#warnings in title

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 10 - I can’t think straight

Warnings: therapy talk of dissociation, red room discussion, talk of forced birth/pregnancy (but not described or graphic)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha talks to the therapist who reveals secrets of their own.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Olivia waits.

She itches the scar on her elbow absentmindedly.

She feels her guard go up as Natasha enters; the woman still handcuffed as they go through the rigmarole of uncuffing her and then sitting in silence.

Natasha doesn’t look at her.

Sharp eyes stare straight ahead.

They both know what’s coming.

“What do you want?” she opens, knowing the question will provoke her.

They’ve been at this for weeks.

It doesn’t always start like this. Sometimes it’s making sure Natasha’s not so dissociated that she can function through the day and the time in between.

Sometimes it’s touching on small things she’s said in debrief.

Provoking her, it’s not the point of the exercise.

The woman is barely holding it together, anyone who looks closely enough can see it.

They just have to want to.

No one in Shield has Natasha’s best interests in mind.

All they want is her information; her intelligence.

Olivia knows how it feels to be a defector.

The world is against her.

Natasha has to want to choose something for herself.

She knows this.

She wants Natasha to make a choice, any choice for herself.

The difficulty is that she has a lifetime of being told her voice doesn’t matter.

Natasha looks down at her hands, no words coming.

Olivia waits.

The dissociation that comes with asking hard, self reflecting questions is written on Natasha’s face.

She knows how it is; not being able to think straight.

She wonders how much to push today, how much to disclose and what to focus on.

With no answer forthcoming, she side steps.

“If I were to ask you, how you are, what would you say?”

Eyes look away, glancing at the time.

“Fine.”

The answer is curt.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Natasha shifts in her seat.

“And if I were to ask you to pretend to be me, and tell me how you seem, what would you say?”

Natasha is quiet.

“I don’t know.”

Olivia pauses.

Natasha watches her closely.

“Do you ever get tired, of battling the old you? The you that’s still stuck in the Red Room, controlled by someone else?”

Natasha looks taken aback, defensive and angry at the statement but Olivia continues anyway.

“I can see it, I see how hard you’re fighting, neither the old you or this version of yourself succeeding; I can see how exhausted you are.”

The room is so quiet.

Natasha’s eyes are intent, breathing shallowly, waiting the next blow of words.

“You made the decisions to put yourself here. So answer me.”

The next words are punctuated.

“What do you want?”

Natasha feels that she could say something profound, something about wanting to live or to be able to take back her life.

But she can’t decide that yet.

She hasn’t decided that yet.

Life has a funny way of deciding things for her and she sits passive on the wave.

Natasha glances up.

Eyes locking onto the scar on her arm, so many things fit into place.

“How did you get out?”

Olivia smiles.

She’d wondered if Natasha knew and how long it would take her to ask.

She straightens her arm.

The mark of her first kill, still present even after all these years. She dug in too hard with her knife, the self loathing in that moment providing a mark for life.

“For every breakdown, there’s a breakthrough. I would like to say that it was easy. That I did it myself, but we both know that’s a lie. People died to get me out. I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted but I couldn’t dishonour their sacrifice. For a long time, I looked like you do now. Scared and tired. Like the world just needs to stop, to get your bearings.”

Olivia takes a sip of her water, aware of the eyes that watch her every movement now, that analyse her being.

“But it does get better.”

She looks at Natasha, her gaze fierce until Natasha cannot hold the intensity.

Fingers clench and release and Olivia models a breath.

“I can tell you the story, but first,” she pauses.

“Tell me something you want.”

“I want to know how Maria knew my birthday,” she whispers, looking up and expecting the woman to be laughing at her.

The conversation that had occurred all those months ago, still plays in Natasha’s mind. The insinuation that someone knew more about herself than she did, made nights sleepless and haunting. She hated Maria for it, and Shield in turn.

The hatred had abated somewhat, but still simmered under the surface.

After all they had given her, she wanted something for it; even though she had no rights to ask.

Olivia looks at her seriously, there’s no hint of a laugh or a smile.

“Good Natasha. That’s good.”

And the praise feels like a calming balm, honeyed words that rip into her.

Natasha pushes the feelings aside, and stares expectantly at her, wanting the story she’d promised.

Olivia glances at the time.

“Olivia was not always my name, I was not what you see now.”

“I was on a mission to Salta. Argentina is everything you expect it to be, beautiful and if you know the underworld, dangerous.”

Like all widows, Olivia knows how to tell a story.

Natasha reflects on it momentarily before getting lost in the thoughts and feelings of the words that emanate.

She wonders if they all know how, because of the necessity of stories in the Red Room, or because it was the only way to pass the time.

She redirects her attention, back to the present and not to the image of the girls in her dormitory sitting hands cuffed on their beds telling ghost stories about the monsters in the basement that would eat little girls.

“It was my first mission without handlers, and I got captured.”

Natasha’s heart sinks.

“I escaped, of course, a filed down spoon slices throats just as easily as a knife if you know how to use it. But,”

Olivia sighs, “they didn’t believe that I didn’t give anything up. In those days, the Red Room was still a secret, Russia’s own little experimental trojan, to get captured was tantamount to death. But all the money they invested in me. They couldn’t kill me. I was … retired.”

The memory of the pain of hot irons on the soles of her feet makes her swallow.

“After everything; they didn’t trust me. So they had another use for me. Widows, when retired, were forced to have children, to start the next generations of Widows. This was, of course, before they realised that women and girls were more easily trafficked than spending money on maternal health care, if they wanted them to live.”

Olivia frowns, knowing she’s speaking too much.

“Salta taught me two things. One; the way I was raised was not normal. It should be obvious, but sometimes stating that out loud helped, and two, I didn’t want to be that person; I didn’t want to be their killer and certainly not… that.”

The implications of reproductive coercion was something Olivia had nightmares about. Even after all these years.

“So, I found a way out. I killed and maimed to do it. I lived in limbo, until I found someone who I could trust, and they bought me here.”

She takes a breath and looks at Natasha.

It’s simplistic.

Natasha hates her for not telling her the whole story.

The growing pangs of hunger for information just starting to take seeds as she realises the implications of Olivia being a Black Widow.

The things she could ask, the answers she could get.

Breathing stops as her mind moves a thousand miles a minute.

What does she want?

She wants to know more. She wants a real answer to her question.

Natasha feels herself lean back, unaware that her posture had leaned forward to hear all the information.

“I’ll answer your questions Natasha, but don’t ask me about this again.”

There’s a pause.

“I agreed to be your psychiatrist because of shared life experience, but I understand that if this blurs lines. If you do not want me to be your therapist, you can tell Clint, and he’ll sort out another for you.”

Olivia’s pragmatics takes Natasha a minute to sort through.

It’s the contrary of what she’s saying. If anyone understands her here, it’s the woman sitting in front of her.

The room’s silence does not feel uncomfortable.

“Maria knows your birthday because Shield has a dossier on you.”

Natasha knows this, she’d deduced it herself.

“The information they have is from a bug I’d placed in the systems of the red room. There’s a dossier on all the girls. The bug is dead now, the information outdated, but perhaps, if we can get you cleared, you can give us updates on some of the other girls.”

Natasha eyes widen.

Her chest constricts as she thinks of Yelena.

In that one moment, she pushes the thought away, the pain hitting her chest and making her even more breathless.

She’s dead.

She couldn’t survive the atrocities of the red room, nor would she have wanted her too.

She nods, remembering to breathe.

“Yes,” she replies slowly, “I want that.”

Olivia writes something on a post it note.

“What else?”

Natasha is truthful in her reply, wondering what it will cost her.

“I want to help.”

.

Fury stares; his face unreadable.

“She was going to find out eventually,” Olivia argues.

“By giving her a purpose, you’re helping her become something more than an informant, you’re helping her to become someone who could, in theory, become your greatest asset.”

Angrily, she continues.

“It’s not just about purpose, yes, she has purpose for you, whilst she’s feeding you information, but what happens when that information runs out? What then? Are you just going to let her rot in a cell? Even you can see the waste in that.”

Olivia calms herself, resets and looks him in his eye.

“What do you foresee happening? What does Thompson or the World Security Council see happening? You brought her here because Barton couldn’t kill her and saw promise of a defector that could do more for us than just die. You agreed to let her live and use Shield resources because of the abundance of information - she’s held up her end - and at cost to her, do you know just how much?”

Olivia is angry, Fury starts talking but she’s not done.

“You don’t know, you can’t know, just how hard she must have fought to reveal information. Words like that in the Red Room… to speak so freely… she would have been tortured; I think she expects to be, probably still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Olivia waits and Fury raises an eyebrow.

“Are you done?” he asks, voice low.

“I knew she would find out eventually, or that you would tell her. I think we all knew. I don’t disagree with you, the timelines though, are not ideal.”

He looks at her in thought.

“Design a mission for her. One that will give us our answers of if she has truly defected or not. Design it so there is no doubt that she is on our side. Then, and only then can we start training her like one of our own, trusting her, like we trust you.”

The words hold meaning.

Shield has never fully trusted her.

She laughs in derision but nods anyway.

A plan forms in her mind.

She thinks she knows what Natasha wants, she wants a reason to keep fighting. A reason to keep going that doesn’t leave her empty when she’s done.

Barton had started all this.

“Fine, but Barton is allowed to go with her.”

The manipulation starts slow, slow enough that she knows Fury won’t catch it until he’s deep in her web. He’ll hate her for it, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

Shield is not the safe place she knew.

She leans back on the chair, and Fury nods curtly.

“Fine.”

Olivia sits for a moment before standing.

“Don’t fail,” he tells her as she walks out the door.

“We never do,” replies the Widow, lost in her own thoughts.

.

(Did you catch it before this fic? Little reveals. Little secrets. <3 as always comments and likes/reblogs are <3)

[and-this-of-all-my-hopes]

Sometimes you just are trying to live out your day and then your brain thinks:

What if in the opening titles of Season 3 Aziraphale and Crowley aren’t walking together anymore.

[spacehomos]

Kaos

Dennis

[screwpinecaprice]

They're on a vacation.

[dollya-robinprotector]

Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky~

Inspired from This post of @just-dol-headshots and this ask from @hakusins. Don't worry I'm still aiming for your ass Haku-Dean :) References and something under the cut

We all have to agree Bully Robin should have some softer and caring sides. When there's only them two and no one else is around to judge, he can let loose and slip back into that kinda of "Original Robin" we know and I love. I mean, that's what JDOLH made that got me into these swap messes from the beginning jsjkhskjhd you knowww the HUG!!

Reference: Barbie Girl (Aqua) and this cute ecchi Clamp Chobit piece

All in all I'm a pink bietch and Dollya won't be losing her V-card anytime soon that I can promise so hang in there okay mr.Bully.

edit: OMG THIS IS MY 1000TH POST TTOTT)) JKSDJLASKJKDLA

SELF-INDULGENT HERE WE GO

[the-barefoot-hatter]

Lunch Time - Non Euclidean Geometry AU Comic

◬- THIS PART-◬- NEXT PART -◬

This first part is nicest, lightest part of the comic. Stop here if the tags are too much.

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

COME ON MACHINE, FUCK ME LIKE AN ANIMAL.

Audio source

[caffinatednightmare]

going to the club might fix her i think!

inspo from @toddellz doodles [STILL BELOW CUT]

[newfoundstateof]

but she fell in love with an english man | b.b. x reader

summary: Academy friends drag Benedict to a tavern to watch Irish fiddle player!reader perform. He buys her a drink. But who can play a fiddle and drink a pint at the same time?

word count: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive but none

a/n: definitely not inspired by those tiktoks of dirty talk bar maids at ren faires, who said that???

“They are spectacular,” Rupert Norton declared with an arm slung over Benedict’s shoulder.

The rest of the Royal Academy students hummed in agreement. Already drunk from the party they left minutes ago, a small group of them stumbled down the cobbled streets of Soho. Earlier that night, news broke that a band that visited a few weeks before Benedict enrolled at the Academy had returned to much anticipation. In an instant, pipes were dropped, coats were gathered, and boots were marching to The Intrepid Fox tavern.

“They’re from Ireland,” someone said.

“I’ve never danced so much in my life,” another added.

“And the fiddle player is quite easy on the eyes,” Rupert slurred into Benedict’s ear. “Try and buy her a drink if you can. That usually gets her attention.”

Benedict laughed. “I’m just here to enjoy the music. As should all of you scoundrels.”

Once inside the tavern, a few of the men beelined to the bar to order whiskey shots for the fiddle player despite the empty stage in the corner. Benedict simply took a seat at the bar, observing the growing crowd. The band’s reputation must have preceded them, as he was soon shoulder to shoulder with the eager fans. But for the next twenty minutes, only chatter filled the room.

“They always like to keep you waiting,” Rupert grumbled into his ale. “But it’s worth it, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Benedict smiled. “It’s good people watch-”

The room erupted into cheering, and he turned toward the stage. Sure enough, two men climbed the small wooden platform. One carried a fiddle, the other a flute. The room roared even louder when you emerged with your fiddle, waving a good-natured hand to the audience. Your smile was wide and disarming. Your gaze was equally piercing. Looking at the gleam in your eyes, Benedict knew just how aware you were of your control over the room. Soon the clapping died down, and every soul waited with bated breath to what you would say.

A scrawny kitchen hand hurried up to you and set a tray of shots down on a small barrel.

“Wow,” you breathed. “All this for little old me?”

Benedict found himself chuckling with everyone. As you threw a shot back, his stomach dropped. You were certainly not like the young ladies of the ton. 

“This crowd is mighty impressive, isn’t it, boys?” you asked your bandmates as you all started tuning your instruments. “We appreciate you for coming out. If you don’t know us already, the lad on the flute is Johnny. My fellow friend on the fiddle is Patrick. And I’m Y/N. I have a favor to ask of you all… From now until the last of you sorry lot leave this building, I hereby decree this an Irish pub! That means we will be clapping along to the songs, singing if you know the words, and if you are so inclined, I would love to see some dancing tonight.”

Someone in the audience whistled, evoking more cheers.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” you grinned.

The trio launched into Seven Drunken Nights, a popular jig even Benedict knew. Though his classmates were rowdily singing along, he could only stare at you. Johnny and Patrick generally kept to their places on stage, but you swayed across, drawing your bow theatrically compared to Patrick’s controlled movements. He was the main vocalist, but during the wife’s lines in the song, you sang with the crowd. 

“Ah, you’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly ol’ fool. Still, you cannot see, that’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me!”

Benedict couldn’t decide if you were a better fiddle player or singer, you were impeccable at both. But without a doubt, you were the best at simply putting on a show. You encouraged people to dance along as you skipped across the stage. Benedict could only imagine how taxing it was for you. Dancing, singing, and playing an instrument all while not breaking a sweat. He eyed the tray of shots, turned to the nearest bartender, and ordered something more refreshing for you.

As you strung out the last note of Seven Drunken Nights, the same kitchen hand ran the mug of beer up to your tray. You sighed to yourself.

“Which one of you did this?” you cried out, lifting the mug high.

Heads spun every which way. Benedict froze. Was liquor the only appropriate drink to tip a musician? He wasn’t sure, he’d never been to something like this. Awkwardly, he coughed and raised his hand.

Your eyes found him in the sea of faces, and you smirked. “Don’t be shy, come here!”

 Rupert clapped Benedict on the back. “Don’t screw this up, Bridgerton. She might go home with you tonight.”

Though he had been with many women and dangerously close with a few men, you still intimidated him somehow. Nothing intimate had been on his mind before Rupert’s comment, but now his heart skipped a few beats at just the thought of it. Benedict snaked through the crowd, trying to read the expression on your face. But all you looked was smug, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you poured the ale on his head. 

“Finally,” you breathed as he stood before you. “One of you buys a lady a real drink!”

He exhaled in relief.

“I’m afraid I’m quite thirsty though,” you pout, getting down on one knee. The stage was barely a foot off the ground, putting your face directly in front of Benedict’s wide shoulders. “And we need to get on with the next song, but I don’t have enough hands. Would you help me, good sir?”

Without waiting for his response, you shoved the drink in his hands and looked up to the ceiling. Before Benedict could blink, you were poising your instrument and drawing out a note with your bandmates following suit.

“We’re lucky I don’t sing in this one,” you smile, giving him a pointed look. “Get on with it, now. I’m parched.”

Never one to argue with a lady, Benedict slowly tilted the rim of the glass to your lips and poured the liquid steadily down your throat. You looked up through your lashes at him, daring him to look away. But he didn’t. Only when some of the ale dripped down your chin and onto your bodice did his gaze break yours.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No,” as much as you could with your lips around the glass.

As you neared the last dregs, your head tilted back more and more to get it all. The eroticism of it all was not lost on Benedict, especially as you swallowed the last gulp and moaned audibly. The growing friction in the front of his pants was no help. But once the glass was finished, you rose to your feet and sent him off with a wink. As you spun to the other side of the stage, the hem of your skirt brushed his groin and he mindlessly reached for the fabric. But you were gone. In a trance, Benedict walked backward to his friends at the bar, adjusting himself. 

“Has she done that before,” he coughed.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Rupert crowed. “And I’ve seen them perform at least five times since I started at the Academy.”

“You’ve got to talk to her after, Bridgerton,” someone urged.

“Can I come along?” a voice teased.

“You’re the luckiest bastard on earth right now,” another sighed.

Across the room, you caught him starring and blew him a quick kiss.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Luckiest bastard on earth.”

[pigswithwings]

A Guide On Lessening Yourself

(Or, What To Do Before They Cut You Open)

This guide has been created to prepare you for your upcoming procedure. Please read carefully and follow all directions in order to have the safest experience.

RECOMMENDATIONS:

- Do not eat. (Required; at least 3 hours before the procedure starts. No meats, no vegetables, no grains, and especially no fruits. Any remaining food that is being digested will get in the way.)

- Do not drink. (Required; at least 2 hours before the procedure starts. No water, soda, juice, soup, milk, coffee, or energy drinks. Any remaining fluids will get in the way.)

- Do not bleed. (Required; at least 1 month before the procedure. No paper cuts, nosebleeds, injuries or other form of your own blood leaving your body. Restriction of the expression of your mortality is imperative.)

- Do not dream. (Strongly suggested; at least 1 month before the procedure starts. No daydreams, no hopes, no wishes, no lifelong goals, and no nightmares. Avoid losing yourself within any fantastical trappings - these are the vestiges of a mortal mind.)

TIPS:

BEFORE

- Make sure to confirm your procedure date. Whether by checking online, asking your doctor, or praying, it's of utmost importance that you remember the specific time and day of your event.

- Make certain that this procedure is for you.

Though the process has already been scheduled, you still have options if you're unsure. Asking God or previous patients are the most authentic ways to learn about this process. Consider the benefits and consequences of the procedure as a whole - this will undoubtedly affect your life, but will it be more negative rather than positive? Will you be able to be happy again? If you are willing to accept such possibilities, continue on. Should you choose to, however, you may still opt out before the scheduled date by telling your doctor and/or healthcare provider.

DURING

- Make sure to arrive early to your procedure. Timeliness is key.

- Be flexible with your interviewers. Many angels are unfamiliar with human languages and may instead choose to communicate directly inside your mind. This may cause discomfort as well as the feeling of being stripped into nothingness. Don't panic and remember that you deserve a chance at holiness, regardless of your humanity.

- Be polite. Though your angel interviewers may have already visited Earth before, human customs are often difficult to adjust to. If an interviewer makes a social faux pas (such as revealing their true form), brush it off and continue the conversation as best you can.

- Be prepared for any questions regarding your past attachments, relationships, possessions, etc. If you've prepared well, you'll be able to answer with full honesty that you have left all possible remnants of humanity behind - that means no mistakes, no regrets, and no emotions.

- Should you pass the interview (you will be told after they have finished), be ready to experience anywhere from a small to large amount of pain. This experience usually lasts around 20 seconds, but some say it feels like an eternity of blinding, searing light. The scale of your pain will be a direct result of how successful you were at stripping away your humanity; the agony that follows will be the angels burning it off of you.

- Wait through the pain.

- Wait through the pain.

- Wait through the pain.

- Wait through the pain.

- Wait through the pain.

- Wait through the pain.

- Wait thought it.

- Wait through it.

- Wait

AFTER

- If you've successfully passed the interview, survived the procedure, and become an angel, congratulations! The following tips are only suggestions, but may help you in adjusting to your new existence.

- Avoid brightening your divine light too much at once. You'll quickly realize that your new eyes are far more adjusted to light than a human's, making the world appear dimmer than before.

- Avoid speaking out loud to others for the first few millenium, as this may cause harm if done incorrectly. Instead, practice "speaking" through the visual and audible expression of abstract concepts.

- Don't expect to visit Earth again. More often than not, angels avoid the human world (most say it's too painful to linger), so it's very unlikely that you'll return. Don't come back if you possibly can.

Finally, enjoy your new status as part of the divine. Not many people get to experience the feeling - you have made it! Please enjoy the rest of infinity.

[venmondiese]

In honour of the new Ewan photos wearing saltburn shirts.... michael smut coming 2nite (or soon, idk)

edit: here it is one missing point

[rosalie-starfall]

Agatha: House of Harkness Agatha: Coven of Chaos Agatha: The Darkhold Diaries Agatha: The Lying Witch with Great Wardrobe

Agatha All Along

[chemevan]

mixing my mainstream obsession with my niche one? more likely than you think

based on the mr bungle self titled cover art

[sebfreak]

[frenchfrywrites]

it keeps repeating, will you please complete me?

MINORS DNI

Warnings: top cis male reader (implied switch), bottom Leona Kingscholar, internalized homophobia, self discovery, mild angst maybe?, gay awakening, very lowkey armpit/scent kink (?), blowjobs, eating ass, safe sex (a lil? Could be safer lmao), situationship turned relationship

“You've been staring at me a lot lately,” you'd meant it playfully, flirting with him as you've been doing for months, finally working up the nerve to call him on it. It started with little glances now and then, but for the last few weeks he's hardly taken his eyes off you. You've jerked yourself off too many nights in a row thinking about his beautiful brown eyes staring you down in the locker room.

Leona only ever willingly studies if you're there with him. He's a godawful study partner, when he does cram with you. He'll do anything but study. Usually he sleeps or bitches about something unimportant, but today he's been gazing at you— nearly unblinking— for the last 5 minutes. It's distracting.

You'd meant it lightly, trying to be cute, expecting him to blush and confess, but Leona looks scared. So often he boasts about being a predator, but right now he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“No I haven't,” he growls, “I'm not-” he swallows, his gaze hardening, “I haven't.”

This is not the reaction you'd thought you'd get, so your brows furrow in confusion.

“Uh yes you have? It's okay,” you smile, touching his hand with your own, “I've been looking too, you know” Leona jerks his hand away.

“I'm not gay,” he insists. And that makes you pause.

“I never said you were,” you reassure, “I only said you've been looking. That's okay,” relief slowly returns to his body. He clears his throat,

“Yeah? It's not weird?” He asks, sounding so unsure it makes your heart break. You remember this, what it felt like to start looking— so to speak— for the first time.

“Not at all. You can look all you want,” you hum, smiling softly, “I'd let you touch if you wanted, too,” you admit with a hum. Leona flushes, gazing at you openly now that he has permission.

The two of you leave it at that for now. You'll bet money that whatever this is will snowball into something more, but you're content if all he wants to do is look for now. 

-

The conversation comes back up again, as you thought (hoped) it might. Leona comes to you after gym, once the locker room has been cleared out. His hair is up, which is an unnecessary detail to note, except for the fact that it makes him look all the more handsome in your eyes. It also reveals his face to you, leaving him nothing to hide behind. 

He stands there silently for a second, completely still beside you, his gaze heavy and predatory. Your bag is packed, and you go to grab it and leave, since he hasn't said or done anything, but the sound of Leona's voice stops you.

“You said it was okay to touch.” It isn't a question. Confusion lasts for a second and then you're nodding, remembering exactly what it was that you said to him.

“Sure.” You set your bag down and turn to him, offering your body to his curious eyes and hands.

“It's fine, as long as we don't kiss,” he decides, placing his hands hesitantly on your pecs. You hum, absentmindedly. Whatever it takes not to scare him away.

“Take your shirt off,” he demands, tugging at the fabric. You do as you're told, your hands trembling slightly and your cheeks hot with flush.

Leona pokes and prods, pressing a finger against your nipple, cupping your chest like they’re boobs, feeling up your biceps, then lifting your arm to inspect your pits. He steps into your personal space— so close you could kiss him, but you won't— squinting at the hair there.

Then his face is pressed oh so close to your armpit, and he's smelling you. You almost can't believe that he's doing this and claiming not to be into you, or men in general. It takes everything in you not to laugh at how this seems like a bad gay porno come to life.

“You smell so much different than the girls I've been with,” he hums, pulling away to look at you as he says it.

“I imagine,” your voice comes out deep and quiet. Leona licks his lips, his tail flicking from side to side. Before you can say anything more he busies himself elsewhere, taking notice of your cock tenting your gym shorts.

He tugs your pants open, peering inside, then hums, impressed. He looks up at you, seemingly for permission; you nod, granting it.

Tugging your waistband down, he wraps his hand around your cock. You sigh softly, leaning against the lockers, and reaching out to hold onto his arm to ground yourself. As if magnetized to you, Leona leans further into your space, so close you can feel his breath against your skin as he holds you in his hand.

“It's weird touching another guy's…” he trails off, leaving the words unfinished as he rubs his thumb over your tip.

“None of the girls…” he trails off again, “well, maybe some of them did have dicks, I dunno,” he seems to be talking to himself, but you hum as if you're listening, “sometimes they just wanted to suck me off, y'know?” Your heartbeat is pounding so hard in your ears that you can barely even hear him, but you nod anyway. You choke on your spit before stammering,

“Is that something you'd want to do?” And you know you're pushing hard against the lines of the imagined box that Leona has trapped himself in, but the look he's giving you right now emboldens you.

He holds you tight in his fist, glaring you down, thinking it through, and then he's shrugging and falling to his knees before you.

“Whatever, sure,” he scoffs, “I just want to see what all the fuss is about.” You nearly laugh at that, instead giving him a sincere smile.

“Yeah, I get it,” you reach over to dig a condom out of your bag, “I like giving head,” you add, passing it to him. Shock morphs into frustration on Leona's face so quickly, if you blinked you would've missed it. He snatches the condom from your hand.

“Whose dicks are you sucking?” and oh, ain't that cute. He's jealous.

“Nun'ya,” Leona scoffs, and opens the condom, ignoring your bait. As he rolls the condom onto your length you mumble “nun'ya business,” to yourself, despite him not falling for your bit.

“If you keep annoying me, I'll bite you,” he threatens, smirking while showing off his canines. You tug on his hair, and Leona laughs out loud.

“So…” he hesitates now that he's so close to your cock, “what do I do?”

“What do you like?” you prompt, holding his head softly, mostly to have something to do with your sweaty, shaking hands. Leona returns his attention to your dick, sizing it up, before kissing his way from your tip down to the base. His hands station themselves awkwardly on your thighs, his thumbs digging into your inner thighs, causing a tingle to run along your skin.

Leona inhales your scent, completely beside himself, then sucks your head into his mouth. He'd joked earlier about his teeth, but he's very conscious of keeping them clear of your dick as he sinks you deeper into his throat.

He's a natural, taking you deep into his throat, sucking and swallowing around you like he's been dying to get a taste of you. His eyes flutter shut and his tail sways steadily from side to side as he begins to bob his head up and down along your length.

“Fuck,” you hiss, “feels good.” Leona hums at the praise, laving his tongue along the underside of your cock. He pulls up to suckle on your tip, taking a moment to catch his breath. His hand comes to stroke the bit of you that's not occupying his mouth.

You're unable to hold back soft moans and whimpers as he sucks you off, and they echo along the locker room walls. Thank god you're the only two in here.

Leona's quick to get you back down his throat, choking a bit along the way, but quickly recovering. If you weren't so focused on him you might've missed it, but you catch the soft purring coming from him. You rub the spot behind his ears, far too affectionate for what he's doing and how he came about doing it, but Leona leans into your touch, moaning along your length.

“Shit, I'm not gonna last much— hah — longer,” you confess. Leona hums in acknowledgement, bringing one hand to fondle your balls. “Leona,” you gasp, warning him as a shudder courses its way through your body, and then you curl forward, caging him in and holding his head flush against your cock while you fill the condom.

It's only when your body feels limp and sluggish with post-orgasmic haze that you release him and lean back against the lockers.

Leona coughs once your soft cock leaves his mouth, peeling off the condom, tying it off, before tossing it into the nearest trash can. You reach a hand out to help him up, and Leona takes it, shakily rising to his feet. He's hard, his cheeks flushed as he wipes drool from his chin. Pride is radiating from him as he gives you a smug grin.

“Yeah,” he coughs again, his voice thoroughly fucked, “I get why girls wanna do that.” Again, Leona doesn’t give you the chance to get a word in edgewise before he's turned around, and is swiftly making his way out of the locker room. “Thanks,” he calls just before the door can close behind him.

You stare at the door for a solid minute before tucking yourself back into your pants and sighing so loudly it echoes against the walls. You're so fucked for indulging in whatever the hell you've got going on with him. But if it leads to him blowing you more, you really can't complain.

-

“You said you suck dick?” Leona's question comes so suddenly out of nowhere, and he says it so nonchalantly that for a moment you honestly believe you've misheard him. The two of you are in the middle of a chess game in Leona's room, having not spoken about him sucking on your dick since it happened a couple of days ago. If it weren't for the evidence of your missing condom, you might've written it off as a particularly good and realistic wet dream.

“Yeah,” you move your rook, capturing his knight. Leona growls at your success, and goes quiet as he thinks. Naively, you assume that's the end of it.

“You'd suck mine?” he asks, finally moving his bishop near one of your pawns. It takes everything inside of you not to rush out a “yes,” showing him just how desperate you are. You pretend to think about it for a moment.

“Yeah,” you push your chair away from the table, “right now?” Leona shrugs,

“If you want to.” He sounds like he's doing you a favor, but his tail wagging excitedly and the excited grin on his face gives him away. He pushes his chair back and you get yourself between his legs.

Gently, you undo his pants, and pull his cock out. You drool, finally getting a good look at him. All you've had up until this point are crumbs, glances when he's changing before gym, and the tent you caught when he'd walked away with a hard on after sucking you off.

“Nice,” you hum, to quell any insecurity he may be having. Leona grins, his chest puffing up with pride. You stroke him to full hardness easily (a little too easily. You seriously wonder how long he's going to claim he's not into men).

“You got a condom?” you ask. Leona bristles,

“Shit—”

“When's the last time you had sex?” you ask, despite part of you not wanting to know the answer. He avoids eye contact,

“Been a couple'a months,” he huffs. You continue stroking him,

“You've gotten tested?” He nods,

“Yeah, 'm good,” you grin up at him,

“Me too,” you state before taking him into your mouth. Leona swears, his hands flying to your head. Hid dick may be impressive, but you're a good cocksucker, and take him down your throat with ease.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, staring down at you with wide eyes as you start sucking him off properly. Your hands roam, massaging his hairy thighs, rubbing circles into his flesh as you drool and swallow along his length. Even if you weren't harboring a dangerous crush on him, you think you'd worship Leona's cock all the same; his dick fits so nicely in your mouth, and his reactions have you hard and leaking in your pants, it'd only make sense to give him your best.

He's moaning your name, his voice cracking and pleading, leaking pre into your mouth, his hips jerking involuntarily, his hands tight on your head, purring up a storm. Selfishly, you want him changed from your blowjob. You don't want him looking at girls any more, you want him addicted to your mouth. You want to do something special for him.

You pull off his cock suddenly, and Leona whines openly, a “please,” nearly falling from his lips. He swallows his words when you rub his tip against your lips, stroking him, then kissing his groin. Your other hand, the one not stroking his cock, presses lightly against his rim.

Leona twitches, looking down at you with wide eyes. He looks fucked dumb just from having your mouth on him. Sweat drenched hair clings to his forehead, his mouth is open and panting, his chest heaving.

“Anyone ever put their mouth here?” you purr. Leona shakes his head dumbly. “Want me to?” He audibly gulps before nodding.

With his permission, you nestle yourself under his dick, and lick his hole.

“Fuck” he gasps, pre leaks like a faucet from his tip as you lick and massage his rim. You get him wet with saliva and drool. It'd be better with lube, and you'll apologize for the dull ache that will come later, but you're able to slip in a finger. At first, Leona tenses at the intrusion, and then as you lick and wiggle your finger he relaxes and opens up for you. He melts into the chair, his cock twitching as you continue to stroke him off.

He's close, and you'd rather not get cum in your hair or on your face, so you keep fingering him as your mouth returns to his cock. You take him down your throat, and curl your finger towards his prostate.

“Fuck— fuck, oh god, cumming, gonna cum, ah,” his orgasm must've sneaked up on him, because that's all the warning you get before he's filling your mouth. He flutters around your finger, his hips weakly thrusting his cock further down your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You steal a glance up at him as you swallow his cum, and you know you're going to be committing his face to memory, and jacking off thinking about it later.

“Off,” he murmurs softly once he goes soft in your mouth. You let his cock out of your mouth slowly, gently pulling your finger from his ass.

“Good?” you check, doing him the favor of pulling his pants up. Leona wipes the sweat from his brow, nodding.

“Yeah, you were alright,” he states. You laugh (because you know damn well that was better than “alright”) getting to your feet. Leona immediately looks at your hard cock tenting your pants. You almost expect him to ask to return the favor, but he pulls his gaze away from you, and back to the chessboard.

“Your turn,” he mumbles.

With a smile, you sit back down in your chair, and think about everything and anything that'd make your erection go away.

-

It only takes a day for Leona to knock on your door. He looks slightly awkward, a little embarrassed, but not ashamed.

“Can I come in?” he asks. You step back to let him in. He's quiet for a good second, avoiding eye contact.

“I can't stop thinking about it,” he finally states.

“It” of course being your finger in his ass.

“Neither could I, when I first tried anal,” you admit, plopping yourself down on a chair in the living room. Leona follows you, sitting stiffly on a chair close to yours. His typical lazy attitude is all gone right now, and honestly it's a little unsettling.

“You've tried it?” He asks.

You give him a look, one that says “are you kidding?” without you ever having to say the words. Leona huffs, knowing the question was a dumb one.

“How 'm I supposed to know you bottom,” he mumbles to himself, then turns to you, trying (and failing) to look smug and confident, “can I fuck you?” His lack of tact makes you crinkle your nose with ire.

“No,” you pause for a moment, considering it, imagining it. Your cock twitches with interest. “Not yet at least. You've done enough of sticking your dick in holes,” and now Leona's looking more comfortable. He looks hungry, staring you down. You try not to think too hard about how that’s all this all started.

“Anyways,” you rest your head on your hand, looking him down, “aren't you here to get fucked?” He chokes on his spit,

“No,” he snaps, then swallows and looks away, “I mean, I don't know, maybe?” and then he's looking at you all hopeful. He's so cute it makes you want to scream.

“C'mere,” you pat your lap, testing him. Leona does as he's told, straddling you, clearly very unsure of himself. You can't have that.

You let one hand hold his thigh gently, as one goes to touch the spot behind his ear, the place you petted when he sucked you off and purred. That seems to calm him down a bit, and he looks at you expectantly.

“Listen, if you want this, that's alright, but you gotta stop pretending you're something you're not,” Leona bites his lip, “I don't want you acting like you don't want this.” He nods, understanding. He swallows heavily,

“I don't know what I am,” he confesses quietly, barely above a whisper, “I don't know, I just know I—” he nearly looks like he's going to bolt. “I just like you, and I like how you make me feel. I want this,” with a shaky breath he continues, “I want you to fuck me.” You give him a reassuring smile,

“That's all I needed to hear, sweetheart,” Leona visibly relaxes at the pet name, “you don't have to know what you are, or whatever, I just needed to hear you be honest with yourself,”

“Fuckin' corny,” he huffs, but he's smiling down at you, more relaxed than you've seen him in weeks. You think he needed to be honest with himself more than you needed to hear it. You squeeze his thigh and ignore his comment,

“I like you too, and I want to kiss you,” you add. Leona nods, leaning down to capture your lips. It's sweet, and you're grateful you're able to do this before you fuck him stupid.

He takes the lead, deepening the kiss by licking against your lips. You tug on his hair, pressing your tongue into his mouth, licking inside until the two of you are panting. When you pull back to get a good look at him, a string of saliva connects your mouths. Leona's pupils are blown wide, and his hands hold onto the front of your shirt.

“I couldn't stop thinking about your mouth,” he whispers, whimpering when your hand comes down from his head to cup his face. He leans into your touch, opening his mouth when you press your finger against his bottom lip.

It's astounding how much more eager and pliant he is now that he's open with how he feels. He wants you bad, and it's obvious.

“Tell me more,” you prompt, caressing his face as your other hand presses against the tent in the front of his pants.

“As soon as you left, I had to jerk off again. I—” he hiccups a moan, grinding into your touch, “I tried to put my fingers inside again, but it didn't feel the same. It was good, but not enough,” his claws dig into the fabric of your shirt.

“Cute,” you murmur, and Leona's eyes widen. You wonder if any of the girls he's slept with ever dared to call him cute before. “I wanna take my time with you,” Leona whines at this, shaking his head in protest, “hey,” you squeeze his cock roughly, and he keens, “I said I want to take my time with you, but I guess I'll go slow next time, because you're aching for it, huh darling?” you coo, teasing him. Leona nods all the same, letting out a purr at the promise of a next time.

“You've waited so long already, haven't you?” you murmur, tugging on the hem of his shirt. Leona practically tears it off for you. The hand that was on his face moves to play with one of his nipples as you kiss him again.

“Fuck me,” he demands, against your lips, “fuckin' please,” he adds, halfheartedly.

“Get undressed for me,” you help him off your lap, smirking at how he takes a moment to find the strength to stand, and leave him— with a kiss before you go of course— to grab condoms and lube. Before you know it, you're naked on the chair, with Leona in your lap, holding onto your shoulders, slightly digging his nails into your skin.

“Alright baby, lift your hips a bit,” you instruct, so you can slip your now lubed fingers between his cheeks. Leona does as he's told, sighing when you press your fingers against his hole.

“Gotta relax,” you remind him, moving his hair to the side so you can kiss at the place where his shoulder and neck meet. Leona wraps his arms further around your neck and slumps his weight against you, his cock hard and leaking against your abdomen.

“Yes,” he gasps as one finger slips past his tight ring of muscle and inside of him. “Yeah,” he moans, as it sinks deeper into him. You rub and press against his insides, and it's not long before you can slip in another finger.

“Ungh,’ he chokes when you scissor and fuck your fingers deeper into him, curling into his prostate, “yeah, yeah, more, fuck,” he babbles, grinding himself against your hand. His tail flicks from side to side, and he nuzzles into your skin, letting his canines graze your flesh as you stretch him open for your cock.

“Fuck me, I want it, I need it, please,” he whines once you get a third finger inside of him.

“Just a little longer,” you promise, feeling him rut and leak against your stomach. Leona growls, his patience running thin. You keep your word, and after a minute or so you slowly slip your fingers from him.

Leona sits back on your lap, quickly tearing open a condom and sliding it over your cock. He messily slathers lube along your shaft and then hoists himself up. With your help, your cock slides between his ass, and the tip presses against his hole.

“Let me know if it hurts,” you state, kissing his cheek gently. Leona purrs, lowering himself onto your cock. He cries out when the tip of your cock pops into him, and slides down fairly quickly onto your dick. He takes it like a champ, gasping and moaning like a bitch in heat as you fill him up.

“Oh my god,” he whispers once he's fully seated in your lap. You bite your lip, using every inch of energy to not thrust your hips up and fuck him. You let him adjust to the sensation.

Leona clings to you, panting, eyes wide. “Oh my god,” he whines again, “there's so much— it feels so— hah,” he buries his face into your shoulder, moaning your name, “move, please, fuck me,” he begs softly.

“Leona,” you moan, holding his hips gently and bucking your hips into him. Leona goes limp on top of you, which you expected. Part of you wishes you'd moved this to the bedroom, that you had him in missionary, or even doggy style instead, because fucking him like this is a lot of work. Luckily, you don’t think either of you will last long. 

“You’re doing so well for me,” you pant, squeezing and massaging his hips, “taking me so good, like you’re made for takin’ my dick, baby,” Leona flutters around you, keening at that. He’s purring and moaning and drooling on your shoulder, taking all you give him. 

It doesn’t take long at all for Leona. You wonder if he’ll be embarrassed about it later, but he cums within minutes, without warning, spilling all over your stomach with a weak moan of your name. You fuck him through it, and then still when he shivers. He moans, then whines, then finally groans, 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ take your cock out of me.” Your hips twitch at his words, and lust pools within your loins. You don’t know how long you sit like that, with Leona warming your cock, catching his breath. 

“Keep fucking me,” it’s supposed to come off like a demand, but it sounds more like a plea. You obey, slowly fucking him, getting closer and closer to finishing. “Cum, inside of me, fuck me ‘til–” he chokes as your head brushes against his prostate, “until you’ve cum, fuck me,” he moans. 

“Gonna-ah cum,” you murmur, as you fuck him faster with each thrust, chasing your orgasm. Leona whimpers, 

“Please,” and it sends you over, lodging yourself deep inside of him and fucking your cum into the condom. 

“Good?” you ask once your hips still and you find your voice again. Leona nods, 

“Yeah, I guess,” he finally dislodges himself from your shoulder, leaning back and smiling at you, “I don’t know though. Maybe you should fuck me again so I can see if I really like it or not,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, and you’re half surprised he doesn’t wink to really sell the act he’s putting on. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you huff, slapping his thigh gently. Leona laughs, his nose scrunching up cutely. “Let me clean you up, and then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget your name.” 

Leona stops laughing at that, and instead licks his lips. “I’ll hold you to it,” he says gruffly, sealing the promise by leaning in and kissing you.

[doodlesdreaming]

Revenge of the True Demon

⚠️ Spoilers/Late Game Mention, Blood, and Slight Body Horror⚠️