roll of his hard length against your stomach each time he guides you against himself, having you squirm in roiling pleasure, helpless against the insistence of his mouth and pelvis. Meeting his body with yours in the reflexive buck of your hips against his.   

The elongated stretch of your skirt, sending a mild frisson of frustration through your nerves to feel the restriction of your movements against his. Groaning in soft defeat against Sylus’s mouth over yours, just as he cups a large hand about the angle of your pelvis. Caressing past the flare of your behind, rucking up the fabric within a tight fist to slide it, far too slow, up your legs.   

A final brush of temporary farewell he kisses against your drenched lips before he descends, unhurried, down the length of your body; scarlet gaze refusing to relent from yours for even a single measured moment of mercy. A thick palm he traces, appreciative, down the curves of you as he pitches on to his knees.   

Thumb warming its touch against the edge of a knee, your skirts bunched at the hand fastened about your leg as it caresses a slow, sensual path up higher. The glorious sight he is, down on his knees in between the willing split of your legs; undoing in its entirety — you shudder at the devastation he brings upon you when his fingers hone their target upon the cloth of your underwear at your hip. Skating a delicate path against the knot of it before his index slips underneath it to tug undone.   

Wresting your underwear away entirely on his next sharp tug before he sweeps the mortifyingly damp cloth away from your body and under his nose for a long, obscene inhale. “You smell sweet, kitten. So much of this pretty nectar, all for me... I admit I’m more than a little flattered.” The skew of his devious smirk pulls wider at your choked sound of pleasure to witness him swipe your underwear down against his back, and pocket into the satchel at his belt.   

“Sylus,” you reprimand half-heartedly, in distressed urgency.   

“The victor takes it all, does he not? These are my spoils to have now, kitten.” His large palms are back at the skin of your legs, skimming a dizzying, scorching path up the quiver of your thighs. “Just as you are, the treasure I snatched for myself.”  

“Let me indulge in my private feast, quietly now.” He baits in heated whispers, jaw falling open as he disappears in between the heavy folds of your skirt and — Heaven help you — the sound that scrapes raw past your throat to feel the tease of his broad tongue against your drenched slit, is unlike any you’ve ever heard before. The high-pitched squeal you cut off in the hasty wrench of your bottom lip into your mouth, heated desire clouding your swimming vision to tamp down your moans of arousal, lest any passers-by, just a few feet away from your shadowed alcove, spot the indecency of your display.   

Thoughts drifting into emptiness — musing absent at how self-conscious you’d been while Sylus had carried you within his arms all the way out here; fully clothed then. And yet, here you were now, with your skirts bunched high up against your pelvis with that very same man’s wonderful tongue shoved deep inside you.  

The hot pads of Sylus’s index and middle you feel skim against the tight bead of pleasure at your apex, just as the point of his tongue seeps in at your entrance, sending your hips stuttering into his steeled grip, fast at your pelvis.   

You clamp a palm shut tight against your tapering moans, unable to smother them within yourself any longer. The heated plumes of your own breath crowding back against you with each shivered moan Sylus forces out of you.  

His mouth brushes about the length of your folds, the bow of his upper lip bumping gentle at your tight bundle of nerves. Before he closes it within the searing heat of his mouth, sucking at your increasingly swollen flesh.   

Sylus draws at the drenched slick of you like a man intent on devouring you whole, the thought drives your pleasure higher along with the rising euphoria bubbling within your body. A curious thumb parts your inner folds wider to admit the broad of his tongue deep into your slit. Your walls spasming against the breach of it as your hips judder down against the strength of his jaw.  

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? You can keep up a little longer.” His smothered encouragement, the vibrations of his thick voice right against your slit send you tumbling higher upon that precipice of sweet release.   

The added, ruinous excitement of not being able to see him past the abundant frill of your skirts blazes you higher; the sole nervous anticipation of not knowing where he’d touch you next has you gushing on his tongue.   

A low, soft curse you hear spill guttural against your folds, vibrating straight up into your womb, “You’re practically weeping on my tongue, sweetheart. I like that.” Your answering moan you bury into a bite of your sleeve as you fold your arm about your face; a full body quiver long having taken you. You no longer hold control over yourself. “Grind down on my face, relax yourself. Yes, there’s my good girl now.”  

The praise having your walls grip hard at the fingers he’s worked into you now. Propelling them at an indolent, maddening pace into your depths.  

“Sylus,” you pant harshly, mind numbing into a crescendo. “I don’t — hah — can’t — much longer.” Begging for a release so, so close at hand.  

“Then don’t . Let yourself go.” His groans muted against the wet heat of you. “I’ll catch you when you fall.”   

The crook of his middle and ring fingers up into you has you spasming against the intrusive stretch of them. Opening you up deeper; the deft pads of them scrounge up a spot against your frontal walls that has your mouth flying open on a silent scream, head falling back against the unyielding brick of the alley as your fluttering insides clamp down violent against his adroit handling of you. “Right here, is it?” You think you hear his muted whispers spill throaty against the sensitive expanse of your thigh.   

Right at the junction of your hip as Sylus sinks a bite into the pliant flesh just as his thick fingers rub up against that same weak spot inside to have you disintegrating into senselessness right above him.  

You can’t fathom how he’s brought you to such complete devastation in just a few, nimble strokes of his tongue and fingers into you, against you. Never having been dragged this fast or good to the precipice by your own hand, let alone another’s. He’s away each layer of defence, piece by excruciating piece, having worked you open so thoroughly as if he knew your body like his own.  

Truly a man that sought relentless victory even in between the fall of your legs.   

And it is only when that pleasure point is one keyed far too high, with the incessant press of his third finger up into your walls, stretching you open — so incredibly full of just his digits alone — does your body fall. No longer capable of protecting yourself against the battering deluge of a release so consuming, your knees buckle underneath the hefty intensity of his ministrations.   

Sylus’s large hand, you feel warm about your rump, to curve its easy support about it, as he presses his face further into you. Waves upon waves of pleasure, drowning your keening cries against your well-abused bottom lip. A faint frisson of overstimulation stringing you higher to gain enough conscious thought back to catch his low, guttural growl searing harsh at your drenched folds, at the sensation of you gushing all over his tongue.  

You quiver in nerveless arousal to feel the fleeting brush of his kiss farewell against your slit before he rises, slow, onto his feet once more. Your body clenches in on instinctual need to catch sight of his face once more. The slick that glimmers obscenely copious across his mouth and down the strength of his jaw, the untamed, almost bestial intensity to that barely tamped heat within scarlet, as Sylus sweeps a careful thumb against your wetness has you unfurling trembling digits forward to snag around his neck, dragging him down against yourself.  

Consuming the ferocity of his kiss just as eagerly in the tongue you lap at his lips, slipping along the angle of his jaw; moaning softly at the taste of you that clings still to him. Restless fingers steal in between your bodies to reach for the arousal that strains delectable and intimidating against his trousers.  

Flittering your digits about the catch of them as you work them open enough along with the thick fingers that aid you to release him free for your hungry gaze. Your audible gasp of pleasure Sylus captures against the pad of his thumb edging just past the part of your lips.  

He’s incredibly blessed, bigger, girthier than any you’ve ever had before. The prospect of taking that thing inside your body simultaneously terrifies and excites you.  

Your dazed musings Sylus fractures in the cup of your jaw in between firm, gentle digits. “Nervous?”   

“...A bit,” you admit. Adding for good measure, “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”  An expectant hand you move to curve about the breadth of him to make your point — fingers barely able to cup entirely about him.  

Sylus’s laughter is a low, heavy burst of sound. “Don’t worry, kitten.” He reaches down to join his fingers against yours in languidly stroking the length of him. Coasting in close to your ear as he lays a kiss of dark, hoarse promise against it, “I’ll teach you to do more than just handle it.”  

Your pleased moan you throttle against his quick, vehement kiss as Sylus gathers the folds of your skirt up to bunch about your hips. Fitting himself into the space he makes, his arousal glancing hot against your outer labia; feeling him so close to where your body clenches in on tense anticipation.   

He withdraws from you on a wet slip of tongue, seizing your gaze within his. The firm fist he strokes at his length guiding the flared, slick head of him against your folds to lubricate in your wetness, bumping pleasant at your sensitive bead of nerves on each indolent stroke.  

You buck your hips up against his in an impatient scratch of throaty sound. Slipping the head of him so close against your slit, it almost makes you dizzy with need.  

You are not, however, prepared truly for the actual breach of him as he splits you open in pleasure so blinding, it streaks right against your tender bead and up deep into your belly. Sylus’s guttural groans brand hot against the crescent of your neck in overwhelmed desire, a muted swear swallowed into the bite of teeth he presses into it. “Relax yourself a little, kitten, you’ve gone too tight on me.”  

You try, you truly do as you smother past your burning need to scream, for breaths to claw into your lungs; he feels too much, too good all at once, your body incapable of doing much else except accepting the slow propulsion of him deeper into your walls.

He feels almost too much for you to handle, spearing you open so far around him you didn’t even think yourself capable of such a feat. And yet, the copious arousal that slicks in between your bodies, with the voracious clench of your walls around the hard strength of him, sucking him inside, speaks volumes. Of how you’re thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being impaled upon his length.  

“More,” you pant; the slow thrusts of his hips up into yours sending your lashes flittering shut, in overwhelming euphoria and need. “I need more, Sylus.”  

He grunts in acknowledgment, large hands fixing hot fetters of flesh against either side of your pelvis as he thrusts into you, each swollen stroke of his arousal sending him impossibly deep, until you feel it may truly reach your womb.  

Sylus heaves himself closer into you, nearly pinning you against the wall with the sheer strength of his towering body, the heavy pumping of his hips into you, sending euphoria skating through your veins. Intoxicated on feeling the way he moves within you.  

A hand drifts up from your hip to grip at the flare of your waist beneath cloth as Sylus manoeuvres your body to thrust into you at an angle that drives him hard against your swollen spot of pleasure inside.   

Your hands fly in agonized frenzy to clutch at his arms, his shoulders as you grapple with the blinding pleasure he’s carving into your body. His head skews downward to catch the sensitive flesh of your neck in between the bite of restive teeth, a low moan wrenched free of your throat. His mouth strokes down the length of your skin until he teeths at the fastenings of your collar, wrenching violent at the buttons before he scatters them apart. Mouth engulfing the exposed slope of your clavicle in fervid groans.  

Your fingers skitter for purchase into the silver brush of hair at the base of his neck, tugging harsh with his increasingly heavy pace. A low whine clambering past your throat when his grip upon your body tightens once more in purpose, dragging his length to the near tip of him before he rams back into you on a guttural snarl so primal, it has you violently spasming about his thick shaft, your vision blanking in for a moment.  

Sylus’s face is a flood of savage bliss and heated concentration — the sight along with his pleasurably punishing thrusts into your walls — has your heart nearly trying to rip past the bruising beat of it at your breastbone. Hips meeting his in stuttering thrusts as your body bows up, sharp, toward him to chase a height of euphoria so in sight.  

“You’re moaning so loud, kitten.” His throaty chuckle stirs weighty into your belly. “Keep that up and you’ll draw us an audience.” Gnawing weakly at your bottom lip to instinctively tamp your sounds just as Sylus moves to drive into you on a particularly ruinous, deliberate thrust that has your legs buckling entirely underneath you.   

But he’s there to catch you, thick forearms cording about the feeble, trembling plush of your thighs before he hoists you up entirely onto him; his hushed chuckle drifting into guttural laughter. “Why try being quiet on your own when you can just make use what you have at your disposal?” His lips drive against yours in a vehement kiss of teeth and tongue, devouring you, just the way he is in between your legs. You let yourself go at last, moaning unabated into the searing warmth of his mouth, Sylus’s pace turning to near-frenzied rutting, with the sounds he wrenches from your bruised throat.  

He forces you deeper against the wall, spearing you helpless in between the cool stone at your back and the unforgiving intensity of his drilling thrusts pillaging your body. Golden deep pleasure roiling pleasant just beneath your skin, to push at the confines, until you feel like you could float out of it heavenward and never return to the ground.  

Your fevered gaze snags against the painted beads of your gifted charm about his neck, swinging vehement with the force of his propulsions. Drifting absent fingers against the worn orbs of the necklace, mushed mind admiring how truly lovely he looks like this for you; coupled along with that tight knit of concentrated pleasure, it makes you believe he truly is all yours to have. As if he belongs to you, with you.   

That sole, deranged thought sending arousal thrumming within, so blinding, your body quivers into the tight curve of a crescent, pressing hard against his chest, a peak so close, you can feel it stirring vicious into your belly. “You’re all mine to have, aren’t you? My great warrior,” you gasp against his mouth, trembling fingers sweeping for the broad strength of his shoulders as your nails drive in, harsh.

Sylus’s response; groaned heavy against your tongue, without hesitation. “You’ve always had me in my entirety, sweetheart.”  

Your body has wholly given up — a leaden weight — within his grasp, held together only by the strength of Sylus’s arms curving steeled grips about your thighs. Pounding into you with each fervid roll of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs — the profuse flow of your arousal sweltering in between your already burning bodies, the obscene squelch of it each time he withdraws from your walls only to drive back in with savage, terrifying accuracy, rutting himself so good against the spot inside that has you quivering uncontrollably around the length of him.  

Your combined sultry symphony so loud within your ears, drumming along with the thundering of your heart, you’re sure any passers-by crossing the mouth of the alley would be able to hear. Your cotton-fed mind so far gone, however, you’re no longer coherent enough to care about anyone hearing your claims upon each other’s bodies. So deeply entrenched in the sole existence of Sylus: his body, tongue, his bruising grip upon you, you love so much — scoring stinging crescents as your own signs of victory, across the broad strength of his shoulders, down the firm muscle of his arms, serving to drive him only harder into you until he’s knocking half-screams out of your throat. Swallowing them up against the hungry sweep of his tongue.  

Sylus’s thrusts into your body have turned erratic, his guttural moans heating your skin into a blazing furnace. You’re so close to release, you can feel the heavy crest of its deluge approaching — golden and ruinous.  

His grip upon the flare of your hip shifts, pressing you impossibly deeper against him, the new angle driving the length of him against your sensitive bundle of nerves on each hammering thrust. “A-Almost—” Gasping a breathless warning.  

Hurtling you so high; the frenzied pump of his hips into yours, the constant stimulation at your swollen bead sending your walls spasming so violent, you feel Sylus loose a long, guttural groan deep into your mouth. You tumble off the precipice of release just as you feel the first thick spurts of his seed searing fire against your sensitized walls; Sylus’s sultry growls keying your frenzied release so high your fingers scrape across the back of his neck to tug him harsh against your mouth. Sinking your quivering, heated desires into a vehement bite at his chest, Sylus’s digits weaving tight into your hair at the back of your head, to hold you there.  

His thundering pulse you moan against in appreciation, laving absent to soothe the reddening bite at his skin, as your body convulses with the still flowing spurts of his release, stroking at the intoxicating fever of your prolonged orgasm, filling you to the brim and over; the warmth of it you feel drip past your folds and onto his sturdy thighs.  

Taking several, long much needed moments to compose yourself as your sweat-slick face falls, nerveless, to press your cheek against the damp expanse of his chest, body still suspended firm upon the corded strength of his arms, his cock nestled snug and thick within you.  

You claw a much-needed gulp of air past a throat, long sore. “...I fear you may have to carry me here on out, as well, Sylus, because I certainly can’t move an inch right now.”  

His amused chuckle drifts warm against the top of your head. “While joined together just like this?” He teases softly. “You may truly pass out of sheer embarrassment this time if I do, kitten.”  

“Doesn’t matter,” you quip right back, half-hearted, canting a languid gaze up his way. “I think I’ll be long knocked out before any pesky shame kicks in, from how good this — you were.”  

You feel Sylus’s length twitch within your walls at your words, groaning quietly at the growing strain of his arousal, back to half-mast already. Truly, was there a limit to the man’s enduring stores of stamina?  

But perhaps, the real question was of your own insatiable appetite too, when it came to him, as you were only newly discovering — your wrecked body responding in the muted burn of arousal, kindling into slow fire within your belly, clenching weakly at him.  

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Sylus’s skewed grin tucks against your ear as he nuzzles at your cheek.  “I’ll carry you out of here in my arms, as you wish, without the additional parade of our naked bodies. In return,” A kiss he feathers, against the angle of your cheekbone. “Come home with me.”  He asks of you, softly.

You bury your approval in the nudge of your nose against him, catching his lips against yours in a gentle, chaste kiss, “Sounds like a done deal to me, my handsome warrior.”  

End Notes: Thank you for reading! This was a very fun indulgence and I hope everyone who bagged Sylus’ card enjoyed his soft card story.

Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @Cas-tiel13 , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas , @ladyparamount

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[chelseeebe]

truth or dare

18+. mdni. smuuuut. yeah man it’s really just smut. eddie munson x female reader.

a/n: not sure if i really like this but i wanted to post something while i work on this other long ass thing that may never see the light of day el oh el a continuation to gimme a hand and bump n’ grind or can absolutely be read on it’s own!

steve and robin had made the right call, leaving a few hours ago before the storm really hit.

eddie’d stupidly offered another joint, not wanting to let you go so soon. optimistic that maybe something would happen after those two had cleared off.

you’d been darting around it all evening, watching the movie with your hand under the blanket, stroking his thigh. inadvertently, or perhaps purposefully, making his cock shift with every length of your hand.

you peer out of the window, clicking your tongue against the back of your teeth, “i don’t think i can drive,” turning back to face him, “it’s really comin’ down out there,” a hint of satisfaction in your voice.

“i’m sure wayne won’t mind if you crash here,” shrugging softly.

you used to stay around a lot when you were slightly younger, back when touch was innocent and there weren’t all these complicated layers to your relationship.

“can you handle that?”

his eyes roll back, “shut up,” sitting back in his spot on the couch. anticipating spending the night here rather than in his bed, desperate to prove that he could handle it.

“whatcha wanna do?” you sing, pursing your lips.

“i dunno,” he shrugs, “we could watch another movie?” knowing that ultimately, another movie would lead to you touching his thigh until he came or something.

“that’s boring,” scowling at his suggestion, “i mean.. we are stuck in here,” biting on your bottom lip, “let’s play a game,” you propose, cocking your head, “truth or dare.”

eddie groans, an unwilling participant in your silly little games.

“come on,” offering zero incentive for him to play, “it’ll be fun,” taking another swig of the surely luke-warm beer. “truth or dare?”

there is not a single bone in his body that wants to play with you. no doubt you’d have him confessing to something embarrassing or doing something dangerous or stupid.

“dare,” he says flatly, hoping you’ll dare him to jump out of the window or something.

“i dare you..” you ponder for only a second, “to take your shirt off.”

“wh-,” he starts, mouth falling open, “well i dare you to take your shirt off.”

“it’s not my turn, idiot,” pursing your lips, “off.. now.”

pouting your lips, watching carefully as he lifts his shirt off, tossing it to the other side of the room.

“alright,” honing in on this stupid game, “truth or dare?”

“dare.”

eddie’s eyes light up, “take your shirt off,” immediately getting his own back.

“you’re supposed to say i dare you before your dare,” tutting at his impatience, though you do as he says.

lifting your shirt over your head, revealing the lacy bra you had most definitely chosen on purpose. maybe this was your plan all along, waiting to get him alone to inflict your cruel wrath upon him.

he ogles just enough to not have you mention anything, diverting his attention back to whatever drivel was on the tv. desperate to just get over this dancing around each other and get to the inevitable.

“truth or dare?” you ask again, poking his leg with your foot.

“do we have to play?” eddie whines.

“yes.”

“okay truth,” he spits, leaning back against the cushions.

“why didn’t it work out with you and chrissy?”

he groans again, already sick of this, “we wanted different things,” different things being you, he means.

“like what? i thought you were testing the waters or whatever?” mocking him with his own words.

“you. you jerked me off and ruined my life forever, is that what you wanted me to say?”

you ponder in silence for a moment before that god awful smirk creeps onto your face, “actually yes, that’s exactly what i wanted you to say,” crossing your legs, all self-righteous and smug.

it’s not like you didn’t already know this, it was fairly obviously to anyone with eyes and two brain cells to rub together.

“your turn,” smiling pointedly at you, “truth or dare?”

you hum, contemplating your options, whatever you picked, he was surely going to make it worth his while.

“dare.”

“alright,” eddie sits up straight, poking his tongue into his cheek, “i dare you to run around outside in your underwear,” if you wanted to play stupid games, you could win stupid prizes too.

your smile grows, taking over your entire face, “fine,” standing from your spot on the floor, shimmying out of your jeans right in front of him.

he jumps up, rushing to the door as you bound outside, filling the silent trailer park with your squeals and squeaks.

eddie watches in quiet amazement, more focused on the way your tits move with every bound, your lacy panties framing your jiggling ass perfectly. he’s close to drooling, turning into a slobbering mess at the sight of you literally frolicking in your panties. he was a pathetic man, and he knew it.

you turn, running full speed back into the door, teeth chattering and your hands trembling from the cold. barrelling straight past him, back into the warmth, lashes coated in tiny, intricate snowflakes.

“fuck!” you screech, “you asshole,” picking up his discarded shirt to slip on instead of your own. he wishes you hadn’t. seeing you half naked in his shirt was far worse than seeing you actually naked.

eddie snickers, closing the door all the while trying to keep his composure.

a smirk erupts onto your face, something ticking away in your brain before you stomp over, grabbing his cheeks with your ice cold hands, grinning with pure self satisfaction.

he hollers, grabbing your wrists in defence. it becomes a flailing sort of dance, with you trying to keep your cold hands on his face and him fighting to get you away. a mixture of expletives fill the trailer, screeching over one another as you move around the room.

you trip over one of the discarded bottles on the floor, sending you flying back onto the couch, still breathlessly cursing him out.

eddie takes the only logical step, pouncing on top of your flailing body, bounding your arms together at the wrist, heaving for breath.

he freezes, the realisation that for once he had all the power dawning upon him, unequipped for the sudden change in dynamic.

he can feel you, underneath him, pressed into the couch by his body, sending shivers down his spine.

“you gonna do something or what?” you snark, no longer trying to wriggle free, accepting and even pleased in your defeat.

“yeah,” he adds meekly, despite not making an attempt to actually do something.

your brows thread together, knee sliding up the side of his body, spreading your legs further as his cock perks up in response.

holy fucking shit.

this was it.

or it could be it if he can gather his raucous thoughts enough to make a move.

eddie’s had sex before, multiple times in fact. he doesn’t understand why his hands aren’t doing the thing they should be, why he’s frozen in place, waiting for something to happen.

“we don’t have to, you know?”

fuck. he was going to fuck this up through sheer stupidity.

so instead of letting his brain worm his way out of what would probably be the best moment of his life, he thinks with his dick.

pressing his lips to yours in a hasty, rushed kiss. letting your hands free from his restraint, allowing you to weave your fingers through his hair just like he’d thought so much about.

his hands crawling underneath his shirt, touching your skin for what felt like the first time ever, gliding over your waist, appreciating the soft feel of your skin, lingering for too long.

he doesn’t want to take it off, how many times could he say he’d have sex with you with his shirt on?

you’d already stripped him out of his clothes, leaving nothing to the imagination as his hips grind down against yours, breathing shakily into your mouth.

your lips latch onto his, tongue sliding into his open mouth while your fingers pull gently at his curls.

even when eddie thinks he’s fully in control, you still take charge. rutting your hips upwards, separated by the thin layer of lace and his boxers that most definitely had a hole in them.

there’s a fifty percent chance that he’ll cum right away, already incredibly hard, teetering on the edge.

it’s genuinely incomprehensible that after months and months of longing and edging, this was finally happening. too caught up with trying to keep to your pace to really think about the implications on your relationship too much.

he hopes that this won’t change anything, at least not negatively anyway.

your hand slides down the tiny space left in between your bodies, toying with the waistband of his boxers before slipping in. unable to contain his groan from slipping out and into your mouth.

tugging the fabric down just enough to let his cock out, giving him no time to recover before your fist wraps around the base of his cock, pumping your fingers around the sensitive skin.

“fuck,” he breathes, bottom lip still latched onto yours. no hand had ever come close to yours, filling his thoughts since you’d touched him for the first time.

wayne’s ratty old couch wasn’t exactly the romantic location he’d envisioned this happening in, but beggars can’t be choosers and eddie certainly wasn’t going to complain.

he’s so dumbfounded that any of this is even happening, clumsily fumbling with the lace hem of your underwear, tugging them down haphazardly, with no care or grace.

his previous displays of desperation made sure you didn’t care about his composure, or else you wouldn’t be here.

your lips collide, all teeth and tongues and spit. eddie too focused on the feel of your hand around his cock to care.

he can feel your body shift from underneath, manoeuvring his cock to your soaked entrance, letting out the most ungodly noise as the tip glistens with your slick.

pressing your sweaty forehead against his, begging for his full attention, “look at me,” you insist, running your fingers around his cock, withholding him from full satisfaction.

he does as you ask, finding your wild-eyed gaze, holding it just long enough to slide into your slick cunt, grunting into the hot air that hung around the room.

“fuck,” you bite, weaving your fingers through his hair, tightening your things around his waist.

it’s dizzying. feeling you envelope around him just as he’d imagined countless times before. you’re so warm and so wet, so so wet. eddie can’t help but wonder if this is how you’d felt when you were grinding against him.

nothing could’ve ever prepared him for the fuzzy haze that’d encapsulate his brain, thoughts only of you and your body and your pussy.

his balls slap against your ass, slow and steady, hoping not to bust five seconds in. keeping his eyes on yours, encapsulated by the way they flit between his eyes and his lips.

heaven wouldn’t be too far off this, he thinks.

his rhythm is neither here nor there but he was trying, filling you to the hilt and then pulling back out again.

every soft, melodic gasp and cry you made was echoing through his brain, spurring him on to make them louder.

purely intoxicated with your pussy, gasping for more as he slams against your hips.

this wasn’t going to last long but he sure as shit was going to make it worthwhile.

you writhe underneath his body, fingernails grazing against his scalp, gentle and yet demanding.

“sh-shit eds,” you pant, jaw slack with your tongue practically lolling out of your head.

just hearing you moan his name has detrimental effects on his brain chemistry. his eyelids struggle, fluttering open just enough to meet your glossy eyes, pupils blown out and crazy. this was going to wreck him for the rest of his life, cursed forever by the image of you and your parted lips. the way you wail his name becoming a tune he’d revisit constantly.

he’d love to capture it, one day, if you’d let him.

no one would ever come close to you, your cunt and your god forsaken sighs. eddie promises to himself that if there’s a next time, he’s not leaving until you cum. unsure if he’d be able to control himself but more than willing to take that risk.

his thrusts become sporadic, losing his grip on reality as he teeters closer and closer to the edge. you can see it too, tugging gently on his hair to bring him back to this reality.

pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, too high off of your own pleasure to aim for accuracy.

eddie’s not sure if he prefers your goading or this softer touch, honestly neither were helping him not to bust his load right now.

“yeah?” you breathe, in response to his hoarse grunts, succumbing to the tightening pressure in his stomach, “you gonna cum?” sighing against his mouth.

he doesn’t want to, not really. hoping this’d last forever and ever because god knows if you’d ever let him touch you again.

hoping desperately to have not wasted his one and only time buried inside of you by cumming in five minutes flat.

but he is going to cum, in fact, he’s dangerously close to doing so immediately. the way you squeeze and tighten around him only accelerating the inevitable, his toes curling and mouth running dry.

he was seeing stars, dancing around the inside of his eyelids. woozy on adrenaline as he pathetically ruts his hips into yours for a final few lousy strokes.

“oh fuck,” eddie rushes, “no- fuck i’m cumming,” his cock slides out, thick ropes of his release covering not only your inner thighs but the couch too. collapsing atop of your perfect body, pinning you to the cushions as he attempts to gain some sort of semblance of control.

his face finds your chest, heaving for breath between your tits, his shirt pulled up just enough for your bra to peep underneath the hem.

“jesus christ,” words vibrating against your skin, almost purring at your fingers combing through his hair.

nothing he could ever dream would match up to that. the neurons in his brain had been frazzled, never to work or compute the way they should, ever again.

he places a measly kiss to your chest, looking up at you through his lashes, an insignificant gesture of appreciation that he felt he owed.

“you good?” you ask, lips twitching into a smile, unsure if you’re mocking him or genuinely concerned. either or would be fine.

“not really,” still floating up above the clouds.

“shut up,” definitely mocking, pulling tufts of his hair back to have him meet your eye fully, “you liked that?”

he nods enthusiastically, pining after your approval like the lovesick little loser he truly was. incredibly, you hadn’t run off into the storm, so maybe you had too.

“good,” abruptly letting go of his hair, his head falling back onto your chest, “get off me, i need a shower,” attempting to peel him off of your body.

eddie knows, or at least hopes, that your snippy, sarcastic comments were made out of love. you showed affection by being a bitch and he showed his by being a stumbling, pathetic loser.

if that was all he had to endure to get anywhere near your pussy again, he’d do it in a heartbeat. each and every time.

-

wayne’s knuckles wrap against his bedroom door, waking eddie from the already broken sleep he was suffering with, far too excitable to settle down properly. instead he’d spent his hours between drifting in and out of sleep and watching your dreamy face, trying to match his breaths to yours.

he slides out of bed, careful not to wake you, treading carefully to avoid the mountains of crap strewn across the floor.

“what the hell?” wayne whispers angrily, gesturing back to the living room he had neglected to clean. too caught up in you being in his shower and in his bed with his shirt on to care about empty beer bottles and discarded clothes.

“sorry,” eddie squirms, knowing he couldn’t exactly worm his way out of this one. “we had a few beers.. you know,” shrugging coyly. his uncle wasn’t stupid, he definitely did know.

wayne’s eyes narrow, flitting behind eddie to you, sleeping soundly in his bed. thankfully covered by the blanket as you slept in just his shirt.

“what happened there?” raising his brow at his inconspicuous nephew.

he shrugs, and then he grins. that great big toothy grin that wayne couldn’t mistake.

wayne shakes his head, tutting to himself as he backs away from the door, “clean that shit up before i wake up,” before disappearing into his own room.

eddie smiles to himself, sliding back into bed when you stir, humming softly, displeased to have been woken up so early.

“is he mad?” you mumble, muffled by the pillow.

“no.. no, not really,” eddie hushes, turning on his side to face you.

you’re still dozing, not bothering to open your eyes though he didn’t mind, you were peaceful this way, far calmer than your usual self.

“good,” settling into the pillow before slinging your leg over his thigh, pulling yourself closer, “he loves me too much to do anything anyway,” nestling your body into his side.

if the world ended tomorrow, eddie would die a happy man.

[teamatsumu]

purple and pink. (rafayel x reader)

summary: you and rafayel cover yourselves in paint and (redacted).

word count: 3450

warnings: porn without plot, smut, swearing, nsfw, mdni, fem!reader

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

a/n: my brain is rotting for this man so this is just self indulgent crap atp

You weren’t exactly an artistic person.

You just never indulged in art before. Of course, you admired the craft and thought it was extremely difficult to actually create meaningful art. But you didn’t think you were a particularly creative person, nor did you think you had an eye for such stuff.

Ever since you began dating Rafayel, you would say your appreciation for art had definitely improved. How could it not, considering he spent all day creating it, and in the time he wasn’t, his world was still colored by the lens of it. Rafayel saw art everywhere he went, in the gentle roll of the water where it rippled in fountains, or the timid but pinpoint light of a lone star in a dark sky. He loved describing it to you, and the way he put it would make you look around twice. He had really changed the way you viewed the world.

What you were about to do now wasn’t exactly the kind of art that made you think deeply of the universe, but hey, not all art can make you question your existence. Sometimes you need to create….. lighter pieces.

Stepping back, you stared down at the bed sheet sized canvas you had stuck to the floor, sure that you had used enough adhesive to keep it temporarily in place. The clock on the far wall of the studio told you that Rafayel would be home in a little while, which meant you needed to start the next phase of your plan shortly. But first things first, you needed lighter clothes.

After you had switched your jeans and button down shirt for a thin, short robe, you began pulling down buckets of paint from the storage closet connecting to the main studio. You chose only two, a light purple and a light pink. Both colors you knew Rafayel liked using in his pieces. You might not know a whole lot about art, but you knew him inside out. And you also knew he would love this idea.

You spent the next few minutes going over the canvas with the two buckets, pouring a few globs of paint over it. Small, but dense, with lots of blank canvas around them so they could be spread. You decided to only do two or three globs of each color. After all, wasn’t the art in how the colors would move and slide on the canvas? This should be enough paint for that purpose.

Your face was heating up at the thought of what was about to happen, and you felt almost giddy. When was he going to be home? You couldn’t wait to get started.

As if on cue, the door of the studio clicked open, not making a single sound as your boyfriend lumbered in, closing the door behind him. His white shirt was loose, black pants tight, and you couldn’t help but admire his ass when he turned around to shut the door with a light snap.

“Hey-” He stopped almost immediately upon seeing you, eyeing the half empty paint can you were setting down and the flimsy robe covering your body. A body that was definitely naked under it.

“What are you doing?” You saw his eyes flick over you and then behind to eye the massive canvas you had laid out, along with the little circles of paint looking fresh and shiny on it. You gave him a grin.

“I was hoping we could collaborate for your next piece.” You tugged at his shirt until you both stood closer to the canvas, taking special joy in how confused he looked. His eyes kept darting all over the place to try and make sense of what was going on, and you had to stifle a giggle.

You thought to elaborate on your suggestion by slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. Rafayel raised his eyebrows but didn’t stop you, probably curious to see what you were cooking. You tugged his shirt off his toned shoulders, before going to work on his pants. His hand finally seized yours, tilting his head so your eyes would meet his.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” His tone was amused. You hummed almost in thought, pulling your hand away. You tugged on the belt of your robe until it slipped free, and the front fell open. You saw the tips of Rafayel’s ears turn red, and his expression blanked a bit.

“You have paint. You have a canvas. And you have me.” Your voice was a low whisper. You reached into the bucket next to you, palms stretched, until they were both covered in paint. Then you reached one hand up and dragged your fingertips over his bare abs.

The cool paint made them contract a bit, and you heard the way his breath hitched under the touch. Four long streaks of pink now stood out against his pale skin. Finally, you looked back up to meet his gaze, his face inches from yours.

Rafayel’s blush had extended from his ears down to his neck, but the corner of his lip twitched up into a slow grin. His hands were eager as he undid the button of his pants, and you felt a thrill run up your spine. You watched him undress quickly. He was slow, smooth, as he lifted one precise hand to tug on the shoulder of your loose robe until it was falling off your shoulders and pooling at your feet.

He looked around and his eyes caught the second can of paint. Purple. He dipped his hands into it, and you watched him walk back over to you.

“Where did you get this idea, baby?” His voice had lost its confusion, coated in honey now, sultry and low, nearly a whisper, and you shivered when his breath hit your bare neck. He took advantage of the fact that your hair was pulled up and away from your shoulders, tracing gentle lips over the slope of your shoulder. Instinctively, your hands smoothed over his torso, and you were reminded of the paint on them, still wet, now swiped onto the man before you.

Rafayel hummed at the feeling and proceeded to return the favor, his hands set on your hips. The paint was cool on your skin, and you almost jumped at the temperature if it weren’t for his warm hands taking the feeling away in the next second. Your boyfriend gave your naked bodies a gentle tug backwards until you were stepping on paper, slight crinkling noises hitting your ears.

Gentle lips now made contact with yours, and you sighed in relief. You had missed this, just the feeling of him kissing you. You had been thinking about it- and other things- all day, and you were so excited to start. Hands caressed over each other slowly but eagerly, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how much paint you had managed to get on each other.

Your kisses became more hurried, more firm, and you could feel Rafayel’s body temperature rise a bit. His breath stuttered when you moaned into his mouth, tongues dancing together in a synchronized battle. He nibbled at your bottom lip and you arched deeply into him, nails digging into his biceps.

“Fuck, the paint is drying.” You managed to gasp out when your lips separated, his mouth finding the skin behind your ear immediately. He sucked hard on it, until you shivered and let out a long, shaky breath. Your knees were so weak, and you were glad for his strong arms wrapped around your waist, since it was the only thing currently holding you up.

He hummed against your skin, not letting up on the marks he was marring it with. You had discovered pretty early on that Rafayel was a biter, and marks on your skin was another way he created art. It just so happened that you enjoyed the feeling more than you could ever think to describe.

“Good thing you laid more out for us then.” He responded, referring to the globs just below your feet, before tugging you down until you were sprawled on the canvas below you. It was cool under your skin, and you felt something wet just under your shoulder. Oh. Your eyes met Rafayel’s before they finally traveled down his body for the first time since you two had started. You gulped in a deep breath.

His pale skin was covered in purple and pink streaks, like smooth color streaked over brilliant porcelain. The ridges and bumps of his muscles stood out even more under the paint, and you could tell in a few places the exact route your hands had taken, pink running over his waist and down his V-line. The remnants of the journey your fingers took stood before you, proud on his skin. You felt a thrill run through you at the sight, something stirred in your core.

“This is turning you on.” Rafayel observed, a light smirk resting on his face. You felt your body burn at the teasing lilt of his voice.

“As if this isn’t something you’ve dreamed of doing.” You retaliated, opening your legs so he could fit himself between them, resting his elbows on either side of you so your faces were a hairbreadth away. He hummed and sighed, lowering his body until his erection grazed right over your center, making you gasp.

“Believe me, I’ve dreamed of this.” He sighed, reached for the paint to the left and just above your head. You watched him cover his palm with it before he reached down, hooking a hand under your knee and pulling it up until it folded against your torso. The paint was wet on your skin, and you were learning to love the feeling more and more. His cock prodded your entrance, now on full display for him. He gave you another mischievous smirk.

“Baby I’m about to ruin you so bad.”

The first slide of him inside you had you crying out and arching into him, his cock carving its way through your unprepped hole and bringing with it a burn so delicious it made your head spin. When he bottomed out, he moaned unabashedly into your ear, hot breath hitting the shell of it and sending shivers through your spine. Your core clenched and unclenched rapidly, trying to adjust to the glorious intrusion. Your brain screamed at him to move, to slide in and out, do anything at all. You needed to feel him rock into you. Your hips twitched and jerked, making your boyfriend moan before he finally started moving.

His thrusts started out languid, smooth, gliding in and out of you at a reasonable pace. You sighed, head leaned back and reveling in the feeling it brought, leg tensing under his grip. Little tendrils of pleasure zipped up from where you were connected, heavy cock stretching you open until your pussy was adequately wet, ready to take the pounding you knew was inevitably coming your way.

And oh, did you receive it.

Slowly, steadily, Rafayel picked up the pace until his hips were smacking hard into your pelvis, knocking every breath from your lungs. You cried out, one arm thrown over his shoulder while the other seeked desperate purchase under you, used to the feeling of silk sheets but now met with nothing but smooth, stretched out canvas and the wet sensation of sticky color. Rafayel used the grip he had on your knee to twist your leg out further, inviting him to hit that one spot that made you see stars. A broken wail left your mouth and your back arched impossibly high, hearing a low moan hit your ear when you clenched tight around the cock pounding into you.

“F-fuck, Rafi-” His head lifted, just enough to connect your lips in a desperate slurry of rushed kisses, sucking and biting on your lips as his pace didn’t so much as stutter. Your moans dissolved straight into his mouth, little pornographic ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’s slipping out with every thrust. You didn’t bother muffling them, knowing exactly what the noises did for Rafayel’s ego, and with how he was ravishing you currently, you were okay with giving him a little ego boost.

(You would deal with the consequences of that later.)

“Gonna cum-” You managed to choke out just as your orgasm rammed into you with no warning, effectively silencing any other words as you cried and shook through it, muscles seized tight and legs kicking in the air.

“God- fuck,” Rafayel’s first words. “There you go. Fuck, that’s it.”

He fucked you through the last vestiges of your high before his arms slipped under your arched waist and lifted you up, rolling over until you were perched on his hips, throbbing cock still nestled inside you. The change in position made him slide in deeper, and you let out a broken moan. Your orgasm was still lingering around the edges, encouraging you to prolong the feeling, to chase after it again. And so you did. You rolled your hips, placing your hands on Rafayel’s abs as leverage to push your body up and down. You finally took a good look at your boyfriend.

His chest was heaving with exertion, shining under the glow of the lights above you, catching on the swirling mixes of purple and pink. Under the paint, his skin glistened with sweat, tensing and straining under his movements. The paint had reached all the way up the side of his neck, and even into his hair, blending with the purple tresses. The purple complimented his eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, his lip was tucked under his teeth.

He was a vision.

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice was fractured and strained, and in your staring you had forgotten that you were also the object of his gaze. You couldn’t imagine how you looked right now, slathered with paint and hot under the stimulation you were receiving, strands of hair leaving your bun and trailing down over your face and neck. You rolled your hips and tightened hard around his cock, watching the way his jaw slackened and eyes rolled shut. Another zip of pleasure ran through you, and you couldn’t help but keen, pushing yourself to go faster, to make him feel even better.

“I’m- I’m so close.” You could feel your vision swim, tears gathering in your lash line as his cock dug deep into your core, prodding into your spongy walls in all the right ways. Rafayel grabbed both your wrists off his chest, pulling them behind your back and then tugging you down until your body was pinned tight against his. You let him do as he pleased, planting his feet on the canvas before he started thrusting hard and fast up into your sopping cunt.

You screamed and arched, body tensing at the pace he set, chin resting on his shoulder and head thrown back as you let him carry you face first into another orgasm, gushing around him until the sounds of his thrusts grew impossibly wetter, sloppier than the paint around you and covering you, blabbering incoherent phrases and curses as tears poured from your eyes. With every thrust, the ecstasy prolonged itself, like an endless high that came with intense drugs, except all you needed was him, and he would get you there if it was the last thing he did.

Your perspective was shifting, Rafayel’s cock leaving you until you felt cold and empty. He maneuvered you onto your hands and knees, or rather, arms and knees since you felt that you couldn’t even hold yourself up at this point. A firm hand pushed on your back until it arched to his liking, spreading you until he could slide his massive length back into you with little to no resistance. You whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling unhindered in your head, cheek smushed into the paper beneath you. Briefly, you felt like you could almost taste the paint, but the thought left your brain faster than cigarette smoke dissipating on a windy day when Rafayel started moving again.

“Stop me if you can’t take it.”

You could never, would never stop him, not when your pussy keened at the feeling of his cock filling you up to fulfillment once more. Especially not when he planted a foot on your side that gave him leverage to thrust harder and stronger into you. Your body buzzed and reveled under the feeling of being used like this, basking in the sounds coming from Rafayel getting heavier and choppier as he finally chased his own orgasm instead of yours. You wanted nothing more than for him to warm you up, fill you with his seed until you couldn’t take any more of it. Your depraved mind was wiped blank of everything else except that crushing need.

“Cum in me.” You managed to whine, clenching hard around him. Rafayel moaned and his hips stuttered.

“Fuck. I’m gonna- I’m cumming baby, take it, take it, take it, take it-” Your body jostled at the strength of his thrusts, once, twice, and then he was slamming his cock deep into you and holding it there, hot spurts of cum hitting your walls. Painting your insides white like your bodies had painted your outsides purple and pink.

Your entire body collapsed on itself when Rafayel pulled out, dropping onto the paper heavily as you tried to catch your breath. Your vision was swimming and so was your head, unable to do anything but focus on the faint buzz in your muscles. You could hear shuffling somewhere behind you before you were being lifted into strong arms. You sighed and curled into them, seeking the warmth of your boyfriend after the beating your body just took. And he was happy to provide it- in the tub he ran for you while both of you settled into warm water.

You dozed in and out of sleep as Rafayel cleaned you up, giggling and humming along with whatever little anecdotes he was telling you. He knew you would barely remember most of it later, considering how dopey and spacey you got after sex. You pouted and leaned up to him every few minutes, stealing tiny kisses from his lips. And afterwards, you let him pat you dry and put you to bed in the usual “princess treatment” he gave you after one of your sessions. The only time he backed off from teasing you relentlessly and instead doted on you properly.

You couldn’t tell how long you slept, but you woke up feeling well rested. The bed next to you was empty but still slightly warm, and you could hear quiet shuffling outside in the studio.

Your muscles screamed when you forced them to move, your hips and thighs feeling like particular sore spots. You ignored the feeling in favor of pulling a shirt off the floor to throw over your body, realizing it was your boyfriend’s when it fell all the way to your thighs. You trudged out of the room while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You saw him standing with his back to you, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The muscles of his bare back shifted as he moved, now clear of all the paint you two had slathered on it. Oh right, the paint.

Your eyes shifted behind him to the canvas, which Rafayel had propped up against the wall now, and was observing silently. You walked closer to admire the streaks of pink and purple on it, watching it carefully. Somehow, the choppy strokes showed your desperation, your passion, and you felt your face heat up at the thought.

“Looks pretty.” Your voice was slightly rough. Rafayel turned around at the sound and gave you a soft smile, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you from behind as you both stared. You settled into his warmth as you swayed gently back and forth.

“Why’re you thinking so hard about it?” You asked.

You turned your head to watch as he huffed and pouted a bit. He looked so cute, you bit back the urge to squish his cheeks.

“Pretty sure there’s some cum in there somewhere.”

Aaaaaand the urge was gone.

You smacked his chest hard, making him jerk back and laugh, but not releasing his hold on you.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Not more than you.”

He kissed you before you could land another smack, hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back. You fought to keep a grin down, but failed when you felt his lips stretch with a smile of his own, erupting into giggles.