#being in tune with your faith... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bejeweledinterludes · 3 months ago

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still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL OVER DEAN WINCHESTER CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

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being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i��m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

#faith’s works . . . @bejeweledinterludes!#dean winchester x reader #sub dean #supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester smut #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester fanfiction #dean smut #dean x you #dean x reader #dean supernatural #gif from pinterest!

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imsobadatnicknames2 · 1 year ago

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How can you consider yourself any sort of leftist when you defend AI art bullshit? You literally simp for AI techbros and have the gall to pretend you're against big corporations?? Get fucked

I don't "defend" AI art. I think a particular old post of mine that a lot of people tend to read in bad faith must be making the rounds again lmao.

Took me a good while to reply to this because you know what? I decided to make something positive out of this and use this as an opportunity to outline what I ACTUALLY believe about AI art. If anyone seeing this decides to read it in good or bad faith... Welp, your choice I guess.

I have several criticisms of the way the proliferation of AI art generators and LLMs is making a lot of things worse. Some of these are things I have voiced in the past, some of these are things I haven't until now:

Most image and text AI generators are fine-tuned to produce nothing but the most agreeable, generically pretty content slop, pretty much immediately squandering their potential to be used as genuinely interesting artistic tools with anything to offer in terms of a unique aesthetic experience (AI video still manages to look bizarre and interesting but it's getting there too)

In the entertainment industry and a lot of other fields, AI image generation is getting incorporated into production pipelines in ways that lead to the immiseration of working artists, being used to justify either lower wages or straight-up layoffs, and this is something that needs to be fought against. That's why I unconditionally supported the SAG-AFTRA strikes last year and will unconditionally support any collective action to address AI art as a concrete labor issue

In most fields where it's being integrated, AI art is vastly inferior to human artists in any use case where you need anything other than to make a superficially pretty picture really fast. If you need to do anything like ask for revisions or minor corrections, give very specific descriptions of how objects and people are interacting with each other, or just like. generate several pictures of the same thing and have them stay consistent with each other, you NEED human artists and it's preposterous to think they can be replaced by AI.

There is a lot of art on the internet that consists of the most generically pretty, cookie-cutter anime waifu-adjacent slop that has zero artistic or emotional value to either the people seeing it or the person churning it out, and while this certainly was A Thing before the advent of AI art generators, generative AI has made it extremely easy to become the kind of person who churns it out and floods online art spaces with it.

Similarly, LLMs make it extremely easy to generate massive volumes of texts, pages, articles, listicles and what have you that are generic vapid SEO-friendly pap at best and bizzarre nonsense misinformation at worst, drowning useful information in a sea of vapid noise and rendering internet searches increasingly useless.

The way LLMs are being incorporated into customer service and similar services not only, again, encourages further immiseration of customer service workers, but it's also completely useless for most customers.

A very annoyingly vocal part the population of AI art enthusiasts, fanatics and promoters do tend to talk about it in a way that directly or indirectly demeans the merit and skill of human artists and implies that they think of anyone who sees anything worthwile in the process of creation itself rather than the end product as stupid or deluded.

So you can probably tell by now that I don't hold AI art or writing in very high regard. However (and here's the part that'll get me called an AI techbro, or get people telling me that I'm just jealous of REAL artists because I lack the drive to create art of my own, or whatever else) I do have some criticisms of the way people have been responding to it, and have voiced such criticisms in the past.

I think a lot of the opposition to AI art has critstallized around unexamined gut reactions, whipping up a moral panic, and pressure to outwardly display an acceptable level of disdain for it. And in particular I think this climate has made a lot of people very prone to either uncritically entertain and adopt regressive ideas about Intellectual Propety, OR reveal previously held regressive ideas about Intellectual Property that are now suddenly more socially acceptable to express:

(I wanna preface this section by stating that I'm a staunch intellectual property abolitionist for the same reason I'm a private property abolitionist. If you think the existence of intellectual property is a good thing, a lot of my ideas about a lot of stuff are gonna be unpalatable to you. Not much I can do about it.)

A lot of people are suddenly throwing their support behind any proposal that promises stricter copyright regulations to combat AI art, when a lot of these also have the potential to severely udnermine fair use laws and fuck over a lot of independent artist for the benefit of big companies.

It was very worrying to see a lot of fanfic authors in particular clap for the George R R Martin OpenAI lawsuit because well... a lot of them don't realize that fanfic is a hobby that's in a position that's VERY legally precarious at best, that legally speaking using someone else's characters in your fanfic is as much of a violation of copyright law as straight up stealing entire passages, and that any regulation that can be used against the latter can be extended against the former.

Similarly, a lot of artists were cheering for the lawsuit against AI art models trained to mimic the style of specific artists. Which I agree is an extremely scummy thing to do (just like a human artist making a living from ripping off someone else's work is also extremely scummy), but I don't think every scummy act necessarily needs to be punishable by law, and some of them would in fact leave people worse off if they were. All this to say: If you are an artist, and ESPECIALLY a fan artist, trust me. You DON'T wanna live in a world where there's precedent for people's artstyles to be considered intellectual property in any legally enforceable way. I know you wanna hurt AI art people but this is one avenue that's not worth it.

Especially worrying to me as an indie musician has been to see people mention the strict copyright laws of the music industry as a positive thing that they wanna emulate. "this would never happen in the music industry because they value their artists copyright" idk maybe this is a the grass is greener type of situation but I'm telling you, you DON'T wanna live in a world where copyright law in the visual arts world works the way it does in the music industry. It's not worth it.

I've seen at least one person compare AI art model training to music sampling and say "there's a reason why they cracked down on sampling" as if the death of sampling due to stricter copyright laws was a good thing and not literally one of the worst things to happen in the history of music which nearly destroyed several primarily black music genres. Of course this is anecdotal because it's just One Guy I Saw Once, but you can see what I mean about how uncritical support for copyright law as a tool against AI can lead people to adopt increasingly regressive ideas about copyright.

Similarly, I've seen at least one person go "you know what? Collages should be considered art theft too, fuck you" over an argument where someone else compared AI art to collages. Again, same point as above.

Similarly, I take issue with the way a lot of people seem EXTREMELY personally invested in proving AI art is Not Real Art. I not only find this discussion unproductive, but also similarly dangerously prone to validating very reactionary ideas about The Nature Of Art that shouldn't really be entertained. Also it's a discussion rife with intellectual dishonesty and unevenly applied definition and standards.

When a lot of people present the argument of AI art not being art because the definition of art is this and that, they try to pretend that this is the definition of art the've always operated under and believed in, even when a lot of the time it's blatantly obvious that they're constructing their definition on the spot and deliberately trying to do so in such a way that it doesn't include AI art.

They never succeed at it, btw. I've seen several dozen different "AI art isn't art because art is [definition]". I've seen exactly zero of those where trying to seriously apply that definition in any context outside of trying to prove AI art isn't art doesn't end up in it accidentally excluding one or more non-AI artforms, usually reflecting the author's blindspots with regard to the different forms of artistic expression.

(However, this is moot because, again, these are rarely definitions that these people actually believe in or adhere to outside of trying to win "Is AI art real art?" discussions.)

Especially worrying when the definition they construct is built around stuff like Effort or Skill or Dedication or The Divine Human Spirit. You would not be happy about the kinds of art that have traditionally been excluded from Real Art using similar definitions.

Seriously when everyone was celebrating that the Catholic Church came out to say AI art isn't real art and sharing it as if it was validating and not Extremely Worrying that the arguments they'd been using against AI art sounded nearly identical to things TradCaths believe I was like. Well alright :T You can make all the "I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with a catholic" legolas and gimli memes you want, but it won't change the fact that the argument being made by the catholic church was a profoundly conservative one and nearly identical to arguments used to dismiss the artistic merit of certain forms of "degenerate" art and everyone was just uncritically sharing it, completely unconcerned with what kind of worldview they were lending validity to by sharing it.

Remember when the discourse about the Gay Sex cats pic was going on? One of the things I remember the most from that time was when someone went "Tell me a definition of art that excludes this picture without also excluding Fountain by Duchamp" and how just. Literally no one was able to do it. A LOT of people tried to argue some variation of "Well, Fountain is art and this image isn't because what turns fountain into art is Intent. Duchamp's choice to show a urinal at an art gallery as if it was art confers it an element of artistic intent that this image lacks" when like. Didn't by that same logic OP's choice to post the image on tumblr as if it was art also confer it artistic intent in the same way? Didn't that argument actually kinda end up accidentally validating the artistic status of every piece of AI art ever posted on social media? That moment it clicked for me that a lot of these definitions require applying certain concepts extremely selectively in order to make sense for the people using them.

A lot of people also try to argue it isn't Real Art based on the fact that most AI art is vapid but like. If being vapid definitionally excludes something from being art you're going to have to exclude a whooole lot of stuff along with it. AI art is vapid. A lot of art is too, I don't think this argument works either.

Like, look, I'm not really invested in trying to argue in favor of The Artistic Merits of AI art but I also find it extremely hard to ignore how trying to categorically define AI art as Not Real Art not only is unproductive but also requires either a) applying certain parts of your definition of art extremely selectively, b) constructing a definition of art so convoluted and full of weird caveats as to be functionally useless, or c) validating extremely reactionary conservative ideas about what Real Art is.

Some stray thoughts that don't fit any of the above sections.

I've occassionally seen people respond to AI art being used for shitposts like "A lot of people have affordable commissions, you could have paid someone like $30 to draw this for you instead of using the plagiarism algorithm and exploiting the work of real artists" and sorry but if you consider paying an artist a rate that amounts to like $5 for several hours of work a LESS exploitative alternative I think you've got something fucked up going on with your priorities.

Also it's kinda funny when people comment on the aforementioned shitposts with some variation of "see, the usage of AI art robs it of all humor because the thing that makes shitposts funny is when you consider the fact that someone would spend so much time and effort in something so stupid" because like. Yeah that is part of the humor SOMETIMES but also people share and laugh at low effort shitposts all the time. Again you're constructing a definition that you don't actually believe in anywhere outside of this type of conversations. Just say you don't like that it's AI art because you think it's morally wrong and stop being disingenuous.

So yeah, this is pretty much everything I believe about the topic.

I don't "defend" AI art, but my opposition to it is firmly rooted in my principles, and that means I refuse to uncritically accept any anti-AI art argument that goes against those same principles.

If you think not accepting and parroting every Anti-AI art argument I encounter because some of them are ideologically rooted in things I disagree with makes me indistinguishable from "AI techbros" you're working under a fucked up dichotomy.

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marithempressz · 19 days ago

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Pick a Card: What Does Your Future Self Want to Tell You?

Time isn’t as linear as it seems—and sometimes, the version of you who has already made it through the storm has something to say. In this reading, we’ll tune into the voice of your future self to receive guidance, reassurance, or maybe just a gentle nudge in the right direction. Take a deep breath, center yourself, and choose the pile that calls to your intuition. The message waiting for you might be just what you need right now.

pile 1, pile 2, pile 3

Pile 1

The Emperor, Nine of Wands, The Tower, Ace of Cups

I know you’ve been longing for a new beginning—something truly enriching, something beyond the chaos you're currently in. But there’s a structure in your mind that you must break. This feels like something bigger than you, something involving many people—a familiar pattern related to masculine figures in your family. It was there even before you were born; your mother already carried this wound.

Whatever your gender, the Masculine within you is being broken down. If this has been a recurring theme in your life, take this as confirmation from your future self that you’re breaking free from it.

Still, it won’t be easy. I can imagine how exhausted those drawn to this pile might feel, but there's an important message here: be loving with yourself along the way. I don’t think it will be harder than when your journey first began—probably not—but there are still layers that need your attention.

Know that your future self and your guides are here to support you. There’s a version of you that is already free—free from the inner father who constantly criticizes you, or from the lingering feeling that there's nothing left for you. Connect with that version of yourself.

Pile 2

Six of Pentacles, The Hanged Man, Eight of Swords, Page of Pentacles

Oof. You might be in a very uncomfortable situation right now—feeling trapped, yet at the same time trying to understand what exactly brought you here. I don’t sense desperation; it feels like you’ve already reached a state of mind where you’re seeking clarity more than anything else. You’re being smart, trying to analyze what’s best to do right now, even though your options may seem limited.

There’s also a subtle ache in the heart center—some anxiety around a particular issue, perhaps?

Well, your future self is here to tell you that help is on the way. This might be related to finances. Maybe you're looking for a job? lol. I hope you get it—and you definitely will. So try not to worry too much. Instead, stay grounded in your desires and focus on doing what’s best for you.

What’s coming through strongly here is a message that now is a time to “wait and see.” This moment is actually perfect for practicing trust—learning not to worry about everything all the time.

Pile 3

Wheel of Fortune, Nine of Swords, Ten of Wands, Seven of Pentacles

You need to rest—seriously. This message is quite similar to Pile 2 (so if you felt drawn to that one as well, feel free to check it out). There’s a sense of dissatisfaction you’re struggling to handle—maybe even a kind of emptiness. Nothing seems to be happening right now, and in that stillness, you’ve been showering yourself with judgment and self-criticism, when you could simply... wait and see what unfolds from what you’ve already planted.

If there’s still something left for you to do, then do it—but don’t let that turn into a lack of faith in the efforts you’ve already made.

Your future self wants you to know that things will change for you—soon. Remember: everything changes. Whatever you're working on, there's success here—but you’ve got to shut down that damn voice in your mind that wants to tear you down. Resting is important right now to help bring your mind back to the right place. Even your inner world is a space that deserves love and peace.

#tarot blog #tarot brasil #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #pick a card #future self #channeled message #higher self #divine timing #shadow work #rest and recovery #spiritual healing

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nastybuckybarnes · 2 years ago

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Car Rides

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Road trips are usually pretty boring, but you and Bucky find a way to pass the time.

Warnings: Smut, Public sex, Car sex, Language, Fluff, Mutual Pining,

Word Count: 1.8K

A/n: I got this request AGES ago apparently and I'm only just seeing it now! hope y'all enjoy!

~*~

"Can you move your seat up?"

There's a brief pause, almost like Sam's thinking about it, before - "no."

Silence hangs heavily in the car for a long moment as Steve drives and you can't help but feel bad for Bucky.

He's squished in behind Sam, While you've got a decent amount of room behind Steve.

"We can switch, if you want?" You offer quietly, nudging Bucky's knee with yours.

"Steve's not stopping the car just so Terminator can feel more comfortable," Sam interjects, ignoring the ice of Bucky's stare.

"I'm sure we can switch spots while he's driving. We've done far more on missions with less room, I have faith. Unbuckle your seatbelt."

"Yes ma'am."

You take off your own seatbelt, ignoring Steve's warning look in the rearview mirror.

"Okay, I'm gonna climb over you in the middle seat so when you scoot over I'll climb over and then we'll be set!"

Foolproof! Brilliant!

Bucky scoots over to the middle and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself, then grab his shoulders and stretch one leg over his lap.

Steve chooses that particular moment to hit a bump in the road, sending you tumbling into Bucky and forcing his face into your chest.

Your shirt of choice today is fairly low cut, leaving little to the imagination, even less now that Bucky's face is pressed to your goods.

Regaining your coordination feels like it takes a lifetime, but you eventually manage to pry your boobs out of Bucky's face and plop down in the seat behind Sam.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you avoid looking at Bucky with all your might as you put your seatbelt on.

It's no secret that there's tension between the two of you that has only been growing the more time you spend together, but now? Now that you pretty much forced him to motorboat you?

Horrible. Stupid. The worst idea you've ever had ever.

You almost pray for the car to roll off a cliff to save you from the embarrassment licking up your spine.

The ride is silent for a little while, with some of Sam's music being the only thing stopping it from being too heavy, and soon his soft snores accompany the tunes.

After maybe about half an hour, Bucky's knee brushes against yours once briefly, then rests against it more firmly, with purpose.

Your gaze darts over to him but he's got his eyes focused out the window. You let your eyes fall to where he's manspreading into your personal space, and freeze when your eyes land on the bulge in his pants.

The bulge that certainly was not there before the two of you switched spots, not that you looked.

And now you can't tear your eyes away from it.

Sure, all this time the two of you have been flirty and a little more than friendly, but never to this extent.

Your eyes raise to his face once more and your heart stops for a moment when you meet his gaze.

You're caught now.

Swallowing hard, you glance at his crotch once more then turn to look out your own window, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt at fighting the warmth that's quickly spreading.

Bucky rolls his window down, and the light mechanical whirring sound masks the soft gasp that leaves you when his hand lands on your thigh.

You glance down at where his hand is, watching as his fingers flex as he squeezes your supple flesh.

Your body acts on its own, thighs spreading slightly and giving him the green light he needs to slide his hand up closer to your centre.

Eyes focused on the rearview mirror, you slowly grab Bucky's discarded jacket and drape it over your lap while spreading your legs further, successfully hiding his fingers as they dust over your core.

"Cold?" He asks, glancing at you as he slides his hand down your pants.

You swallow hard and nod, leaning back and breathing through your mouth as he slides a thick finger through your folds.

"With the window open it's a little breezy, but the fresh air is nice," you whisper, breath hitching when he rubs your clit gently.

He nods his agreement, coating his middle finger in your essence then slowly pushing it inside of you.

"Clears the head."

You nod, eyes falling shut as he begins a steady pace, pushing on your walls deliciously slow.

"Exactly," the words are a mere breath on your lips as you lose yourself in the feeling of him.

He leans his head back, his eyes focused on your face as he massages your walls, pulling his finger out only to push two right back in.

He watches as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, brows furrowing as you try your hardest to stay quiet through the slow building pleasure.

It's almost torturously slow, and he knows that, but watching your small twitches and movements has Bucky's dick growing hard enough to cut diamonds.

"We got a good day for this, huh?" Bucky asks, grinning when you struggle to open your eyes.

"Yeah it's... good... it's really good," you whisper, eyelids fluttering slightly before you finally raise your glassy eyes to his.

"I could go for a snack soon though, something sweet to eat."

"Mhmm," you let out a soft moan of agreement as he slips a third finger inside you, pumping them in and out at a slightly faster speed than before.

Not fast enough to draw attention to the two of you, but fast enough for you to be struggling to keep still.

"Next gas station isn't too far out. They probably won't have much but we can stop there to grab a snack and stretch," Steve's voice says from the front seat, his eyes glancing at you and Bucky in the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again.

"Sounds good to me," Bucky says, his voice low and his mischievous eyes focused on you as you nod your agreement.

You dig your head back into the headrest, toes curling in your shoes as his palm rubs against your clit with every thrust of his fingers inside of your wet heat.

He stretches your walls deliciously, enhanced senses picking up the tangy sweet smell of your cunt on every gust of wind that blows through the car.

He can't help but lick his lips, greatly looking forward to tasting you once he's finished enjoying fingering your tight snatch.

Eyes slowly opening, you let your head roll to the side eyes finding his as you breathe softly through your mouth.

He grins cheekily at you and stuffs his fingers inside of you a little harder, watching in smug satisfaction when your face screws up with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

The car slowly rolls to a stop and Steve lets out a groan.

"All right. I'm gonna stretch my legs and grab a snack. Are you guys coming in?" Steve's eyes find Bucky's as he opens the door.

Sam jolts upright with a groan, rubbing his face then yawning and pulling off his seatbelt.

"I'm gonna come inside," He says groggily, stumbling out of the car and stretching.

"I think we're good back here, she's falling asleep," Bucky whispers, giving your clit a particularly rough rub before pulling his fingers out of you.

Sam and Steve head into the gas station, and as soon as they are out of sight Bucky is tossing the jacket off of your lap and yanking your pants down your legs.

He licks his fingers clean while using his other hand to undo his belt and shuck his pants down his thighs, exposing his weeping hot cock.

"We don't have much time, sweetheart, better make it count. N'when we get to the cabin I'll fuck you nice and slow and proper," he promises quietly.

You straddle his waist once more, wet core dripping onto his lap and Bucky can't help but hiss when he slides his aching cock through your folds.

He rubs your clit a few times then slides inside in one quick thrust, pressing his mouth to yours to swallow the sound of your moan.

With the window open, you guys aren't exactly safe. Anyone could drive or walk by and Sam and Steve will likely only be gone for a few minutes.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby... shit..."

His voice is strained as you begin rocking your hips in his lap, eyes squeezed shut as the tip of his cock drags across your g-spot.

Rather than let you have your fun, he flips you onto your back in the back seat of the car and hammers his hips down to meet yours, his lips trailing over your throat as you moan softly at the new angle.

He's hitting your g-spot with every thrust, and kissing your cervix with every other roll of his hips.

The pleasure and pain mix and make your head foggy, and it doesn't take long for your toes to curl around Bucky's hips and your climax to creep up on you.

Metal fingers toy with your clit with expert precision, and within only a few moments, your walls are clamping down around him and successfully milking him of his cum.

He lets out a few shuddering breaths as his own orgasm washes over him, balls tight as he pumps you full of ropes and ropes of thick white cum.

His head rests on your chest for a moment, breathing you in as he basks in his high, and then he's carefully pulling out of you and yanking his pants back on.

You, on the other hand, are stuck on your back as aftershocks wrack your frame.

Chuckling softly at his handy work, Bucky helps you back into your pants then pulls you up into his arms.

You collapse against his chest when he leans back against the door, cuddled in his arms as much as you can in the cramped backseat of the car.

He holds you gently, his own eyes closing as he relaxes into his post orgasmic bliss with you.

Your heart is racing even minutes later when Sam and Steve return to the car, each climbing in quietly when they see the two of you curled up together.

Steve sets a grocery bag full of snacks and drinks down on the floor in the backseat, then turns the music on quietly and starts driving, oblivious to what's just gone on.

As he drives you settle against Bucky, falling asleep gently while his load drips out of your swollen cunt. A mess he plans on thoroughly cleaning up as soon as you reach your destination.

#Bucky X reader #Bucky X reader smut #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky X reader fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky smut #sam wilson #Steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #Bucky/reader fluff #Bucky X you #bucky/reader #bucky/you smut #bucky/reader smut

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ohholydyke · 8 months ago

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See the thing about fundamentalists and trads and Christian nationalists and MAGA evangelicals and ethnocratic bigots is that they render the faith so boring.

I take no issue with the fact that they would look at me and say that I’m not a member of the faithful because their faith is radically, inherently, ontologically distinct from mine. My God is too big and too loving and too esoteric to fit neatly into the gendered understanding of an authoritarian white father disciplining his children for not perfectly falling into lockstep. My Savior is the man who told the religious leaders “Caesar can have his idolatrous blood money, but give God your heart and your faith,” challenging the notion of an earthly ruler. My apostles wrote of the throne of man being empty—there are no masters or kings or governments, there is only Jesus Christ, Basileus Basileōn, king of kings. I believe in radical oneness with God through Christ—one flesh and one body, biblical marriage with the bridegroom whose flesh and blood make up the holy Eucharist. My faith is Queer, ancestral, esoteric, anarchist, insurrectionary, anticolonial, antiracist, unorthodox, disruptive, free. When I encounter the divine, or pray to the saints, or sit in the chapel to pray, I am experiencing communion with the sublime, in every sense of the word, the same presence that made the apostles fall to their faces before the transfiguration, that shaped the world from void, that animates the deep care and rage which boil into every aspect of my being.

When conservatives tell me I am not a Christian it is only because they cannot conceive of a Christ and a faith so big, so all encompassing, so beyond anything our human minds can comprehend, and they cannot conceive being in tune with this divinity and being left senseless by the knowledge that the divine above all else is us and loves us more than we could ever comprehend, such that experiencing this love is enough to leave one fundamentally, ontologically changed down to the fiber of their being. I feel sorrow for them. I pray that Christ may reach into their hearts and open their eyes, that they may see not only the horrors that they commit but also the deep love and freedom that awaits them through abandoning their fundamentalism and their bigotry.

Or, in other words, me every time I see another conservative Christian whining about how people aren’t doing Christianity right because they don’t adhere to a super narrow and watered down version of the faith:

#catholicism #catholic saints #catholic #mary mother of god #mary mother of jesus #virgin mary #folk catholicism #folk practitioner #jesus christ #esoteric #queer christian #queer catholic #queer anarchism #catholic anarchism #liberation theology

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monster-effer · 6 months ago

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Your Melody is My Favorite Tune – Sylus x reader

Summary: Who would have thought that a little white lie would lead to this? Content: Reader and Sylus are dating, fluff, a little bit of teasing, karaoke (1.1k wc) A/N: This was inspired by Sylus’ Melodic Weave Tender Moments. Also, this is my first fic so constructive criticism is welcome, but please be kind and enjoy <3!

It has been a few months since the disastrous night Sylus joined you and the UNICORNS for a team building outing of karaoke and pool. Sylus and you can now share a laugh over how one white lie about his identity did nothing but add fuel to the fire that was your coworker's interest in the mysterious “Mr. Skye.”

After enduring weeks of Tara and your other coworkers asking when “Mr. Skye” would join one of their nights out again, they have finally taken the hint to give up on that dream. You gave the excuse that he is busy with his multiple businesses, which is truer than not.

Since that faithful night it has become a tradition for you two to meet up at one of the various karaoke bars spread across Linkon City when both of your busy schedules happened to line up. And tonight was one of those nights. The stars themselves seemed align because the both of you were free on a Friday night. Which meant Sylus was already on his way to your apartment to pick you up.

Just as you finished getting dressed in a tight pair of black jeans and a deep v neck top, you hear your cell phone ringing from the other room. As you quickly pick it up, you see Sylus is calling.

“Are you here, karaoke partner?” you ask when you accept his call.

Sylus’ chuckle is heard over the line as he answers teasingly “Why don’t you come downstairs and find out Ms. Hunter?”

“I’ll be down soon,” you answer before hanging up, putting on your shoes, and heading down to the lobby of your apartment.

Once you exit the building you see Sylus leaning on a wall next to his parked motorcycle. As you approach him you notice he is holding your motorcycle helmet that is adorned with cat ears and the riding jacket he ordered for you.

Sylus smiles fondly as you approach him and takes in your outfit for the evening. “Well, aren’t you dressed up tonight kitten?”

He begins to hand over your riding gear. “Here, I brought your helmet and jacket with me. Someone left them at my place because they were in such a rush to leave for work.”

You wryly smile at him as you place the helmet on your head. Before you have a chance to, Sylus is fastening your helmet’s chin strap. Then he rubs your back affectionately before helping you put on and zip up your riding jacket.

Once he is satisfied that you are geared up correctly, he puts his helmet back on then climbs on his motorcycle. Then he turns to you and says “Hop on, I’m taking you to a new karaoke bar tonight.”

You instantly feel curious. In lieu of a response you nod your head because you can tell Sylus is in one of his mysterious moods where he won’t give you a straight answer. You climb on his motorcycle behind him and lean your body forward as you wind your arms around his waist.

The ride to the karaoke bar felt like it was over in the blink of an eye. And soon, Sylus steered the motorcycle into a parking space.

Sylus stood up to extend the kickstand. Then you got off the motorcycle first followed by him. You waited for Sylus to unclip your chin strap then he gently removed your helmet from your head. This resulted in your hair being a hot mess. He did not try to hide his smile at your attempts to fix your helmet hair before seeing you huff in disappointment and accept your fate.

“You know, I could have met you at the karaoke bar. It would have saved you time and most importantly saved my poor hair.”

Sylus tilts his head to side and gazes at you with his carmine colored eyes, it feels as if you two are the only people out tonight. After a few moments he replies, “And deprive myself of this free entertainment? I don’t think so kitten.”

You roll your eyes as he grabs your hand and pulls you towards a nondescript looking building. Once you step inside the lobby’s décor exudes something dark and classy. Not what you would expect from a karaoke bar.

As soon as the greeter spots you two walk in you see their eyes widen for a split second before they warmly welcome you inside.

“Mr. Sylus, it’s lovely to see you! Please follow me to your private room.”

You turn towards your companion and raise an eyebrow at him in response to the enthusiastic service. But before you can get your question out, he hums then gestures for you to follow the greeter. You decide to keep your mouth shut, for now.

It’s not a usual occurrence for you to be impressed by a karaoke room, but you can’t help but admire the amenities in the room you’re led into. It has plush seating, a large flat screen TV, and microphones set in the middle of the room.

Before the employee can give you a rundown on how to order food and drinks to the room, Sylus raises his hand to dismiss them. Then he glances at you expectantly once you are alone.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks you.

“This is the nicest karaoke bar we’ve ever been in! How have I never heard of this place before?” you answer honestly.

Sylus has a pleased look on his face as he mentions “You haven’t heard of this place because it wasn’t open until this week.”

You feel your suspicion rising. “And how did you hear about this place?”

“Consider this venue a new business venture of mine.” He says lackadaisically.

You felt yourself do a double take “You OWN this karaoke bar?”

“I do, is there a problem?” Sylus asks with a small conspiratorial smile.

“No, I’m just surprised.”

“I am a man with complex and varied tastes sweetie.”

Considering the conversation over, he walks over to one of the tables in the room and grabs the TV remote. “I’ll let you choose the first song of the night. Then, we can sample the food and drink menu. How does that sound?”

You shake your head at his nonchalant nature and smile brightly. “First up, a pop song! I have a lot of energy to burn off.”

It amuses you to no end that Sylus always find ways to surprise you, even after months of dating. As the night unfolds you think of all the things you are thankful for. Tonight, your list includes Sylus’ unique singing, the delicious appetizers on the menu, and the time you get to spend together.

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7bites · 1 month ago

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── TELEVANGELISM † PREViEW

PAiRiNG 𓈒 ⛪️ kim sunoo x fem ! reader

MDNI 𓈒 reblogs &. feedback appreciated. official release estimated 06.20. 2.9k WC ♪♫

𝑽iewed as an angel sent by the heavens themselves since you were born, you’d worked tirelessly to prove your devotion and faith. Your godly grace finally pays off on the sweltering summer evening of your 20th birthday. It was that fateful Sunday, 1964, that the abandoned barn sitting just on the outskirts of your typical bike ride home shows you that sinners can disguise themselves as saints.

TAGLIST 𓈒 @gnarlyhoons † open! send an ask to join

GENRE & THEMES 𓈒 religious horror, psychological thriller, angst, mild nsfw / smutty themes here and there, toxic romance, dependency, angst, southern gothic au, some fluff because i’m not completely evil ?

AUTHOR’S NOTE 𓈒 hello everyone! sawyer here, thank you for checking out the preview to my sunoo fic, televangelism. i’m posting a sneak peak in hopes to promote the final release a bit better, so reblogs and support are super super helpful and appreciated. i’d like to clarify that this is a dark fic and will contain various dark and nsfw themes, so mdni and readers discretion advised. at the time of this note, i’ve got over 5k written up and i estimate the final product will have anywhere between 25-35k words total! so stay tuned.

CONTENT WARNINGS 𓈒 this will be a sacrilegious work of fiction. due to this being a preview and not including any dark topics thus far, i will not list the warnings until the final version releases. if leaving an ask to request to be added to the taglist, please know that there will be various darker topics ahead.

INSPIRATIONS 𓈒 @fangel ‘s harvest of purity, ethel cain, pearl and x (2022), the concept of divine intervention, southern gothic / midwestern living, nicole dollenganger, a bit of lana del rey.

The birds sang a song of rebirth, euphonious and kind amongst the ears of the many warm bodies huddled within the church, the low hum of cicadas muddled in with hushed whispers and merriment. It was a sweltering and humid summers evening, the occasional breeze bristling by just enough to give the gardenias a rustle.

It was 5:15 PM, Sunday, 1969. Today is the day you turn twenty years old. Today, you sink into the cold and shallow depths of devotion.

Chipped paint along the pews, soft linen against flushed and faintly sticky skin. You can feel your heart fluttering. You’d given your entire life’s purpose for this very moment, every prayer, every good deed, every lesson learned and taught, every holler and hoot for mistakes made… all to get here. To prove that you were worth it, that you were pure and as docile as a fawn eating straight out the palm of God himself.

It’s not that anyone had ever thought of you as anything but, not at all. In fact, you were your quiet little towns most idolized and cherished possession, the type of girl that makes heads turn and tongues tie. Always kind, never swore, the type of girl that boys told their parents about— A ‘I wanna put a ring on that girl’ girl, a ‘I wanna be that girl’ girl. Never a day passed where you didn’t make sure to do all your chores, and you always set the table. You smelled like fresh cotton, honeyed amber, and ripe fig, good for the takin’. You always dressed proper and accordingly, never a skirt or dress too cheeky, but perfect enough to not be deemed a compete prude. You were smart, humble, and as sweet as apple pie; it was hard for people not to admire you, which is why the turn out for your baptism was rather impressive.

It wasn’t very common to be baptized so far down the line, and a few of your peers always gave you a bit of shit for it– playfully, of course, but you paid no mind to it. Your parents told you from a very young age that you had to work for your devotion, to show that you knew where your intentions lay. There would be no point if you would turn and succumb to distractions, to sin. They worried that taking such an important step in the earlier stages of your life would be too risky, they feared immaturity and it’s wicked reign on your ability to choose right from wrong. You used to beg, to plead for this very moment, many failed attempts to convince your parents met with a stern ‘hush your mouth’ that never failed to make you swallow your heart. Eventually, they noticed your efforts and felt unspoken pride upon receiving praise from the other parents and adults around town, many wishing they could have given birth to an angel like you. There’d even been a running joke about how you must be a late bloomer, otherwise you’d have sprouted your wings and long since ascended from this place you called home.

You could tell it made your parents swell with a gratification that almost felt blasphemous. Almost.

“She’s a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she…?” A whispered voice had mumbled to another, brown puppy dog eyes taking you in as if his life had depended on it, like he was an addict and you were the bourbon. You’d known Sim Jake since you two were practically in diapers, blossomed and crafted by the same religion, raised with tender love. You’d consider him to be one of your closest friends, though he saw you as much more. He’d never admit it, and you’d never admit that you’d known about how he’s felt for years. Everyone’s got their secrets, after all.

“She looks pretty in white,” said the other through bated breath, also unable to pry away his timorous gaze. “She looks pretty in everything, Hee.” Jake had corrected subtly, nudging his knee against his friends all while continuing to watch as the pastor preached your name to the congregation, the sound like bliss upon the two boys’ ears. Lee Heeseung, a mutual friend of both you and Jake, whom you’d had the pleasure of meeting one chance spring day on a bike ride to the diner. You’d been running errands for your mother all day and found yourself feeling a bit worn down and blowsy, your roseate features giving it away. Jake and Heeseung had been hanging out with a few more of your schoolmates, laughing up a storm and exchanging stifled gossip. It was Jake who had noticed the moment you had walked in, his head perking up at the sound of the bell similarly to a loyal dog excited for the return of their owner, but Heeseung wasn’t much far behind. He had met your figure, trailing from your cowgirl boots up to your exposed calves, teetering the lace lined edges of your white colored dress, past your father’s oversized flannel, and finally up to your face and neck where he watched the beads of sweat get dabbed away with the back of your palm. Despite your flustered appearance, you still managed to look effortless and delicate in every movement you made, not rushed or frazzled. Just there, smiling sickly sweet.

He knew then that if he wasn’t careful with you, he’d end up with a toothache, a rooted cavity that would burn like fire and brimstone.

You’d gotten a peach cobbler milkshake that day, deciding to reward yourself for all your hard labor, but before you could pay Jake had made his way from behind you, telling the worker that he’d cover your tab. Heeseung envied the way that his friend was born with such natural charm, he couldn’t hate him even if he tried. Hell, no one could. When he’d seen the way you smiled winsomely down at your boots and thanked Jake with the flutter of your lashes and that doe-eyed stare, he knew then and there that the feelings you evoked from people were no different.

“And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”

You felt the frigid water hugging your bare legs like it was ready to devour you whole, your gown pooling similar to a jellyfish floating mindlessly, the water seeping further and further up the fabric. Although you felt the many anticipatory stares of everyone and met them back with your own feeble gaze, in this moment you felt yourself drift, a sensation of disconnect resonating deep within you. The words of the pastor began to sound faint, muddled, as if you’d already been underwater for hours now.

“Have you received Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”

You responded instinctively and attentively to the questions you were asked despite not rendering anything being spoken. It left your lips like a kiss goodbye from a lover going to war.

“Will you obey and serve Him as your King for the rest of your life?”

You allowed your eyelids to shut, overflowing with the beckoning call of white noise and wind chimes. Another timid agreement digging its way out from the back of your throat, solidifying faith to take host into your body, a vehement pietism.

“Because you’ve professed your faith in the Lord Jesus, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

Drying off was a bit of a pain, a towel only being able to do so much before you’re left damp and mildly uncomfortable, but you didn’t mind it too much. The gentle hum of a mindless tune left your plush lips as you made your way out from the changing room, your maryjane’s hooked around your fingers by the straps as you fled from the church with the gentle patter of your steps following suit. Typically people would change into a pair of dry clothes after their baptism, but your parents insisted it would be better to let you soak up all of “God’s gracious glory”, so you were to remain in your dampened clothes and walk home, giving yourself time to dry off. A ride home would be much more convenient, but your father would be damned to let the seats of your beaten pickup truck take on a bit of water.

A few people remained outside after service had ended, chatting amongst themselves about Lord knows what. You spotted your parents standing beside that familiar baby blue Chevy, feeling your chest swell with excitement upon seeing your bike in the cargo bed. With quick paced steps, you ushered over and watched your father haul out your cycle and set it down for you along the dirt.

“My starlet! Oh thank you, daddy!” You cooed out, placing your shoes into the wire basket along the front end and going to hug your father only for him to place two rough hands against your arms, abruptly stopping you from reaching any closer.

“Woah there, darlin’… Save it for when the sun soaks you up.” He warned, his thin lip smile causing you to cover up your faltered expression quickly, a stiff smile along your lips as you relaxed back onto the flats of your bare feet, nodding in response. “Right… sorry.”

“Supper should be ready by the time you get home long as you don’t do no piddlin’, you hear me?” Your mother said, making her way to the passenger side of the truck. You nodded once again silently, flickering your gaze off to the side only to notice a faint twinkle catching your attention. Just before your father could also bid you goodbye, you managed to choke out a gentle call.

“W-Wait!” You watched him halt his steps, turning around with an arched brow as he stared your smaller frame down.

“Could I take the radio with me? I wanna listen to the preachin’ stations,” You explained quietly, feeling your hands mindlessly clutching and toying with the handlebars of your bike. “Please…?”

After a long fleeting moment, your father let out a long exhale from his nose, a habit he often did when he’d give in to your requests, causing you to try and hide a growing grin along your face. You watched him reach back into the bed and pull out the small AM-FM radio, giving it a quick check over before settling it into your basket with a knowing look. “You know the rules.“ He commented sternly, resulting in you giving him a tight lipped look, bordering a faux smile. “I’m a devoted woman now, daddy.” You reminded, as if to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about, let alone hassle you for. He stared you down for a while before reaching up a calloused hand to place along the top of your head, giving it a gentle shake, pulling away and hopping into the truck. You gave a wave, watching them pull off down the pavement until they were far out of sight, your face falling into a more neutral expression.

It hadn’t lasted but a second upon feeling someone’s hand gently brush against your shoulder, your head whipping around as a result in a faint startle. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” You calmed at Jake and Heeseung’s familiar faces, a meek expression creeping on your own. You waved a dismissive hand, keeping one along your bike handles to keep it steady. “It’s alright, I suppose I’ve got the bearings of a church mouse s’all…” You replied, allowing a small blanket of silence to cover the three of you. You hadn’t noticed it, but Jake had became at a loss from words, finding his prying eyes gazing a tad too far down your dampened dress, being able to see it was a bit see through now that he was closer and not watching you up on a podium. He quickly had cleared his throat, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck while turning off towards the side, suddenly fixated on the crooked telephone poles in the distance.

“We were,” Heeseung decided to speak up, his voice coming out in an awkward and insecure mumble at first before he worked up a bit more confidence to continue. “We were wonderin’ if you needed a ride home…? We saw your folks leave, and we… We—“ He thought over his words carefully, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We were just worried about you, is all.”

You kept strong eye contact with the boy who spoke, your eyes unwavering as you took in the way he talked to you and stammered over himself. For a fleeting moment, you mauled over how it was cute, but it left as soon as it came. You allowed yourself to giggle under your breath, a breeze rolling through and causing your hair to caress your face, your free hand reaching up to tame the masses. “That’s real sweet of you, thank you kindly,” you chimed, watching the way their faces had lit up.

“Great! Just tell u-“

“But I’ll be alright.”

The way their faces fell flat made something in your stir a bit, but you dismissed it and tilted your head to the side, watching the way they communicated with one another through glances. “Right… well, you just be careful,” Jake finally found it in himself to speak once again, but his demeanor had changed significantly, clearly showcasing concern along his features. “Pastor told us a storm was gonna be rolling through soon. Said it would be short, but it’ll come down like God’s wrath.” He mumbled, taking out his anxiety by picking at his dress shirt sleeves.

You laughed a bit, adjusting your bike and hiking up one leg to toss over onto the other side, propping yourself up onto the seat, balancing yourself on your tiptoes. “A storm? It’s hotter than blue blazes out here, but I’ll take your word.” Your hands reached forward into your basket, fumbling around with the antenna and knobs along your radio, “I’m a big girl,” you breathed, peering over your shoulder with an all too alluring gaze.

“I can handle it.”

The route to get to your house was quite the ways away, a rough two hour walk, but you could scrape it down to a little over forty minutes if you biked the entire way and kept a consistent pace. You had to navigate through the busier parts of town, passing by the mom n’ pop shops and various restaurants before making a turn off one of the main roads where the ground turned to gravel and dirt. You knew you were in the final stretch when you reached the prairies, the long outstretch of yellow tall grass going on for the last half hour before you’d reach your house. The homes along the outskirts were spaced out graciously, around three to five minutes apart from each other via car- Although your town was far from the city life, this kind of living was better for more private and secluded people much like your parents.

You had stopped by the store on your way out of the more convoluted area, picking up a hefty pomegranate to pick at when you got home and having it tucked in the corner of your basket for safekeepings. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it was before, the skies having clouded over and casting a gloomy yet warm hue over the vast stretch of land, the humid breeze pushing against your body as you walked your bike along the dirt, deciding on taking a break from all the peddling. Your radio crackled with the occasional static, the words of the televangelist on the station cutting in and out. You didn’t mind though, you’d heard this sermon many times before, so much so that you’d memorized the spoken gospel and filled in the gaps under your own breath, eyes boring ahead at the path before you.

“We come together today…”

The grass flowed against the wind like waves in water, mother natures vigorous ocean. The definite clicking of your bicycle chain blending into the faint static of the man’s voice coming through the speakers.

“In dark times such as these, we must all remember to look to the lord for guidance. Submit yourselves, then, to God.”

You ran your tongue along the front of your teeth, feeling the sensation of a light sprinkle starting to tatter along your skin. You glanced at the sky, stoping in your tracks as the deep rumble of thunder boomed through your ears, sending a vibration coursing through your chest– Still, you mindless muttered the preacher’s words under your breath.

“Amen.“

From the corner of your eye, a bright and quick flash caught your attention enough for you to hastily crane your head to the side, your eyes straining out into the distance with a sense of upheaval, as if the atmosphere had shifted within the span of that singular second. The preacher’s words of devotion no longer filled your ears, leaving behind a muddled flurry of static and high pitch whirring. A ways away into the fields lay a large abandoned barn that used to belong to an elderly couple you’d known since you were little, covered in faded red paint and wood rot. Unfortunately, they had both passed away several years ago, leaving the barn to fend for itself. As far as you knew, no one ever used it for anything and it remained out of sight; out of mind, only serving as a warm reminder of the pair who showed it great love during their time on earth.

So who was in the barn.

#﹙ † ﹚ 𝐤𝐬𝐧. TELEVANGELiSM #𓈃 SUNOOBiTES #✶ 7bites #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction #kim sunoo x reader #sunoo x reader #sunoo smut #enhypen x female reader #enhypen hard hours #kim sunoo smut

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cozymoko · 3 months ago

Text

TO TEACH A DOG TO SIT. —

⠀⠀MINATO CITY - TOKYO, EARLY 2000s

word count 𖹭.ᐟ approx 2,738

tw, tags 𖹭.ᐟ emotional abuse, bullying, physical injury, toxic relationships, self-loathing, angst, bullying, emotional abuse, toxic relationships, romantic tension.

Hey! so, I decided to post this, if you guys want to see more of him, maybe he'll become an OC, haha.

⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀NEW GAME?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𖹭⠀LOAD GAME?⠀ 𖹭

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀O̷̳̻͓͉̐̄͂͑̅̆̄̆͠ͅV̵̨̟͙͎͎͙̫̹̟̟̰̯̀̊̉̂̃Ȩ̴̲͎̰̝̞̻̳̘͒̀R̶̢̡̥͓͚͈̫̹͐̀͛̀̐͐̉̈̑͋̚R̸̢̖̺͖̟͖̝̤͉̥̀̀ͅͅİ̷̩̥̯̕D̴̢̡̢̲͚̖̱̼̹̝̠̔͗̈́͝Ȩ̶͔̲̫̥͚̘̜̩̹͉̓̅̏̅̒̆̂?̷͖̆͂̎̾!̵̨̫̮̲͖͇̲͉̪̟̣̀̈́̓̋͌̂̈́͛͊̚͠?̴͈͑!̴̬̣̰͚̞͕̯̭̲̳̒͋́͋͊!̵̛̤̥̳͆̿̇̏̀̏̀̊̚ ̵͇̹̜̻̹͙̙̄̌̇̋̀̔͝;

⠀⠀

⠀⠀LOAD GAME, SELECTED .ᐟ

⠀⠀LOADING, PLEASE WAIT...

⠀⠀

new info unlocked 𖹭.ᐟ MINATO CITY (also known as the Minato ward) is home to the wealthiest families in Japan. Happy hunting. (≧∇≦)/

⠀⠀

𖹭

CHAPTER XXXX, 13:30PM

My, my, what a pretty girl you are. Birthed and bathed in wealth that the lower class would kill for. Soft, glass-like skin that could make all the girls kick and scream with envy. Talented, as though you were gifted by the heavens themselves, a divine being amongst all others. Your mom, for she was a woman of faith, proclaimed you as God's favorite creation as well we her own. And at some point, you began to believe her words.

God's Creation. God's Favorite. Everyone's favorite, she said.

So, what the actual fuck was happening right now?

The faceless, shadowy figures in the background were slowly gaining distinct features, their expressions becoming eerily human. The game world, once surreal and empty, was shifting, revealing a more tangible reality. What had been mere background noise now had identity, as if the boundaries between the game and reality were beginning to blur.

“C'mon, [Name],” He chuckles halfheartedly. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

A little? Was he fucking with you right now?

A little wasn't the clumps of mud hugging your scalp. Nor was it the dirt that absolutely ruined your neatly pampered skin. It wasn't the muck that stained and streaked the beautiful plaid of your uniform skirt. Not even, the crud and filth that soiled your stockings — seeping all the way to your Mary Jane's. A little didn't hurt your pride the way this did.

Your eye twitched. So what was so damn funny? "How could you say—"

A sickly-sweet, grating giggle had stopped your speech, cutting through your seething anger like nails on a chalkboard. You could almost hear the background music shifting into a jarring, high-pitched tune, like some in-game character had triggered an event that was beyond your control. But when was anything ever in your control?

"Kyaa~! Nanase-kun, you're so bad!" The girl giggled, covering her mouth with her perfectly manicured fingers, eyes sparkling like he’d just told the joke of the century. "I swear, you always make everything so fun! Poor [Name]-chan, though~" she added, not sounding the least bit sympathetic as she threw you a fleeting glance before turning her attention right back to Aohei, as if you were nothing more than background noise.

But the real target of your rage wasn’t her. It wasn’t even the other filthy rich assholes standing next to her. No, it was Aohei. The boy you had grown up with, the one who, for as long as you could remember, had been there by your side.

Who was he? Glad you asked, honestly!

Aohei, the golden boy of Nanase Global—a name that made everyone in Tokyo bend the knee. A family that practically owned everything. Hotels. Fashion lines. Tech companies. Entertainment empires. If it had a name, it had money flowing into its coffers from the Nanase family. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if even the designer of your ruined Mary Janes answered to his father’s empire.

And yet, despite all of that, despite all that privilege, Aohei was standing there laughing. Laughing with them. The same obnoxious, clueless, no-name delinquents who thought it was hilarious to drag you down into the mud, as though you were some sort of joke. You didn’t think Aohei had the ability to be this cruel—this thoughtless. And yet, here he was, smiling his ass off. Barely. Fucking. Concerned.

Maybe he didn’t realize the severity of the situation. Maybe he thought this was all just some lighthearted fun. Maybe his stupid fucking trust-fund brain had short-circuited for a moment. Maybe you let his leash run a little looser than you should've.

Dumb, stupid dog. Dumb, Dumb dog!

"Aohei, take me home right fucking now!"

Your voice came out slow, each syllable dripping with barely contained rage. Your hands clenched into fists so tight your nails dug into your palms, a sharp sting against your already frayed patience. And if you looked at this fool for one more second, you swore you’d pop a blood vessel.

His laughter stopped almost immediately. You could hear the shift in the air. "Eh? What’s the matter?" he asked, sounding...confused.

His voice triggered an odd sensation in your chest—almost like a glitch in a game when something didn’t quite align.

You stare at him, incredulous—was he seriously asking that? With a sharp breath, you fish your phone out of your purse, fingers already dancing over the screen, ready to call someone—anyone—who could save you from this nightmare. You bite your tongue, swallowing every ''unladylike" — foul-mouthed profanity ready to spill from your glossed lips.

Before you could press send, Aohei’s voice rang out in a panicked shout, his hand reaching for you. "Hey, [nickname], don’t call anyone," he begged, visibly nervous. "I’ll take you home, okay?"

You could feel the tension in the air. Aohei's voice, now slightly higher-pitched, almost like a character breaking from his usual persona. You swore you could see the “affection meter” rising in the corner of your vision. This was an event you hadn't expected, but you were now forced to deal with the aftermath.

His hand wrapped around your wrist. Not to restrain you, but to pull you closer—just enough so he can see your face. His grip is warm, hesitant, as if afraid you'll slip away entirely, and when he shifts, dirt smudges against his pristine slacks, but he doesn’t seem to care. His golden eyes search yours, wide and desperate, drinking you in like he needed to memorize every detail.

For just a second, the warmth of his touch had soothed you, or rather her, whoever she was. But you barely registered the sensation before you jerked your arm away with a force that could’ve snapped a lesser person’s wrist. You glared at him.

Your voice came out ragged. "Don’t touch me." It was almost a breathless plea, as if there was too much going on inside of you. Too much to even vocalize. You stumbled to your feet, biting back a yelp when a sharp, shooting pain stung your knee—only to realize there was now a nasty purple-ish hue creeping up the top of your knee. Perfect.

You slowly pulled down your ruined stockings, each tug making you feel more and more like you were living in some twisted, never-ending nightmare. "Fuck," you hissed at the pain in your knee, glaring at the growing bruise, then straightened your shoulders. "I’ll be at the car. Don’t make me wait."

A system alert blinked before your eyes—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀WARNING ⚠:

‘Frustration levels are high.ᐟ’

‘Negative affection points accumulating.’

"Bite me," you scoff, closing your phone shut.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the group whispering, their eyes flickering between you and Aohei. There were the girls, squealing for his attention, the guys hyping him up, throwing out plans for the night—drinks, basketball, whatever the hell they did to get their kicks. It was all so... predictable. You knew how they’d react. Aohei had always been the life of the party, the golden boy, always so easy to be around. They’d gladly throw your name in the gutter if it meant keeping him around just a little longer.

It felt like the game was taunting you now—like your actions didn’t matter, like you were just a piece to be manipulated by the other characters.

You phone pinged softly. Quiet yet unbearably shrill, a sound you've grown used to, regrettably so.

REMINDER.ᐟ REMINDER.ᐟ PLEASE CHECK.ᐟ

⠀⠀“A dog will always come running to his owner”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀CLOSE TAB: yes or no

You blinked at the words, almost like a coded message in a game. It sent a chill down your spine, the words feeling like a directive—an eerie reminder that you couldn’t escape what was happening. Your avatar might have been stuck in the game, but could Aohei have been a part of that too?

You didn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, you turned on your heel, making your way toward the car with all the anger in your chest, each step a stab of fury. The weight of the mud squelching against your shoes seemed to deepen your frustration. You didn’t wait for Aohei to catch up—of course he would.

“Wait, wait, [Name]—!" His breathless voice caught behind you, laced with guilt and panic, but you were too far gone. "I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t laughing at you, okay? Just... stupid jokes. I can make it up to—!"

The wind carried his words to you, distorted, like the sound had been slowed down in some game cutscene. His voice shook the air, making you feel the weight of each word, but you didn’t care.

You put your hand up, silencing his senseless rambling. You slide into the passenger seat, slamming the door harder than necessary, right in his stupid, pretty face. The satisfying thud is the only thing that feels remotely in your control right now.

Aohei quickly followed, slipping into the driver’s seat. His usual sunny smile was now nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was full of something darker, something that almost seemed like self-loathing.

"I’ll take you home. You’ll be cleaned up in no time, I swear," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

You could see his stats now—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AFFECTION: 90%.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀HOSTILE INFLUENCE: 10%.

The numbers flashing in your mind, like a hidden system you didn’t sign up for.

You crossed your arms, glaring out of the window as your heart thudded erratically in your chest. "You think a shower’s going to fix this? You let them humiliate me, Aohei."

Aohei’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. His jaw ticked in that rare show of tension. You couldn’t even bear to look at him. You knew that look. It was always the same, ever since you were kids—the look of a lovesick puppy. He was just trying to fix things with that stupid grin of his, his soft, golden eyes sparkling with the same desperate affection.

“I didn’t let them. I just... I didn’t realize how bad it was until—" He trailed off, guilt thick in his tone. His eyes were pleading now, searching for some kind of forgiveness, though it wasn’t clear if he was even aware of what he had truly done.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his attempt at explanation. There it was again, that look. His golden-brown eyes, wide and desperate, flickered toward you every few seconds, even as his hand tightened around the gearshift. Was he... waiting for your permission? For some kind of sign that you wouldn’t push him away for good?

The silence in the car felt suffocating, heavy with a tension you couldn’t shake. With every passing second, Aohei's presence seemed to grow more overwhelming, his devotion more unbearable. His dimples were still there, barely visible when he bit his lip nervously, his shoulder-length hair (styled as a wolf cut) falling just perfectly around his face like some advertisement for a shampoo commercial. The piercings on his ear glinted in the dim light, drawing attention to how meticulously he had crafted his image.

When you pulled up to the gates of your mansion, the weight of the tension in the car was almost unbearable. He didn't speak, not right away. Instead, his voice came out in a low, strained whisper. "I’ll wait here. In case you need anything."

The ‘AFFECTION INCREASED.ᐟ’; banner blinked across your vision. You rolled your eyes. What a mess this all was.

You unbuckled your seatbelt without looking at him. "I don’t."

You could feel his gaze on your back, a weight that burned through your skin. But this time, there was something more to it—something darker. More desperate. A humorless laugh slipped past your lips as you stepped out of the car. You glanced at him one more time, barely a flicker of emotion behind your eyes.

"Macarons," you muttered under your breath. "Bring me my favorite, and I might forgive you."

As you turned away, the door slammed behind you, and Aohei didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to look back to know that he was watching you with those same soft, sickly eyes.

Ha, what kind of stupid game did they have you playing this time?

A dog would always come running to his owner.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀CHAPTER COMPLETE.ᐟ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SAVING...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yes or No?

final farewell 𖹭.ᐟ Oh, my, we've got quite the interesting predicament. Oh, do tell, what will you do? Trust me, darling, keeping secrets around here never ends well.

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jyoongim · 1 year ago

Text

So I tried to mush all three of these request into ONE since i felt they all had a similar theme. Umm I might have missed a few points but I hope you like it regardless <3

Themes: 18+, nsfw,fem!reader, bratty!reader, soft!dom!Alastor, established relationship, brat-taming, pet play, orgasm denial, masturbation, rough sex/passionate sex, breeding kink, possession, degradation kink, slight bondage, humiliation, alastor uses microphone, creampie, multiple orgasms, punishment, slight choking, praise kink, overstimulation, much needed aftercare

You were usually so well behaved.

Radiating confidence and elegance through your quiet demeanor.

A pretty doe who followed her master’s orders without question.

That’s why Alastor liked you so much.

But every so often, you needed to be reminded that his adornment for you shouldn’t be taken for granted.

You were out doing you own thing away from the hotel.

You had found a cute cafe with a library and was enjoying a few books. It felt so nice to have some time to yourself. You enjoyed the company of those who occupied the hotel, but sometimes it felt a little stuffy. You had already did everything Alastor wanted you to do so why not relax a bit before being summoned back to his side?

Alastor.

He brought a smile to your face. It wasn’t everyday you met another deer demon and the two of you hit it off real nice.

You were a pretty soul in his collection and truth be told, you didn’t know why he needed you around. But you didn’t mind doing small things for the demon.

You were his ever faithful assistant, but there was so much more to your relationship with the Radio Demon than any knew.

You felt your necklace vibrate and pouted summoning. You ignored it, resuming with your reading. You’ll just leave when you were finished….

Alastor cocked his head, his smile tense did you just ignore him? Alastor gave you a lot of leeway. But now was not the time to ignore him. He could feel the telltale signs of his rut coming and merely just wanted you in his presence. You had a soothing effect on the red demon and he wanted to bask in your scent.

He tried again, sending out a signal along with it Darling, be a dear and come home. Nothing. he knew you had left the hotel but you usually came running when he summoned you.

His ear twitched in annoyance. Seemed his little Doe needed to be taught a lesson in obedience.

You hummed a little tune as you entered the hotel. You were gone a bit longer than you thought, having indulged yourself in several books, you even picked up his favorite meat as an apology.

Your nose wrinkled as pheromones hit your nose. Your ears picked up on a low humming, like white noise. You felt your necklace give a tug.

come to me

You made your way to Alastor’s radio tower.

You knocked softly and peeked your head inside, entering with your ears pinned back.

”You know that I am my own person right?, I was coming back eventually” you said sarcastically with a smile on your face as you approached him at his radio station. You meant for the comment to be silly, thinking whatever he wanted could wait.

He did not find it funny.

He twirled around in his chair, his smile tight “I thought i told you to come home my dear”his tone was rough, head tilted.

You shrugged “I was out enjoying myself. I dont always have to answer to your every beck and call”

Green chains appeared around your neck, yanking you to the floor.

You blinked and mindlessly tugged at the chain, frowning.

You looked up to him, with a questioning expression on your face, which quickly dropped to one of anxiety when you saw his face.

Alastor was pissed.

With a yank, he tugged you towards you, slowly reeling you across the floor. Your skittish nature kicked in and you tried to fight against it “Al?”

His eyes were black, glowing red as he tugged your chain harder.

”A-Al s-stop it”

He cocked his head ”since when do you talk back to me pet?” He chuckled, he tugged the chain until you were between his legs.

He grabbed your chin “Did you forget who owns you? When i call for you , you come… that was our arrangement no?”

You nervously gulped, nodding. He ran a claw through your hair, almost lovingly, before yanking your face til your nose was buried in his crotch.

“It seems I’ve been too soft with you,” You got a good whiff of his scent and nearly purred at the heavy pheromones.

Alastor relaxed in his chair as you ran your nose along his clothed cock. If it was one thing you always craved it was Alastor.

He watched as you tugged at his belt, adjusting his hips to let you tug at his pants until his semi-hard cock sprung free from into confines.

He let you have your fun.

Because he sure was going to have his and you weren’t going to like his version of fun.

You took hold of his cock and licked a long strip up on the underside of his cock, suckling at his tip.

You sucked at his tip, tongue swirling at his slit before taking him into your mouth whole. You slowly inched him into your throat until your nose brushed the patch of red hair at his base.

Hands anchored on his thighs for leverage, you began to bob your head up and down, making sure to coat him in your saliva.

The sounds of you happily slurping away filled the room as you suckled his cock.

You relaxed your jaw and wrapped your tongue around his shaft, softly squeezing his cock like your hand would as you bobbed your head.

You gagged as he pressed your head down unexpectedly. Your eyes looked up at him, to find him lazily resting his head in his palm. He didn’t make a move as you moaned gurgling around him, the vibrations making him twitch in your mouth.

What a clever minx you were, thinking that if you sucked him off he would forgive you…silly girl.

Your tongue jerked him off slowly, urging him to spill his cum down your throat.

Alastor let out a soft grunt as you fondled his balls. The sensation of your warm mouth and tongue squeezing him was so good.

”You want my cum dear?’ He petted your head, hand swiping your hair out of your face. You moaned, nodding as you picked up your pace.

”Then don’t waste a single drop” his cock twitched and with a hard tug of your tongue he coated your throat, spilling his cream down your throat.

You sighed as you tugged at his cock, welcoming every drop that shot down your throat. You pulled off him with a pop and showed him your full mouth, before swallowing.

You leaned back onto your knees, a knowing smile on your face, thinking that he had let you off the hook.

but oh how wrong you were…

”Oh don’t think you can suck my cock and ill just forgive you dear, you refused to obey a summoning so now you’re going to have be punished” he said as he tucked his cock away into his pants.

You blinked surprised. Punishment?

He patted his lap, his brow quirked at you.

You gulped as you slowly crawled into his lap. His hands ran along your spine before palming your ass. You nuzzled into his shoulder, a silent plea.

He pulled your tight skirt over your ass, toying with the lacy panties you wore.

”Let’s see how many lashes do you deserve? Hmmm you ignored my initial summoning, thats 10, then you had the nerve to talk back, being a little brat thats 10 more…” His hands were kneading your ass harshly. You whimpered. “Then you thought you could get out of punishment by voluntarily sucking my cock…that makes 30 darlin’ ” You tensed. He was gonna spank you 30 times?

”You’ll count and then you’ll take the rest of your punishment accordingly. Am I clear?” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

”Y-Yes Alastor” A hard smack sounded and your body seized.

He tsked at you, smoothing the stinging cheek “I taught you better than that”

”Y-Yes sir” You whined, your hands digging into the chair cushion.

”Good girl now start”

He smacked your other asscheek.

”o-one”

five.

ten.

15.

20.

25.

You were a quivering mess, clenching your teeth as tears ran down your face. Each smack harder than the last.

Your ass was on fire. Your cunt was tingling. You were sure you had soaked your panties. You prayed he didn’t noticed. He smoothed the hot flesh, giving you a little comfort as you shook in his lap.

”You’re almost done c’mon”

SLAP SLAP SLAP!

”2-28”

SLAP SLAP!

”30! It hurts please” you all but sobbed in his shoulder. Alastor kneaded your ass softly, your skin was hot, probably red with his handprints.

”Ooh you did so well but…” his fingers dipped down the crack of your ass, feeling how wet you were through your panties

”You seemed to enjoy your punishment. What a naughty girl.”

He ripped your panties, throwing them somewhere, bringing his fingers back to your weeping cunt.

You let out a soft moan as he dipped his fingers inside you. pushing your hips down to feel him deep.

He scissored his fingers, stretching you, toying with your insides as you tried to ride his fingers.

He slipped his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and licking your slick off.

He leaned your body back, removing your face from his shoulder, taking in your flushed face and watery eyes.

”At my feet” he said.

You slide off him, legs shaking, taking your place at his feet. Your lip quivered as you sat there, ass stinging and cunt dripping.

He grabbed his microphone and tapped your thighs til you spreaded them. The cool head of his cane tapped your clit, making you jump.

”You want to cum, then you do it yourself pet.” His microphone head started to vibrate, you jerked away slightly. The sensation making you clench around nothing.

Alastor said nothing as he stared at you. A condescending smile on his face.

You slowly moved your hips along the head, biting your lips as you maintained eye contact with him.

With how wet you were, you coated his microphone in your slick.

A low whine tore from your throat as your clit bumped against the vibrations just right.

”please” you moaned as your hips moved faster. Your orgasm approaching, you leaned back, hands on your ankles as you humped the cane like a dog. Trying desperately to reach your orgasm.

But you couldn’t.

It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t his cock making you cum.

”I-I can’t ah! Alastor p-please please ” you begged.

But Alastor wasn’t going to grant you your sweet wish. He grinned down at you, moving his mic to focus on the sensitive bud. You flinched “Ooooh what’s the matter my dear? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

You clenched your eyes shut as you groaned in frustration. Alastor pulled the vibrating mic away from you, putting it aside as he stood. Your thighs clenched together as he pulled his leather gloves from his claws. You watched as he pulled his coat off, leaving him in the nicely pressed dress shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and tapered waist.

You wanted your legs on those shoulders and waist.

The thought made a soft purr escape your throat, causing you to blush and look away from him.

Alastor smirked. How cute you were. Trying to hide your desire in fear of the consequences.

“How about a switch in tactics dear? ”he said crouching down to your pitiful form. He hooked a finger under your chin for your eyes to meet his gaze. “I’m going to fuck you until I am satisfied. if you don’t cum Ill forgive you how does that sound?” He smiled.

You sucked on your bottom lip. This was a gamble. You were used to Alastor’s rut. He was rough, fucking until you didn’t have a single thought in your head.

But…if he was willing to forgive you, you’ll take anything.

Because one thing you couldn’t take was Alastor’s passive aggression he could easily dish out.

You nodded, sealing your fate.

”Lovely”

You were pushed onto your back, Alastor quickly settling between your thighs. You gasped feeling his cock slid against your slit, before he thrusted into you. He set a rough pace, growling as you arched up into him.

”Oh Fuck!” You moaned.

Alastor's hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing. He sneered “Look at you. Taking my cock like a good little whore. Nothing but a brat who needs to learn her place”

Your back ached at the force he was pounding into you. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass was all you could focus on.

”When I call you, you come. There shouldn’t be any ifs or buts. You come! This pretty necklace is my leash and when I tug you answer.” He bunched your thighs to your chest, pressing them as you panted out.

You slick was sticky, covering your ass and sticking to both of you. His hips plowed into yours, sinking his cock so deep to the hilt. He rocked his hips, enjoying the squelch your cunt made around him. You whimpered as his cock bumped against your g-spot.

“You never disobey me. You’re always my good girl. I’m always good to you aren’t I?” A harsh thrust pulled a strained gasp through your lips “Mine to do whatever I please with. I protect and provide and what do you give me in return?” Your claws dug into the floor, small dents appearing at the brutality of his thrusts.

You felt your orgasm coming back, your cunt tightening around him. Alastor tilted his head at you “ah ah ah” he hissed as he pulled his cock from you, creamy slick covering his cock.

Your cunt clenched around nothing and you cried as he nipped at your neck. He nosed your ear, cooing teasingly “No cumming remember?”

He fed your weeping cunt his cock, sinking til his balls rested snug against your ass. He stayed there as you wiggled around, hips shifting to try to get just a little bit of friction.

Alastor’s hips snapped into yours. High-pitched moans and soft gasps spilled from your lips as he basically plowed you into the floor. His breathe was hot as he growled in your ear “You better not cum” you whined.

easier said than done.

You could practically taste your orgasm. It was like a scale. Every rut of his hips had his cock hitting that soft sponge inside you pulled you closer and closer to knocking the scales over.

You were flipped onto your hands and knees and before you could stabilize yourself, Alastor had your cheek pressing against the cold floor and he thrusted back into you.

”Oooohh fuuucck!!” You screamed.

“Take it Take it thats a good girl. Taking my cock so well” he groaned, hips pistoling into yours.

You felt his cock twitch and automatically sunk your hips to take his cum, he chuckled “So you haven’t lost all your manners I see”pushing your back into a low arc, hand trailing your spine to wrap your hair around his claws.

”You gonna take my cum baby? Hmmm? You gonna be a good girl and take my cum” You nodded, your cunt was fluttering.

You were gonna cum.

“dont” his cock twitched as his started to stutter, with a low growl he thrusted deep into you as he cummed inside you.

That was the tipping point.

You moaned softly as you cummed around his cock, pushing your hips back to ride it out.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as your body shook.

Sharp claws kneaded the fat of your hips as Alastor pulled out of you.

”and here i thought you would be good hmmm” he sucked his teeth in disappointment.

He gathered you into his arms, wiping at your tears

”Oh what to do with you my dear” One of his hands parted your thighs, thumb rolling your puffy clit. You whimpered closing your thighs around his hand, which made him pinch your clit in warning. Soft kisses laced your neck and shoulder as he rubbed att you over sensitive clit.

”since you disobeyed me darlin, you’re gonna cum. Over and over. You’ll cum so much you wont even be able to cum after I’m done with you” he darkly promised.

And cum you did.

over and over.

You cried as your hips jerked, trying to get his now wet fingers away from your poor clit. Your body went slack in his hold as you cummed again.

“P-please”

Too sensitive

“Hmm darlin?” He patted your clit, grinning as you squirmed.

”no more please A-Alastor” you cried as he circled your clit again.

He kissed your quivering lip.

”hmmm since you beg so prettily” he worked your clit quickly and you winced as a quick orgasm shot through you, squealing as your hips quaked as a soft stream squirted out of you.

Alastor laughed as your body shook, head lolling against his shoulder as you panted.

”That’s a good slut”he whispered as your eyes closed.

@markster666 @okay-babe @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @thewinchestah @alastorsdear @strawberrypimp666 @polytheatrix @danveration @coleisyn @rradio-static @choaticallygoofy @yourworstgf @snowandnina @yoitsnetto @tpks @siiv3r @alastorss @pooplyface1423 @chewbrry @queenariesofnarnia @simphornies @v0xsw1fe @peachedtvs @wisteria-seal @altruisticalastor @stawberrypimpsimp @horrorartsworld @dennsfz @yunimimii @dievia3 @jellibean2018 @alastorsdarlingdoe @t0byisher3 @twismare @diamond-almond @lunaramune @scaramoochiie @kiralaufeyson84 @purplecatsandhearts @lbcreations-blog @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @dasimp777 @bri22222 @fizzled-phoenix @fruityteacup @prosciuttosblog @alstorloml @ioniiaa

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel #Soft don alastor

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targaryenluvs · 2 years ago

Text

OUR LITTLE DOVE

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

warnings: crazy lucy n corio conspiring like evil doers, manipulation, chasing, primal play?? is that what is called idk corio enjoys hunting your ass down, kidnapping, drugging, forced into accepting a third partner?? nc touching, abuse of power (peacekeeper), power dynamics, kinda cheating (lucy n corio), guilt-trip, jealousy, threatening, self doubt and relationship problems, murder, betrayal

word count: 3.0k

a/n: lol i complain about wanting to write fluff but all my good ideas r so dark 😭 someone needs to give me tips on how to write girls cuz i have no experience would be easier if i was gay boooo!!

he was like a shadow, stuck to your back, always.

you’d complained to lucy numerous times that you didn’t feel comfortable around him when she played at the hob, knowing he’d be there, in the crowd. “sweetie, he was my mentor. he helped me so much in the games, i wouldn’t be here without him. you love me don’t you? so you need to learn to love him too, he’s a good friend a mine. i love you and i gotta get to the stage baby.” she explained as she ran around getting herself and the covey ready.

you were always front row. wanting to be as close to lucy as possible. she looked especially majestic tonight with flowers in her hair. as you listened to her sing you’d managed to forget about the certain blonde peacekeeper near the back. but he hadn’t forgotten about you, nor lucy.

you’d left to get a drink and you’d came back to an unfamiliar tune. you usually knew every song being played off by heart but this was new.

Everyone's born as clean as a whistle

As fresh as a daisy

And not a bit crazy

Staying that way's a hard row for hoeing

she sounded as angelic as usual and the crowd around you seemed entranced.

As rough as a briar

Like walking through fire

This world, it's dark

This world, it's scary

lucy smiled at you once, just once. which threw you off since you usually got a bunch. especially during new songs and songs about you. was this not also about you?

I've taken some hits, so

No wonder I'm wary It's why

I need you

so it is about me! you thought as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sway to the music and singing. you’d hoped you wouldn’t miss a smile headed your way.

You're as pure as the driven snow

your eyes flew open as you stared at lucy, she was looking past you and to the peacekeeper. to coriolanus snow. you’d always been a rational person, you prided yourself on restraint but that restraint was hanging on by a thread. you wanted to jam a beer bottle into his neck. lucy was your girlfriend not his. and yet he smiled stupidly towards her as she sang and you could feel your heart clawing its way up. best to leave now rather than stay and hear more of the ever so driven man.

your head was spinning as you slumped to the floor, in one of your finest dresses yet worst mental states. of course, something had formed between the two. she was in the goddamn hunger games and he was her mentor. trauma bonding? he quite literally saved her life, coached her and you did what? sat at home and hoped.

hope could only get you so far.

your hope and faith in lucy gray baird was dwindling as her lyrics swirled in your head. of course she loved him. who wouldn’t? the man was undeniably eye catching. a capitol man. but you’d always imagined lucy staying away from the capitol, despising them. but maybe it wasn’t the captiol part but the man part. maybe she wanted a true life, a home, marriage and children and everything she could wish for.

what on earth could you provide her with?

“y/n?” it sure as hell wasn’t lucy calling out for you and you knew that. coriolanus’s reflection was prominent in the puddle before you as he neared. great, you sneered, would love to get to know you mr peacekeeper. please tell me how you stole my lovely girlfriend from me!

your chest felt oh so heavy as you heard his footsteps in the gravel, determined and unwavering as he made his way to your slumped body. “what do you want? you wanna gloat?” coriolanus stopped in his tracks, gloat? “why would i gloat?” you looked up at him annoyed, “rub it in my face. you practically stole my girlfriend from me.” coriolanus laughed. actually laughed and it made you want to strangle him with his stupid dog tags.

“sweetheart.” vomit. you wanted to vomit. maybe choking and dying on your vomit would be less embarrassing then this. why on earth was this fuck head calling you his sweetheart. “fuck off.”

you didn’t see him coming. and you certainly didn’t expect his demeanour to snap. but the large hand tangled in your open hair was a big slap in the face to your unreadiness. “you of all people don’t get to talk to me like that. do you know who you’re talking to?” you could hear his perfect porcelain teeth grinding at your words. god this man couldn’t handle an insult. wuss.

“what the hell is your- ow! problem!” you yelped as he dragged you into an alleyway. “you need to learn how to respect your superiors. if you’re nice to me, i can make your life easier. doesn’t it hurt? not being able to fully provide for your family? seeing them struggle? do you really think disrespecting a peacekeeper is going to help? i suggest you straighten your act and thank me for even looking your way. there are plenty of other girls here.”

but he didn’t want those other girls. he wanted you. you with the teary eyes and messy hair. you who he’d been seeing in his dreams and during the day. you with the kind smile and curious eyes. you who were so sweet and pretty but mean when need be. the y/n who was stupid enough to spit such hateful words at a peacekeeper. but he’d teach you. whether it be with words and lessons or actions and bruises. you’d learn your place, by his side and lucy’s, and underneath. but with such fearful, brown doe eyes watering up infront of him, the girl he’d heard oh so much about from lucy. how could he refrain from indulging?

his hand reached out to wipe away the few stray tears that fell as his left extended towards your right, which was clutching your head, where he’d grabbed you. “shh, let me help you.” your hand slowly retracted as your heart ran a marathon. the man was obviously unstable, going from a deceptively caring man to violent. coriolanus smiled at your actions, and it freaked you out. he caressed your scalp in an attempt to soothe, “good girl.” he cooed as your apparent saviour approached.

“sweetie?” lucy called out to you as coriolanus withdrew from your personal space. he walked over to her and she let him. he held her hand and spoke with, love? his voice was soft and comforting, his thumb again caressing the back of her hand as they talked, whispered, plotted? god knows, all you wanted was to leave.

was this your chance?

you tested the waters, slow and calculated movements as lucy nodded in agreement with him. but by the time they were done speaking you’d bolted.

but you sure as hell weren’t getting far with these two on your tail, poor y/n l/n. a little dove trying to spread her wings but they were bound to be clipped.

your feet were throbbing and begging for you to slow down. but your brain was in charge for once, your heart which yearned for your dear songbird pushed to the side as your head screamed and urged you to go. she was in league with him apparently. her seeing him corner you and not even batting an eyelash. did she truly care for you so little? did she want to rid herself of you? she could’ve broken up with you and let that be it. maybe the games had twisted her head.

even as you believed yourself to be gaining distance from the two you could hear the not-so distant steps of determined pursuit, headed your way. how would they kill you? slow and intimate? hasty and brutal?

“if you stop running now we won’t be mad little dove!” lucy shouted in warning as you felt yourself momentarily slow at her words. traitor. you thought to yourself as your body involuntary listened, she still had an affect on you. “she’s right, we love you, we won’t hurt you. unless we have to, don’t give us our reasons.”

“shut up!” you screamed. god, i know we haven’t talked in a while. last minute efforts right? maybe he’d listen to you, save you from your tormentors. you should’ve kept your head clear, focused on running. focused on your surroundings and if you had, you would’ve noticed the nearing tree roots, thick and protruding from the ground, ready to knock you down.

you crawled behind the tree, trying to catch your breath as your hands worked tirelessly to provide some form of relief to your aching ankle.

crack.

you’d been found. you fucked up.

“our little dove, ever the sprinter.”

his words had you lurching forwards in an attempt of fleeing but lucy’s cold hand on your ankle dragged protests and cries from your throat as well as you, back to them. “you should’ve listened before, we would’ve been nice. given you some time to adjust, but you can’t sit and think for a second can you?” coriolanus mocked as his hand trailed up your un-injured leg, “that’s okay, you won’t be doing much thinking from now on. we’ll be taking care of you, since you obviously can’t take care a’ yourself baby.” lucy’s voice was saccharine, like honey, and her smile was even sweeter. the familiarity and comfort of her presence was intoxicating, you felt at peace on one side and the other wanted to jump off a cliff. she lowered your guard and coriolanus slithered right in.

the prick in the side of your neck wasn’t painful, but their words were. “you’re with us now, we’ll take care of you, we promise.” and you were stuck, stuck with them for god knows how long.

you blinked away the sleep in your eyes, adjusting to the room. maybe they had killed you? in their own twisted way they’d keep you forever, in their memories and soul. coriolanus and lucy’s voices swam around your head and blended together. you were wrong. yay.

“it’s a bit early for katniss, even if it’s one of her favourites.”

“she should eat something better.”

“better? don’t go all capitol on me now corio.”

he was smiling, you could tell.

“never lucy gray. but she’ll be weak for a few days, proper meals will help her regain some strength.”

you picked your head up and looked through the window, the lake was evident.

“alright, you go grab it and i’ll stay here.”

“why? so you can get more time with her? if anyone should get extra time it’s me.”

“now who was her partner first? oh that’s right, me. you’re acting as if i’m gonna pick her up and run away. if you’re that scared than we’ll both go. take her with us.”

coriolanus’s head whipped towards the cabin and you quickly flopped back down on the bed. you shut your eyes as you heard the door creak open. “gosh, doesn’t she look pretty?” lucy asked, knowing the answer already. “so calm, i liked her better when she was crying.” lucy hit him, “coriolanus snow!” he stroked the side of your face and you had to resist from turning your head and biting his fingers off.

“little dove.” your eyes opened again, turning your head his way tiredly. “we need to get some supplies okay?” you nodded as lucy went outside to gather the baskets she’d left out earlier on to dry. coriolanus’s hand dug into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him, “i told you i’d make you respect me. now listen, if you try anything when we’re in town i will never let you forget it. you’ll know who you belong to every single day. maybe i’ll pay your family a visit? an appointment with the hanging tree for being rebels? stealing?”

you shook your head violently as you began to cry, “you don’t want that? didn’t think so. you listen to me and everything will be fine. your family will get daily help and weekly groceries. they’ll never go hungry again. all thanks to their sweet little girl. lucy’s too nice, but don’t think for a second she’ll save you from me. you’re mine and if you try anything.” he leaned in to whisper, “i’ll strangle her with my bare hands infront of you.” his words were meant to scare you, and they did. but don’t you know? coriolanus snow doesn’t need a reason to do bad things.

coriolanus was wicked and ruthless when it came to what he wanted, if you had any hope of trying to get through this then you’d need lucy’s attention and help. so you nodded. “words sweetheart.” you swallowed your pride, your dignity, and you shook hands with the devil.

“yes, i’ll do what you say.” he straightened up, his white shirt a contrast to his dark thoughts.

“y’all ready to go?” lucy questioned as coriolanus grinned, “yes, yes we are.” he lifted you up and helped you dress, you hadn’t realised the fact that you were only dressed in his own white shirt, dress to you. he handled you like you were the most delicate object. as if he wasn’t hell bent on breaking you, over and over again. till you were fit to his standards. the captiol standards. the snow standards.

his, his, his.

with how obedient you were, he figured you’d do well in the capitol. which was exactly where he was meaning to bring you.

lucy walked in front of the two of you as you made your way through the woods. coriolanus’s hand was glued to your waist as he held you close, afraid to let go. you were at flight risk of course. his grip was tight and bruising. lucy’s humming distracted you at times, if you were delusional enough you could imagine it to be the two of you. your brothers far infront and the covey following. after an amazing afternoon at the lake, heading home for dinner, maybe a performance or the night shift.

your daydreaming was interrupted when you clocked coriolanus’s missing hand from your waist, and his arm now around lucy grays throat.

don’t you remember? you’d do well in the capitol! you were his! but not entirely, no.

not with her in the way.

you were frozen in place as lucy clawed at him before reaching out for you. a plea, a cry for help and aid yet you stood stuck in fear. a minute, two. she’d put up a strong fight, especially when you ran towards the two, pushing and shoving at coriolanus to let her go. but again, you fucked up.

here lies lucy gray baird, singer, victor, psycho.

obsessed? madly in love? you couldn’t think of another word, and as much as you wished to forget her, forget how she’d practically allowed another man into your relationship and let him kidnap you. her lifeless face and hollow eyes made your heart clench. but soon enough she was rolled over, thrown in a pre-made hole and buried. she’d survived the games but no one survived coriolanus snow.

“don’t forget what i said. don’t forget what you agreed to. you said you’d do as i say, i’m telling you to get up and follow me. we’re leaving district 12.” your face was painted with confusion as coriolanus clutched your face, “i’m going back, and you’re coming with me. don’t ask questions, just do as i say.”

and you did.

when he had you say goodbye to your family, a courtesy, a privilege he’d granted you. you kept it short and sweet, no questions just hugs and false promises of return.

when he ushered you onto the train and he wanted you to sit and be silent, you did.

through his time at the university, he wanted you close to him, living with him. and you did.

through his presidency campaign he wanted for you to charm sponsors and entice newcomers. you did.

when he wanted to marry you in a grand spectacle infront of the captiol and dress you up, you did as he asked.

when he held you down on your wedding night after tearing your dress off, biting and marking you down all over, pushing you down to your knees and took you all over the house, asking you to give yourself to him as if he didn’t take you anyways, you did.

you had no idea why at this point.

for your family? who hadn’t reached out in so long, even when they promised to talk to you every day? coriolanus had them all arrested, punished and hung for inciting riots and uprisings.

for your friends whom listened to your concerns of the capitol peacekeeper who hovered and didn’t make you feel crazy? each of them ended up dead in many different ways, hung, shot, a mugging gone wrong.

you didn’t know at this point and when you looked in the mirror you didn’t recognise the girl who stared back. a captiol sheep, dressed up in the finest silk dresses and slick heels yet the filth underneath the finery, jewels, and makeup weighed you down. each time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you, it felt like a peace of yourself was thrown away.

and as you clutched your swelling stomach, you couldn’t help but feel pity for baby number four.

maybe you’d grow up and find love.

maybe i’ll be able to take you all away from him.

maybe we’ll heal.

you thought, but in the back of your head, a little voice wouldn’t shut up.

you’ll always be his little dove.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #dark!lucy gray x reader #dark!lucy gray baird x reader #hunger games x reader

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yourebraveandkind · 2 months ago

Text

What Makes You Irresistible? ✨

Happy reading, brave souls :) ! Take a deep breath and let your intuition guide you.

Pile 1

Hey there, dazzling soul! Tuning into your vibe was like stepping into a spotlight – you've got that undeniable 'it' factor. What makes you so magnetic? Well, for starters, you've got a fantastic sense of humor and an easygoing nature that puts everyone at ease. People genuinely like being around you; you're simply popular!Your authenticity shines so brightly, like your own personal Star. You're not trying to be anyone else, and that genuine spirit is incredibly attractive. Plus, you have this amazing ability to connect with others on a deep level, creating harmonious bonds – that's the magic of The Lovers in your energy.There's a quiet confidence about you, a sense that you truly know your stuff, even if you don't always need to prove it (reversed Ace of Swords wisdom right there). And get ready for some hearts fluttering your way, because the Prince of Cups is bringing in admirers who are drawn to your emotional openness and charm, ready to offer you their affection without hesitation.You've also built something solid, Pile 1. The Six of Disks speaks to your competence and the respect you've earned in your field. People admire your skills and likely see you as a leader. And that driving force within you, that ambition to achieve your goals (The Chariot)? It's incredibly inspiring and undeniably attractive. So, own that magnetic charm, Pile 1! Your irresistible energy is a blend of genuine authenticity, heartfelt connections, quiet confidence, charming expressiveness, respected competence, and inspiring drive. You're a true magnet – shine on!

Pile 2

Greetings, intuitive and grounded soul! When I connected with your energy, I immediately felt a beautiful blend of inner strength and warm resilience. What makes you so irresistible? It's your unwavering ability to stand your ground and fiercely defend your values – that conviction is truly admirable (Seven of Wands power!).And then there's your inner sunshine, Pile 2! The Sun radiates pure optimism and joy from you. Your positive outlook is infectious, lighting up the world around you. Interestingly, while you're hopeful, you're also wonderfully discerning (Seven of Cups wisdom). You take your time, weigh your options, and choose what truly aligns with your inner compass – a form of self-respect that's deeply attractive. You possess such a deep well of inner wisdom, a strong connection to your intuition (The Hermit's quiet knowing). This self-awareness gives you a grounded confidence that draws people in. And your nurturing spirit, that natural ability to care for others and create beauty (The Empress's gentle touch), makes people feel safe and supported in your presence. Despite this grounded nature, you have a wonderful spark of optimism and a courageous willingness to take leaps of faith (The Fool's adventurous spirit). That blend of dependability and joyful boldness is incredibly appealing. So, Pile 2, your irresistible energy comes from your steadfast conviction, your radiant optimism, your intuitive wisdom, your nurturing heart, and your courageous spirit. You stand strong in your truth while radiating warmth and joy – a truly dependable and attractive force.

Pile 3

Alright Pile 3, feel that vibrant energy coursing through you! Connecting with you felt like standing near a powerful flame – you are undeniably passionate and you absolutely love living life to the fullest! You truly embody being the king or queen of your own domain.That intense spark within you? That's the Ace of Wands practically exploding with potential and enthusiasm. This raw zest for life is incredibly magnetic. Now, your vibrant energy and abundant mindset might not resonate with everyone (Five of Wands dynamic), but for those who get it, you are incredibly inspiring. Your confidence is captivating.You have a natural-born leadership quality, a way of taking charge and nurturing those around you, guiding them towards success – that's the Emperor energy in you. And you are divinely supported, Pile 3! The Universe has your back, contributing to that powerful aura you possess.You've also put in the work, haven't you? The Eight of Disks highlights your dedication and mastery, and that competence is another layer of your irresistible appeal. And that sharp mind, that quick wit (Prince of Swords)? It adds an exciting buzz around you. People likely talk about your vibrant energy and your achievements with genuine admiration. There's a powerful, confident energy about you. So, Pile 3, your irresistible energy comes from your fiery passion for life, your abundant mindset, your natural leadership, your feeling of divine support, your dedication to your craft, and your sharp intellect. You live life with such gusto, and that vibrant energy is incredibly contagious and attractive to so many!

#yourebraveandkind #tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #irresistible #energy #intutive reading #magnetic #manifestation #2025

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2-dsimp · 10 months ago

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•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

The Gardener who became the Keeper of the yandere Plantweed Pt.1

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

You were a gardener working at a humble witches flower shop. And today the Madam witch decided to fully welcome her trustees into her dwelling. Allowing everyone to freely choose a plant being to take special care of as it’ll grow to be their faithful companion. Or so the witch told her employees.

There was a vast selection full of beautiful and unique variations to choose from. Each of the flower beings had their own unique charms chittering and humming tunes to attract their select Keepers.

But at the sight of a plant weed many of your fellow colleagues voiced their concern and utter contempt for the baby weed being that was huddled inside its pot his one big eye peeking out from his shrubbery of leaves as if ashamed to fully show itself.

“Plantweeds are so vile! Why would Madam even have it in selection?”

“Shh! Don’t say such things out loud you idiot! just ignore it and hope it’ll die off on its own”

“Yeah it’s not like anyone sane here would ever think to take care of an ugly weed like that.”

Well it appears that everyone but you were sane. As You believed that even weeds should get the chance to grow. So of course assigned yourself as the plant weeds Keeper. Despite the constant backlash you received for doing such an inconceivable thing.

You found yourself naming the poor thing Ganja, finding it endearing how shy it was. Often times you’d have to gently coax it into moving himself from his pot to another. Just so you could seed some nutrients into his cracked up soil within his original plot.

That was obviously left unattended for so long it amazed you how resilient he was. Cuz despite being a plant weed he should’ve long ago perished from neglect. Since he was half the size of his peers who were already waist up from the pot.

Which was why said plant weed found it nerve wracking to suddenly have someone take care of him. As if he was meant to be cherished just like his other plant brethren (the flowers) who were being catered to.

At first he was wary, thinking you’d just abandon him after seeing how hard it was to take care of him. Having to frequently switch the type of tending methods you’d use as his caretaker.

Due to the amalgamation of weeds ranging from poisonous to hallucinogenic to harmless all growing rampant within his cryptic vessel. That each call for a specific itinerary in mind to tame them. So it wouldn’t cause the greenhouse to become overrun with Ganja’s overgrowth.

But seeing how dedicated you were to genuinely caring for him. Day by day, Ganja became less skittish and more open to gaining every bit of affection you sought to pour into him. You even taught him how to express himself by using colors that would give you insight into how he’s feeling.

“Yellow. Keeper…story?”

Ganja the plantweed chittered one day, practicing on speaking more after a couple months pass by. While his other peers were like chatter boxes in the first few weeks after selection. He held a book you gave him in hand shyly poking at the passage where it discussed the feelings of love.

“Hey there Gan, I’m glad you’re happy to see me! So this is what you want me to read to you for today?”

The plantweed nodded frantically his eyes squeezed shut as he timidly bowed his head. Pleading to hear your voice read him such a concept he found himself drawn to like a moth to a flame. You chuckled and lightly patted his leafy head with a gloved hand.

Like a cautious cat he leaned into your touch, being slightly startled when you carried his pot. To bring it between your legs so you could read it to him while having the pages fully out for him to read alongside with you.

The feeling he had in his cluster of cells within his chest resembled that of a beating heart. As he continued losing himself in your melodic voice the more he began to realize that the love passage. Clearly reflected what he’d grown to feel for you over the ample time you two have spent together.

“And here’s the famous old saying ‘if you love someone, let them go’ Which means that—!”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, as the page you were reading from. Was abruptly ripped from the book by a branched out prickly vine. That ripped the offensive writing to shreds, in a speed so fast and precise that you couldn’t register it happening at all.

“Lies… Don’t like. Hate. Red.”

His voice, sounded like it doubled in three different pitches almost like a glitch. And you were abruptly enshrouded within an enclave of vines that fully encompassed your body and his from the outside world. You’ve never seen him this distraught and furious. Not even when your colleagues would come and pick on him when you weren’t around.

“Red? Gan you’re angry? It’s okay it’s just an interpretation! You don’t have to take it to heart.”

Ganja’s neck did a 360 to fully lock his eyes on you. His expression now unreadable due to the shrubbery covering his features. The space he trapped y’all within was dark save from the light glowing from his eyes.

“Love… No letting go?”

“Yup you can love someone without needing to let go Gan.”

“…Yellow”

You exhaled a sigh of relief knowing that he was now happy. A major upgrade from being in the dangerous color mark. But Little did you know that your answer would seal your fate. As he’d just been affirmed that it was still considered love. Even if he should never let you go. No matter how much you begged.

This plantweed was growing up to be your faithful companion alright. He’d make sure that he’d be the only one you’d ever need.

———————————

A/n: And this is how you meet your plant husband lmao. Let me know if I should make more parts XD kinda debating on leaving it as a one shot.

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01zfan · 3 months ago

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venusian

producer!anton x alien!reader | 10k words

another installment of my rock the house seriez! this was fun to write even though it took me forever.

contains: face sitting, alot of implied sex, intergalactic booty call, anton catching feelings

rock the house masterlist

Anton gripped the metal of his fire escape, looking down at street below him.

He was a struggling artist, not the type that leaped over banisters down to oncoming traffic but the one that watched. He watched people like they were characters in movies, crafting stories for each single one. The student rushing to beat the light had an assignment waiting for them when they got home. The mother that had to pull her kids behind her on a plastic scooter worked all day, the man was looking at his phone was texting his mistress.

Honestly, it was too cold for Anton to be outside. He was also too busy to be doing this. He had a list of things to do before his band released their newest project. But like a thousand times before, the closer Venusian got to the release date of music Anton started getting sentimental and spending his time doing things he shouldn’t be doing. Procrastination is what Wonbin called it, Sohee referred to it as cold feet. In the deep corner of Internet somewhere they would say this was a product of Anton being a hack, and each project Venusian released, the world was closer to finding it out.

Now, Anton couldn’t dispute this. He was talented, no one could take that away from him. From a young age he was able to play instruments at an advanced level and read classical music like it was a second language. Reading notes on a musical staff came to him faster than reading actual words in a book. He confused his teachers with his disdain for math when he was so easily able to divide a beat down to the hemidemisemiquaver. He was born with perfect pitch and a metronome built into his feet, and was able to memorize anything music related at the drop of a hat.

Anton knew it would be to everyone’s dismay if they found out how often he lost faith in himself. Why would someone who was held in such high regard lose his poise so often? Why would someone so talented refuse to claim the section leader position when it so clearly belonged to him? Anton—and apparently the trolls on the Internet—knew the answers to these questions long before everyone else. He looked over the railing looking for inspiration because like he knew he was a musical prodigy, he also knows he doesn’t have a creative bone in his body.

He knew no one would understand. Creativity wasn’t sight reading music perfectly or being able to tune the other people in your section when they were off key. Creativity to Anton was being able to pull something from the depth of your mind. He would’ve settled for ideas coming to him slowly, but they didn’t come to him at all. Anton needed months to compose sheet music, and atleast a week notice if he had to improvise for the class. Everything he did was too refined, devoid of emotion. He blamed it on the classical cello lessons his mother put him in the moment he expressed an interest in music. He believed his young impressionable brain never had the ability to entertain the idea of music before the technical aspect of was shoved down his throat. He never got the luxury of being that kid that banged on pots and pans with abandon because he liked the way it sounded—he was the kid that had a private lessons teacher looming over him with a ruler in case he got anything wrong.

Anton lacked the complex understanding of the ebbs and flows of the music and where modern musicians fit into the crests. He was able to hide his failings as a musician until he made it to university, where each of his teachers seemed to pick up on it like a sixth sense.

He believed he was cursed when his senior project called for him to write and produce a whole mini album. The technical aspect of it all didn’t frighten him, he knew the ins and outs of producing software. What scared Anton shitless was that he had nothing to produce. He could hear a note and know exactly where it landed but he could never find out why it was that note. What drove someone to sing in minor key instead of major key, what idea popped into someones mind to make something?

Anton needed creativity if he wanted to graduate. At the very least enough to get him through five songs that were three to five minutes in length. He stayed after hours sitting in a practice room in silence looking for creativity, then he spent time drafting an extremely long and pitiful email to his faculty advisor.

Right before Anton could press send and reveal his biggest secret, he met his first bandmate.

(Technically, Anton heard Sohee before he met him. As he edited the final line of his email he heard the distinct voice of someone in the practice room beside his. The soundproof walls couldn’t block the voice next door. Anton perked up, straightening his slouched back as he listened, really listened to the voice next to him. Even when the voice would chip away after losing air or crack when his throat would become strained Anton knew the voice was special. The organic sound was refreshing, it drew Anton in so much that his pitiful email was long forgotten.

He left the practice room and peaked through the window. He looked at the back of Sohee’s head as he continued to sing, his hand gripping tightly on the music stand in front of him. When Sohee tipped his head back and another beautiful falsetto note bled through the door, Anton walked right in. He was able to connect a face to the voice, someone he had seen before. The nursing major in the music theory class Anton was a teacher’s aide for. Anton remembers Sohee’s reason for joining the class was to fulfill a requirement.)

From there the rest was history. Anton spoke with his foot in his mouth, the sudden idea of having someone sing on his final project coming out in a huff. Sohee looked from side to side before letting a confused huh? ring through the practice room. Anton only repeated himself in the same rushed manner, followed by him mentioning his final project.

Sohee kept the same confused tone and his hand still gripped his music stand from the exertion of hitting high notes as Anton explained his final project. Sohee didn’t really listen until Anton started flexing his knowledge in music, talking about being flatand breath control, things Sohee knew he had trouble with.

Then, he started listening. He even worked his schedule around ever so slightly to fit their practice and recording sessions into the day. A week later, when the only thing Anton had to show for was song covers, Wonbin came around. He was in the same situation as Anton, up Shit Creek with no paddle and a final project that needed to be finished if he wanted to graduate.

Everything was luck. Anton was lucky that he was able to turn in a completed mini album for his final project. He was lucky that his teacher practically forced him to upload the album to a streaming platform due to how refined it was for a senior project. Anton was extremely lucky that the blossoming indie community attached themselves to his work. He was lucky that he found his album earn a shining review from Pitchfork, and countless streams on his songs every night.

Something that was a stroke of luck fueled by energy drinks and the overwhelming feeling of getting a failing grade on a final project made Anton, Sohee, and Wonbin famous. By the time school ended they were on the list of albums to listen to and in the middle of the sweltering heat of the summer the news broke. Senior Project by Unnamed was ranked as the Top 50 Indie Albums of the Decade.

After that everyone found out about them pretty quickly. Wonbin couldn’t go on MySpace without it crashing. Sohee’s parents called him crying that their son was singing on the radio. Anton’s heart rate hadn’t been a normal BPM since early April.

The pressure to release something and have it be as good as the accident weighed heavy on him. The sole producer of his trio—and the de facto leader—couldn’t make a beat to save his life. The mere thought of sitting down and crafting something left him even more stumped than he was before.

But before Anton could confess to Sohee and Wonbin that he couldn’t deliver the same way he did on Senior Project, he found out they were all in. Sohee dropped out of medical school and Wonbin quit his day job. Wonbin spent his earnings on a new guitar and Sohee spent his on vocal lessons. Anton was considering spending his money on a one-way plane ticket to Hawaii and never looking back. They couldn’t make you produce an album if they didn’t know where you were. He could’ve been sipping Mai Tai’s looking at the Oahu sunset but instead he sat out on the curb of Sohee’s apartment complex with his head in his hands as Wonbin and Sohee tried to understand what was wrong.

Anton for the first time in his life voiced that although he was a prodigy, he had nothing to show for it. The confession came out like vomit, splattering on the concrete and warming underneath the sun. Wonbin looked up to the clouds while Sohee twisted his head away in defeat. Anton felt actual bile raise in his throat as grasshoppers rubbed their legs together in the silence.

Wonbin put a hand to his face to block the sun. Anton heard the muffled shock of Sohee saying he dropped out of med school for this. Then, as if lack of creativity could be cured in a weekend, Wonbin gave his recommendation.

“Let’s buy a van and go sleep in the forest. Completely disconnect with the world and reconnect with nature.”

Wonbin said it so happily, backed with the reasoning that some rock band neither Sohee or Anton had heard of has done it before. Apparently the band went on a societal cleanse and came back to create one of the best albums ever made.

(Years later, Anton listened to the album and hated Every. Single. Song.)

In any other instance Anton would’ve called Wonbin crazy, but the lack of an album and the increasing pressure from everyone wanting a new body of work pushed Anton into reluctantly saying yes. So within the week Anton blew some of his earnings on a van, the three packed their bags and went to camp in the dense forest an hour away from their hometown. Wonbin’s words played again and again in Anton’s mind as he stayed in the passenger seat. He looked for creativity in the tall trees. Anton looked for it all and stayed in the front seat in an effort to see it first.

When the sun no longer gave him light he switched to the flashlight in the glove compartment, keeping it close to his page full of marked out lyrics and mindless ramblings. He couldn’t think of anything else without lingering on each failed attempt. One of the last things that wasn’t crossed out was the tiny print at the bottom of the page. You’re not going to make it stared at him, it caused his flashlight to go out and it made a headache form right in the center of Anton’s head.

He came to the shocking discovery then and there that he was a one hit wonder, that he was lucky to have famous song on that found its way from an obscure streaming site to the biggest social media platform. His unnamed bands overnight success would dwindle within the week, and they would go back to living their regular pedestrian lives.

Anton finally gave up when he made it to the bottom of his page. He let the flashlight take a break in the cupholder between the two front seats and closed his notebook. He opened the glove compartment and slammed it shut a little too hard, not caring a bit when Wonbin groaned from the back of the van. Anton looked back to see Wonbin and Sohee dangerously close to cuddling as they both shared a single blanket on top of the small inflatable mattress.

Anton turned away and rolled the window down by the plastic crank and stuck his head out as if inspiration would be carried into the van by the gentle wind. He balanced his head on his arm that hung out the window and sighed. He thought about the lyrics Wonbin wrote, how his bandmate had no instrumental to put it over. The sinking feeling Anton got at the thought of Sohee and Wonbin waking up tomorrow even more worried about the future of the band suffocated him.

He opened the van door and shut it so hard the van rocked.

Anton tried to find inspiration in the sound of twigs snapping underneath his foot, the absence of sound as the trees blew in the wind. He walked to the side of the van and leaned against it, hoping that something would whisper to him in the dead quiet of the night.

When nothing came and only the moon shined down on him, Anton let out another sigh. He leaned his head back until he felt the large window of the van press his hair flat. He looked directly up to the moon, the only thing that seemed to be awake like him. The stars in the sky were shining bright, or maybe they were normal—Anton couldn’t remember the last time he looked to the night sky. He closed his eyes and fisted his hands so tight he could feel his nails dig into his palm. He pressed his head against the glass even harder, trying to remember the last time in his life he was so desperate for results. He drew in a breath, parted his lips, and screwed his eyes shut.

“Please give me something.” Anton whispered into the night.

When he opened his eyes he started laughing at himself for how ridiculous he sounded. Wishing on planets and stars for inspiration like he was a child. Talking to God like he wasn’t a man of science. He considered waking up Wonbin and Sohee to tell them that this wouldn’t work out. Dissolving the band before it even has a man, carrying on with their lives like they didn’t have the most downloaded EP on iTunes.

Anton looked down at his hands, spreading out his fingers so far he felt the stretch. These hands could play Flight of the Bumblebee with ease and could write a paper on music theory overnight, how could they not produce a song? Anton looked at the callouses on his fingers in the moonlight, twisting and turning the rings on his fingers to feel something. Everything about him was hard to the touch, but he felt so incredibly soft. Like he was about to cry, despite not being blessed with the talent of music.

Anton wiggled his fingers again and felt the urge to curse at them. His eyes drifted to the shadow that was cast underneath him onto the ground.

He was still staring at his fingers when the white light of the moon shifted to a muted green. The change was so sudden Anton blinked first, making sure that his eyes weren’t failing him. When he realized the color being casted on him became hidden by the clouds, he looked up to the sky again. He saw something in the sky, a white cloud trailing behind it. Anton followed its path in the sky, walking around the edge of the van as it came closer and closer to making an impact on the Earth.

Anton’s first reaction was to drop his jaw. Then to pound on the side of the van, as if waking up the only two people on the planet more clueless than him would help. He mindlessly followed, stepping on leaves and twigs and tripping over things as he saw the thing come even closer. Right in front of Anton it crashed into the trees, then straight into the ground. Everything moved around him, he went backwards to hide behind the protection of the van. Underbrush was uprooted from the speed of the wind caused by the impact.

Anton looked bak up to the sky. White moonlight replaced the green. He looked around. The sound of something falling was replaced with the normal sounds of the night. He looked down. The Earth didn’t split down the middle.

“What just happened?” Anton said to himself quietly.

He peaked past the van, looking right where the crater would be. Past the lining of trees, less than a two minute walk away. Anton should get back in his car and drive away. But the fact that something unbelievable needs to happen to him made him stay in the same spot.

Anton debated for a long time on if he should take a step closer. More leaves and twigs snapped underneath his foot as he crossed by the van entirely. His blood went cold and everything in him told him to turn around. He should put the key in the ignition of his car and drive away. But he took another step. Then another. Anton creeped past the tree line walking like a prey animal. He looked back to the stationary white van behind him. There was still a chance to go back, but the something unbelievable was calling to him. Anton took the last step to make it to the edge of the crater before looking in.

His hair stood on end when he looked down into the impact on the earth. The circumference of the crater was the length of two vans put together, but it was deep. So deep that the bottom was almost hidden by the night. Anton had to bend down close to look deeper.

When Anton saw something move in the crater, he was gone. He no longer was looking for something unbelievable to happen to him, inspiration be damned. He cleared out of the forest to make it to the van, opening up the back with an incredible amount of speed. The momentum caused the car to shake, and Anton’s hands were on the shoulders of his bandmates in seconds.

“A girl fell from the sky.” Anton said it quickly, shaking Wonbin’s shoulder harshly.

Wonbin tilted his head to the side as Anton continued to relay what he saw. He blinked his eyes once, twice, then a third time as he tried to comprehend what was being said to him.

“Is that the name of the album?” Wonbin said, groggy voiced as he rubbed one of his eyes.

Anton shook his head angrily before trying to catch his breath.

“Green Comet…” Anton huffed, suddenly realizing his vision was starting to spot. The adrenaline and the confirmed sighting of an extra-terrestrial being made him feel dizzy. “Fell from the sky. She’s in a crater.” He huffed.

When Wonbin moved from the pallet of clothes and blankets, Sohee did the same. His eyes fluttered open but stayed partially closed. His hair was bumped on one side as he also tried making sense of what Anton was saying.

“Are those song titles?” Sohee asked.

His voice was high-pitched and whiny, Anton knew he was angry from the lack of sleep and being woken up in the middle of the night. There were more important things happening. They needed to call the cops, they needed to call the press.

Anton continued shaking his friends awake, but the lack of mentioning a song title, album name, or anything music related made them go back to sleep. Anton watched in dismay as the two laid their heads back down, ignoring and turning away from his hands that were trying to will them awake. The only thing they did was move their shoulders out of his reach, one of them grumbling wake us up when you have a song finished.

Just as Anton was about to climb into the back of the van to shake his bandmates awake, he heard leaves and twigs snap. His full body froze, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his throat was suddenly dry. The spring night suddenly felt cold as he felt a presence behind him.

When Anton first heard a voice, he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to acknowledge whoever was speaking to him. He wanted to heave his body into the back of the van and shut the doors behind him. He wanted to speed off back to civilization, at the very least he wanted to scream and wake his bandmates up. But Anton couldn’t do anything, he didn’t move an inch when he felt the presence take another step.

“Where am I?” You repeated

Anton quickly told you that you were in the quiet midwest of America. He said you were on planet Earth, and some other things he forgot now. He was rambling at the mouth, he’s sure he started telling secrets of his own at some point. He’s in a band. He’s a hack. He has no creativity. He’s scared that you’re getting closer. He thinks you’re going to abduct him and probe him and he’s going to be your human prisoner for the rest of his life.

At some point between your first step and your last step, Anton closed his eyes. He prepared for death, his life flashed before his eyes, everything. But then you grabbed his hands. He felt warm all over, his rambling stopped and his fear was replaced with something else. The turbulence in his mind cleared and everything stopped making sound around him. The wind stopped blowing, Wonbin stopped snoring, everything felt peaceful.

Then, when Anton opened his eyes you were gone. All traces of you vanished into the night. Reality came back slowly. Anton clasped his hands hard, then looked down at them again. He was no different. He wasn’t being beamed up into the sky, he wasn’t hurt. He was suddenly alone again outside, the trees and the sounds came back to him like they never left. He could also clearly hear the beginning chord to a song and a name for his band.

Anton heard everything, the longer he stared at his hands the more inspiration struck. He heard it all, he could see it all so clearly. The album name, song titles, album covers, music videos. Anton was up for the rest of the night, filling out pages and pages in his notebook until his hand could no longer hold the pen straight.

Sometimes Anton could still feel the pain in his hand from writing all night. He flexed his hand that gripped the railing, closing his palm in on itself before leaning closer to the banister. He looked behind him to his apartment. The studio door was wide open, and had to audibly sigh to try and relieve some of that burden.

The word had dropped nearly three months ago that a new album was coming. A rumor that wasn’t really a rumor, and once people caught wind of it there was no use in denying it. Their recording company was already reaching out about any possible singles. Wonbin started already reinventing himself. Sohee was sending Anton lyrics everyday in hopes of getting the music faster.

The only way he was able to get a break from everything was to say he needed time to collect and recenter himself. What this meant for his colleagues was to go on a weeklong coke fueled bender. What that meant for Anton was to look at foot traffic in the street below him hoping to see his alien girlfriend-who-is-not-his-girlfriend.

He learned that you would always come when he least expected you to. Washing up on the beach during his vacation to Vietnam. Offering him a wine glass at an industry party. Appearing as room service during his stay at a hotel abroad. He wasn’t sure what summoned you. He was always so used to the feeling of not being inspired that he never knew when he was about to reach a breaking point.

But you always did.

The first time you appeared and he found you in the forest, when he thought he was going to die but he lived and Venusian and the chords for the first EP was in his head.

The second time you appeared was outside of a diner. Anton spent the whole day disconnected from the world, enjoying an AYCE sushi special instead of finishing the vocal mixing on the first single when you appeared across the street. Locked in the phone booth right in Anton’s line of sight the moment he lifted his head from his salmon roll.

He thought he was seeing things at first. By this point in time he had convinced himself that seeing you in the forest was the product of starvation, anxiety, and sleep deprivation. In the morning when he finally got Sohee and Wonbin to come and see where you landed, they said it was only the beginnings of a construction site. So Anton told himself you were just a very real figment of his imagination. But across the street you were very real and you were beckoning for him to come to you.

In the phone booth, Anton finally had a conversation with you. Cramped in after you pulled him inside you two had a formal interaction. To offset how normal the greeting was you told him you were not from this planet. Anton thought he was imagining things again. He shook his head and smiled waiting for the punchline of your joke, and an actual explanation as to why you fell from the sky and asked where you were so honestly.

Anton doesn’t remember speaking very much in the phone booth. His first reaction was to shiver from the feeling of the hairs raising on the back of his neck. His second was to deny you not being from this planet. You talked like a human, you smelled like a human, you looked like a human. Then you said something ridiculous like being human is relative, which ended up being a track name on Venusian’s first full length album She Fell From the Sky.

(Anton could’ve named the album My Girlfriend Fell From the Sky Because She is an Alien and no one would’ve done anything about it. No one second guesses the names or titles indie bands use for their titles, but giving you the title of girlfriend seemed a little presumptuous.)

He found out on your third visit when you knocked on his door in a private studio that you kissed better than any human being ever has. You two kissed better than people could, all of his past experiences and stories he heard paled in comparison. The way you leaned in close, hovering over him while he basically shook in his office chair. You looked so beautiful standing above him, you smiled to ease him into you. You pressed your lips to his so softly and his hands went to your waist, holding onto you. You weren’t able to disappear into thin air. That night you kissed Anton goodbye, he was able to see you leave, and he was able to get you to promise you’d come back.

When you closed the studio door behind you, Anton did what any artist would do. He turned the situation he found himself in to profit. All the confusion and love and lust from an alien he’s met a handful of times, who appears and disappears on her own accord. An alien who always knows where he is and when he needs her. Always smells so good, and looks at him so intensely it literally sparks creativity. Someone who his bandmates thinks is fake. He put all of that—and much more—into the second album. My Girlfriend is an Alien. A little on the nose, but it was green lit nonetheless. The album featured tracks such as i hope you’re real, please meet my friends, imaginary friend, and star/meteor.

On the fourth visit Anton found out you were a fan. He knew because you liked the song come to my apartment next time, and no one liked that song. A dud on the album but something you felt like was just for you. You called him on the phone in his hotel across the world, just when he was about to fall asleep. You talked to him but didn't tell him where you were, it sounded like you were driving or laying in bed and kicking your feet and writing in your journal. Before you could hang up and disappear for an undisclosed amount of time he had questions ready. In his notebook next to lyrics he looks at the chicken scratch in the margins, the hotel phone caught between his shoulder and ear as he made sure to speak clearly into the receiver.

“Will you come when I ask you to?”

“No.”

“Will you come when I need you to?”

“Yes.”

“How will I know when you will be here?”

“You don’t.”

“What’s your favorite song by Venusian?”

That was the question that stumped you. You were silent for a moment, the crackling sound of a connection. Anton looked at the lamp on the bedside table, staring at it until it left an imprint in his vision. He thought the line had disconnected before you spoke.

“The ones you write about me, of course.”

All of them were about you, he couldn't tell you that before you told him that you loved him and had to go. Without a doubt in Anton’s mind, every song was about you. Even when Wonbin wrote the lyrics, they were always about an elusive figure that was appearing in and out of someone’s life. When Sohee wrote lyrics, they were about wanting something. On the rare occasion the song wasn’t about you, the bands name itself was a homage to you. He never asked if you were from Venus because he thought it'd be rude, but he wished on that planet before you came down in a crater his bandmates thought was a construction site.

He couldn’t escape you, but no one even knew you existed. Sometimes Anton didn’t even know you existed. He searched harder in the street. He saw a school teacher finally heading home. Someone with a coffee cup, spilling it on themselves because they were walking too fast. Taxi driver smoking on the corner, letting possible clients pass him to hop in the cars of his competition. A woman walking down the sidewalk, past the smoker and the school teacher and the spill on the person shirt. Her pace got slower and slower until she came to a stop right in front of his building.

Anton looked further down, leaning even closer to the banister. The metal railing pressed into his stomach, going right through his thin shirt as he looked down. Foot traffic continued around her. From the high floor of Anton's apartment his hair started blowing, whipping forward and closing his eyes. The woman in front of Anton's apartment building was unmoving, so was he. If Sohee was here he would've believed it to be the paparazzi, Wonbin would've thought it was a coincidence. But Anton knew before you looked up. The hat and sunglasses you had on obstructed the view of your face, but Anton knew. All you had to do was point towards the front door before Anton was turning on his heel, running through his apartment until he made it to the front door.

Anton cleared his apartment a little too fast to ring you up. He kept his eyes glued to the front camera of the building as you walked up the steps. When the buzzer sounded off you smiled, pulling at the large door before you walked out of frame of the camera.

Anton imagined you coming up the stairs. He swore he could hear you from floors away, your heeled shoes coming through his apartment building as you made your way to him. He could hear the elevator music from his living room, and he could see you looking at the red number climb until you were at his floor. He wasn’t sure how you knew, but you always knew. He stopped asking questions long ago. He was just so happy to see you, a relieved smile coming across his face as he opened his door to you standing there.

“Did you miss me?” You asked.

Anton nodded, pulling you by your arm to get you to come inside. He learned to not waste time when you were here. No more shy greetings or acting amazed when you’d show up. He learned to think about your surprise appearance when he was alone. He helped you take off your hat and shades to put it on the table at the entryway. He guided your jacket off of your arms as you looked up to the high ceilings.

“This place is so big just for one person.” You said quietly.

Anton didn’t know how you lived. He didn’t know where you lived either. Venus was the presumed place, but it could've been the moon. Both were visible when he made his wish that night. He didn’t know if millionaire musicians lived in gigantic lofts by themselves where you came from. He could’ve had roommates. Sohee and Wonbin always wanted to stay with him during the album creation process, to really get involved in the body of work. Venusian tours made Anton encounter his fair share of groupies that wanted him. He could’ve had one of them as a live in girlfriend that uses his money to buy drugs and his fame as an aphrodisiac. But Anton preferred to live alone, even if he had a guest room littered with things he’d think you like in between your visits.

Anton continued guiding your jacket off, then the fleece button up you had on underneath. You always complained about the cold. Anton imagined wherever you came from was always in an eternal spring compared to the frigid weather here. You liked the weather in Puerto Vallarta the most. You came to Anton on a pool floatie saying you could get used to the weather here. You hated it the most in Germany. You emerged from a snow bank when Anton was leaving the convenience store late at night. You were shaking like a leaf then, and Anton gave you his jacket and had to spend the whole night warming you up.

(At first the sentiment was innocent. He offered you all the blankets his room had to offer, and then you said you needed body heat. His huffs of hot air was sticking to your skin, and you were clinging to him for dear life. He repeated how badly he wanted to warm you up as he covered his body with yours, and hushed you over and over again when you were running out of breath. You were both sweating by the time the Sun came up, and then you said you were finally warm enough to go home.)

He knows you probably hate the weather now. But you bite your tongue to stop you from saying how cold it is even when you’re shivering. You just walk fully into Anton’s living room, sitting in the middle of the couch before you tap the spot next to you.

Anton is uninspired. He’s not creative. That’s why you’re here. Offering your magic touch again, his next Grammy nomination and wave of accolades is waiting for him on his large couch.

He follows in your footsteps, discarding his robe on the chair next to the couch. In his plain black tee and sweats Anton gets on the couch, climbing on until he rests his head in your lap. Even with all this space he’s too big. His foot dangles over the edge of the couch, and you let out a soft grunt when he lays his head on you. He doesn’t care because this is enough. When your fingers massage his scalp he closes his eyes, trying to will the stress away.

Anton felt you stir underneath him, and he already felt the stress coming back. He instinctually reached a hand to your arm, trying to keep you there. When he realized you were only repositioning yourself his hand left your wrist, going to his chest. He rubbed the fabric of his shirt and hummed the beginning of a song.

He looked forward as your hands carded through his hair, flattening out the bits that were sticking up.

“Where were you this time?” Anton asked.

“Your kind haven't discovered it yet. But I came back pretty fast this time, didn't I?” You asked.

Anton nods his head against your fingers because you did come back faster this time. When Venusian was just beginning you used to appear every week, when the band was at its peak the longest Anton was left waiting for you was two years. Before you showed up at his apartment today you called him over the phone a month and a half ago. Your voice crackled through the speakers and you sounded like you were somewhere far away. Anton almost asked you if there was reception on Venus, but instead he decided to put it in a song. Not knowing the answer made him look for it himself, and that’s how he came up with the idea of the first single for Venusian’s upcoming album.

Anton remembers the last conversation you guys had over the phone. He asked you if you were real for the hundredth time and you laughed before saying yes. He asked if you’re real why can’t he reach out and touch you and you said he would just have to save it for next time. So Anton opens his eyes and reaches up with one hand, until he can feel your cheek underneath his fingers. His other hand wraps around your hand in his hair, and he keeps eye contact with you while you look down at him. It’s really not fair that you get to come and go as you please. You should stay here with him, be his live-in alien girlfriend who helps him write music. You wouldn’t even have to do housework, he’d hire someone to do that. He can get whatever people eat on Venus shipped right to his doorstep just for you.

Anton holds you tighter, there’s silence and you moving your legs underneath his head again. From this spot on your lap all Anton can focus on is you. You two are floating in space together, holding eachother’s hands. Anton thinks about a spaceship and then Star Trek, and then the parts of you that he couldn’t touch over the phone. He was telling you about it long after the phone call suddenly disconnected until he was shaking and his body was covered in sweat.

“How’s the music thing going?” You asked.

The question was asked just to fill the silence, because you wouldn’t be here if Anton wasn’t struggling with the music thing. If Anton could finish the mixing on this song you’d still be floating around space somewhere and Venusian’s latest album would’ve already hit streaming platforms.

Anton sits up from your lap and your hands combing through his hair. Even though he lets go of your hands he still feels them close, and when he turns around to face you on the couch you have them pressed in the space between your two bodies. You look like you want to reach out and touch him. Anton feels your pull, he sees your eyes focus on him after running down his body. He put his hands on your shoulders then your face, forcing you to look at him and only him.

“It’s going well.” He couldn’t believe that your face was already becoming hot to the touch. Anton watched you become so bothered you didn’t correct his lie, only nodding against his hand. “Did you hear the new single?” He asked.

Anton watched your hands finally leave the edge of the couch to go to his thighs. Nothing about you was alien. He knew you well, he knew your hands would go underneath his shirt to touch his soft stomach. Anton knew you’d look down first then to him as you let your head rest in the palm of his hand.

“It was pretty. Felt like you were singing to me.”

“Well,” Anton trained himself to never answer the question directly when he’d be asked who his muse was. Wonbin always said he sang about love he never found and Sohee said he was singing about an idea. “who else would I be singing to?” Anton

“Thought maybe you went out and got yourself a girlfriend.” You say.

Anton smiled to hearing that. Like he wasn’t waiting everyday for you to materialize. He could never waste his time dating when he spent all of it waiting for you and making music. He only shook his head, bringing you closer by the hold on your face.

“I was thinking about you the whole time.”

“Oh yeah?” Your hand left his hair after pulling it one last time. Anton looks up at you sideways as you tilt your head. “I was thinking about you too."

He knows he's being dramatic, because just the thought of you somewhere thinking of your human boyfriend makes him smile. He already thinks of a bonus track for the album think about me will be the title, and he will get Wonbin to write something beautiful about a couple in love. He'll pair it with a beat that's light and sounds like someone's dreams, then end it with the sound of a phone disconnecting. He might even pair it with a music video.

"What were you thinking about when you were thinking about me?" You ask.

Anton has done this dance with you plenty of times. He knows that you’re here to breathe creativity into him, like the fate of his world depends on it. Fuck or die, fuck or never make another song again—it’s the same thing in Anton’s mind. But he still falls victim to your ability to raise the tension, like it was the first time all over again. Back then he was all nerves, thinking about music and how you were his sign from the universe that everything would be alright. He spent more time on his knees than he ever did in his life, he was drained but you kept wanting more. Sometimes Anton can remember the exhaustion vividly, and he also remembers when he woke up the next morning he knew exactly what he was going to do for that collaboration with his favorite artist.

You’re here now, countless save-his-career fucks later and still looking at him like you haven’t gotten enough. He sits up from your lap and turns to face you.

“I was thinking about the last time I saw you,” Anton’s hands start moving to the side of your face then down to your waist. You’re already moving to straddle him. “and you did that think I really like.” He continues.

Anton watches you look down at him and he wonders what’s going on in your head. He remembers last time you were here and you said sincerely he should get a girlfriend. He asked if you had a boyfriend on Venus but recanted his question immediately, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle the answer. He has been making happy music as of late and didn’t want to change that.

Now you looked at him like he was delicate, your little human boy toy you entertained between periods of floating around space.

“I was thinking I just need you so I can get inspiration for this song.” He didn’t mind if he was nothing but an intergalactic booty call. Sometimes it felt like you did things for his benefit, like showing up at to him when he needed you the most. Your hands went to his face and he felt his heart stop. He swears he doesn’t mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you Anton, it’s all you?” You started letting your hips rest heavy on his lap, and he could feel how warm you were all around him. You can say all you want that your fingertips don’t have magical powers, but he has already found a chord for the lyrics Sohee sent him the other day. “You’re talented, just stressed and—” He presses your hips deeper into his, until you feel him twitching in his pants. “You’re already hard?”

Anton is helpless against you. You’re extra-terrestrial, that has already been established, but there’s something more. The planet Venus must have blessed you with powers. Anton's hand goes to the back of your neck and brings you closer.

“I just need a little bit more.” Anton murmurs against your lips.

Before you can speak Anton brings his other hand to reach into your pants, pushing his hand in your panties. Instantly you arched from the touch, when he applied pressure you swiveled your hips. He’s been here before, he’s been here a million times. An intergalactic booty call on his Italian leather sofa. You're already doing the thing he likes, where you whimper and push your tongue into his mouth. The simple action makes him already falter, becoming your puppet so easily.

Anton doesn’t know what you have in store for him. After discovering he was already hard the look in your eye changed, and your idea of comforting his feelings of inadequacy shifted to something different.

He’s been holed up in this apartment for more than a week, and he hadn’t made a new friend in God knows how long. Anton forgot how to interact with people beyond his bandmates, and he felt ill-equipped to keep the conversation going with an alien. You’re here, getting off of his lap until his hands follow after you and you’re standing in front of him. When the coffee table is too close to you Anton wastes no time pushing it away with his foot, giving you enough space in front of him. You don’t say anything about it, instead bringing your hands to the bottom of your shirt and lifting it over your head.

Your shirt is balled in your hands then it’s obstructing Anton’s vision. He pulls it into his lap too quick to see you messing with the waistband of your jeans, shimmying out of it before pushing it down your legs. You came all the way from Venus in a matching set, all for him. He’s lied by saying he just needs a little more. Whatever happens each time you leave has only made him worse, and only makes him crave more. Each time you leave he’s left with a sense of this being the last time.

When you come back to him in your bra and panties he’s too rash. Instead of guiding you to his lap Anton gets on his back. He doesn’t tell you what he needs when you try to adjust to the sudden change. When you still try to go to his lap Anton’s hand on your wrist stops you. You look at Anton and it takes both of you too many dragging seconds to see what Anton is silent hinting at. He’s missed your touch, your voice, and your taste. When you realize it your eyebrows are raised nearly to your hairline, and he’s still guiding your body towards his face.

From that point everything happened pretty fast. You asked Anton a million times if he was sure and said yes without fail. When you finally situated yourself with your knees on either side of his head, he knew this was what he needed. The skewed perspective of you down here, his hands on your thighs trying to guide you down. Feeling you cage him in and you taking up all his senses was what he needed. But you were still unsure, even with Anton’s eyes honing in on the pretty pattern of the panties he was determined to eat through you hesitated above him.

“You’ll stop me if you can’t breathe right?” You fought against his hands trying to bring you down. Every breath he took fanned your heat, he could already see the fabric forming to you. “I really couldn’t deal with the guilt if I killed you.” You said.

Anton thought this would be an amazing way to die. Suffocating between thighs and drowning in you. Could aliens be persecuted on Earth? Would you just go back to Venus and never come back?

“Anton.” He looked from your heat back up to you. You tried leaning back to see more of his face but his hold on you kept you in place. “Are you listening to me?” You asked.

“Yes. I’m listening.” He almost went crosseyed focusing back on your center. One of your hands went to grip the armrest past Anton’s head, preemptively giving yourself something to stabilize your body with. He dragged his words out, purposefully letting his breath fan your clammy skin. You were twitching for him already. He pulled you down again. “I’ll tell you, I promise.”

He was grateful his plea was what made you give in. One more tug at your thighs and you were lowering yourself on his mouth, and Anton was sticking out his tongue to lave your panties that covered your clit. He felt you hovering your weight above his head, scared to give him all of it, then he pushed your panties to the side. Almost immediately Anton felt more of your weight and your thighs close around his head. He felt your body lean forwards and he heard your exasperated breath, then a whimper that told him you were getting used to this. He lifted you only a second to drop you directly on his tongue, and he started sucking and licking whatever he could touch.

Your thighs were shaking around his head, and Anton was becoming increasingly aware of his own body. His dick was twitching in his pants, with each jump or sound you made he was beginning to feel the tension rising along his entire body. He needed more. He was almost there, he almost had the chord or the arrangement. Revelation was on the tip of his tongue. Anton's fingers kept your underwear pushed to the side, he could feel the wet cotton sticking to the side of his face. He hummed again, and you pitched forward to grab the armrest of his couch for stability.

"Do you want me to touch you?" You asked the question quickly. You two made eye contact, his words of just needed you to get off was trapped between your legs. Even if you heard him he knew it'd be lost on him. You were too giving, and he revealed that one of his favorite things in this life was when you'd touch him.

You push yourself from the armrest of the couch and reach behind you, instantly pressing into the bulge. He's so strung up stimulation feels like pain, he's ready to pop at any moment. He hasn't been touched since he saw you last, and he couldn't think of doing anything for himself when you weren't here. Part of being from a different world must mean that your touch goes right through fabric. When your hand cups over his pants it's like you're gripping him in your own hands.

Whatever it is you're doing to him is too juvenile for him to cum first. It almost becomes a competition, he becomes greedy. He tongues you until he pushes past the ring of muscle, sucking on whatever his lips touch. Anton pushed on your ass until it pushed you forward, where his nose bumped your clit. His other hand wrapped around the top of your thigh and pushed you back. He repeated the motion, sucking harder each time your body hitched from you bumping into his nose. When he stopped guiding you Anton was grateful you abandoned more of your inhibitions to repeat the motions on your own. He was grateful that his pleasure became an after thought. You abandoned his dick completely to lean forward again, to press your hand to your lower stomach to really focus grinding on his face. Anton could feel you over his body, but your slick coated his chin. You You were making a mess on his lips too, moaning louder than the sounds he was making between your legs.

Anton was too busy watching the way your stomach tensed and relaxed each time you ground your hips on his face that he was getting lost. Between notes and songwriting and everything else he was grinding against nothing, his legs draped over the other end of the couch and his body tensed up. You were becoming rigid above him too, your hand in his hair pulled roughly as your body came increasingly heavy on his lips. Anton still drove you forward, until your clit bumped his nose over and over again. You shifted on top of him to fully ride his face, bucking on him over and over.

"Close." You whimpered. Anton felt your hand grip his hair, keeping him in place. He was getting smothered by you, your thighs came close to his face and kept him caged in. "Close, Ton. You're always so good for me."

Anton nodded and continued the motion. He guided you easily, through your body shaking above him. He still continued to suck, until your thighs shook around his head. When you looked down at him Anton kept going, even when you tried lifting your body again he kept you there. He was so close, he just needed a little more. His hands on your waist was rough, he could see your skin dimpling underneath his fingers. He vocalized how he needed you to hold on, but it was hard to break through your noises and how your body was muffling him.

When you finally froze above him, Anton could taste all of you. He continued sucking even when you pulled even harder at his hair. You had to shake your head and cry out to finally get him to stop. You melted above him, it was Anton who had to lift you off of his face. He watched you stagger on your knees forward, he tiled his head to follow your movements until you were leaning against the edge of the couch.

Both of you had to catch your breath. Anton sat up fully to see you mold into the couch, your chest raising and lowering. He was a little bit more composed, save for the way his hair stuck to his forehead and his entire face glistening with you and sweat.

"Did that help with your writers block?"

Suddenly, everything hits Anton at once. He stands up from the couch, still painfully hard and face flushed, leaving you in your seat. Anton peaks past the doorway of his bedroom to stare directly at you.

"Don't leave." He says quickly before disappearing past the doorframe.

Anton woke up from the sun coming through his window. He forgot to draw the blinds last night, leaving him blinking and already fighting through a headache. He blinked to try and adjust to the light, moving from his side to the other. His door was open. He remembered closing it last night. He also remembered you being on the bed next to him, but he went to sleep knowing you wouldn’t be here in the morning. Still while he faced the open door his other hand mindlessly ran over the spot you were laying last night. He still felt a crater in the sheets where you laid and he swore you left your perfume there too. When he took a deep breath in he could smell you, and he could still taste you too.

When he looked past the open door he could see the mess you two left in the living room. There was a moment you two were having a heart to heart and the next you were pushing things off the coffee table. His expensive glass fruit bowl was surely chipped if not broken, and he had his throw pillows and blankets laying on the floor. He was still waking up when the buzzing sound from across the bed pulled his attention back to his room. Anton had to crawl over your side of his bed to his nightstand, unplugging his phone and mindlessly unlocking it.

He meandered on the homescreen, blinking constantly as he tried to jumpstart his mind. He even looked away from his phone completely for a moment, focusing on the quiet of his room as he let his thoughts come back to him. He remembered what he was doing the moment his eyes landed on his home studio. He looked at the turn tables and his computer screen that was still awake. He still had the file he was working on open. Anton recalled the song as he clicked on Wonbin’s phone number in his call log.

Anton brought his phone to his face and listened to it ring. He went back down to laying on his bed, one side pressed into the mattress as he kept his phone balanced on the other side. Anton even let his eyes close again as the phone continued to ring. He let out a yawn, fully expecting to catch Wonbin’s voicemail instead of catching him.

“I was calling you last night.” Wonbin says.

Anton still keeps his eyes closed as he hums an acknowledgment into the transmission. Wonbin doesn’t continue to pry even at the clear sign of disrespect, both of them already know what Anton is about to say.

“I have a new song.” Anton could practically hear Wonbin on the other end of the line sigh in relief. Anton imagined Sohee was there with him, the two crowded around the receiver of the phone trying to see who can hear the good news first. He imagines the two of them hitting eachother in excitement at the thought of releasing something new. Anton opens his eyes to look at his computer screen again. He finally feels the embarrassment as he recalls the inspiration he got for the song. He clears his throat, trying to will the memories away. “Come by and I can play it for you guys.” He says.

Anton didn’t have time to clean up his place before the two of them arrived. It seemed as though Wonbin and Sohee were waiting on his call. Within ten minutes he already got the text from Wonbin that they were outside. Anton only had five minutes to light an incense and try to desperately clean up the mess you two made the night prior. He ended up stuffing somethings into his closet, there were still shards of glass on the floor when the two were knocking on his door.

When Anton opened his door the two barely spared a greeting, instead making a beeline past Anton’s mess of a common area to his bedroom. He saw Wonbin’s attention scatter across his terribly cleaned mess, speaking over his shoulder as Anton closed the distance between them.

“Your place usually isn’t this much of a mess, Anton.” Wonbin says casually.

Anton watches Wonbin’s attention stay on the jostled throw pillows and blanket on his couch. Anton’s face heats up when he remembers the night before. After you rode his face, the rest of the night was a blur. What you two did after that came in snatches. When Anton followed Wonbin’s gaze around his apartment he remembered it. Your hand planted on the back of the couch and the other clutching at the armrest as he fucked you from behind. He remembered the feeling of your sweaty shoulder clasped in his palm as he kept you driving backwards and the way you looked back at what he was doing to you.

“This usually happens to artists when they work on a project.” Sohee says matter-of-factly.

Wonbin stops walking and looks at the back of Sohee’s head. Anton stops behind Wonbin and Sohee stops right before he walks past the threshold of Anton’s door.

Anton feels like at any moment their attention will go to the mess and ask why it looks like a tornado ripped through his apartment. Anton almost feels relief that the two decided to bother eachother instead.

Anton watches Sohee give Wonbin his snooty know-it-all look, the one that always drives Wonbin crazy. Instead of responding, Wonbin only drives his finger into Sohee’s side. Sohee instinctually reaches forward to return the favor, causing Wonbin to back up on reflex before reaching forward to try and prod his side again. Anton watches the two of them try and fight.

They don’t stop until Anton clears his throat and points towards his room. Almost immediately Sohee and Wonbin come to their senses to walk towards Anton’s room. Wonbin pokes Sohee’s side one more time as a joke, causing all three of them to laugh.

When Sohee goes into Anton’s room, he heads to the bed first. Anton tries to be calm seeing Sohee sit in the same spot on the edge of the bed you occupied not even twelve hours ago. Sohee unknowingly sets his backpack next to him, right on top of the pile where your discarded clothes rested before. Anton had to push past Wonbin, remaining neutral as he prepped the song to be played.

Anton trailed behind the two of them, and had to remain neutral at the sight of Wonbin doing a once over of the ground. Anton panicked and did the same, praying that he picked up all evidence of the night he had. When Wonbin’s eyes lingered on a crumbled shirt that looked a size to small, Anton cleared his thought. When his face went hot again he focused back on the computer, letting the sound of Sohee moving on his unmade bed fill the silence.

“When’d you finish this?” Sohee asked.

Anton looked back briefly. He saw Sohee playfully kick his feet that dangled over the edge of Anton’s bed as he leaned back onto the mattress. Anton forced himself to focus on clicking through the files on his desktop not looking back again.

“Uhm. Last night.” Anton mumbled.

He felt bad for his non-assuming friend, how he had no idea he sat in the same spot where you were pathetically drooling onto his mattress the night before. The thought made Anton the complete opposite of how he was in that moment, he could only shyly nod his head when Sohee made a sound of acknowledgment.

Wonbin moved to the same spot beside the bed where Anton got down on his knees and draped your legs over his shoulders.

“Let’s hear it.” He said.

Anton pressed play and adjusted the volume, letting the beginning play. As the instrumental picked up Anton sheepishly described the type of song he had in mind for the beat. He prayed Sohee and Wonbin didn’t pick up on the deep bass immediately. He tried desperately to beat around the bush to such an extent that Sohee and Wonbin would come up with their own interpretation.

“It’s on the slower side, but I think we could have really hard hitting lyrics here.” Anton said while making an encompassing motion with his hands.

Anton was grateful that his bandmates didn’t notice the flustered tone or his nervous habit of speaking with his hands. Sohee was thinking about the vocal color he needed for this song and Anton could already see Wonbin crafting the lyrics in his head. The true inspiration of the song seemed to go over their heads for a moment—Anton started easing as they nodded along approvingly to the beat.

He believed he was in the clear, but when the chorus of the song came around and the sound of a bed creaking played through the speakers of Anton’s computer his bandmates froze. Anton saw Sohee and Wonbin exchange a side eye. Sohee’s legs that dangled over the edge of Anton’s bed stopped kicking suddenly and his head tilted to the side. Wonbin’s mouth dropped and he pulled his hand away from his face.

Both of them were pulled from their reverie, looking up from the ground to look Anton dead in the eye.

“What type of song is this?” Wonbin asked.

Anton watched Sohee slowly turn around to take in Anton’s unmade bed. He could practically saw the lightbulb go off above his bandmates head as he watched Sohee look over the jostled covers and the folded pillow still laying in the center of the bed. Sohee slowly lifted his hands from the mattress and sat upright and turned back to Anton just as slow.

“No way.” Sohee says in disbelief.

At Anton’s reddening face and Sohee’s agape mouth Wonbin did a once over again. When the lightbulb went off over his head he begins laughing so hard he has to bend over and hold his chest.

“Unbelievable.” Wonbin wipes the tears from his face. “Unbelievable.”

#seriez: rock the house #01zfan: anton #anton smut #riize smut

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obae-me · 5 months ago

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The Devil's Desire

Nothing like trying to come back from a long hiatus with more Luci content. It's always him, I can't escape.

Warning: This fic contains a makeout scene but nothing explicit, so 16+.

Disclaimer: I am NOT bashing religion, nor am I calling out any specific faith, denomination, etc. It's written to be mostly generic on purpose, and is simply based on a real life experience I have had before. Don't take this seriously, please.

Word Count: 2.3k

With that out of the way, please enjoy some Luci romance!:

To lie with the devil is to wake up in hell. Tender lips stained with debauchery embrace nothing but lies. Tainted is the temporary vice. Lost is the lamb who leaves the flock. Damned is the devoured; the ones drowned in their own sins, plunged into the fires, entombed in brimstone. The cries of pleasure now ones of wailing. Of gnashing their own teeth. Made to suffer an eternity of eternities for shunning the light.

At least, that’s what they say.

And by they, right now you meant the very adamant woman standing in front of you, brandishing pamphlets like they were her very own Ten Commandments. If only 'Thou Shall Not Harass Unsuspecting People on the Street' were one of them. If you had your own rules, that would make it into the top five for sure.

Unfortunately, the lady slowly singling you out from the rest of the passers-by did not share your same sentiments. She was on a mission. Her mission? You. The goal? To wear you down and pester you long enough to join whatever group she was promoting. You’d seen these things enough before to see the danger signs in advance. A clipboard so they could take your name and number. A promotion selling tickets that you’d inevitably have to use your email to register for. All in an attempt to get your information so they could track you down in a less stalker-y sort of way.

“Oh, hello, dear. How are you today?” The hunter was closing in, two teens carrying signs at her side working on sequestering you- the weaker link- away from the pack.

“I’m good, how are you?” Damn your polite force of habit! Curse you, customer service default settings!

She grinned, knowing that if she played her cards right, she could probably keep you trapped here for a while longer. She spoke, and due to the survival instinct in your brain, you were capable of tuning her out for the most part. Something something, for the greater good, something something, special soul. They never meant what they said, or even if they believed their own words, it was undermined by their intentions. You’d been in this boat before. You kept waving your hand and nodding your head, explaining to her that you were busy and had someone you were meeting.

As you stepped backwards, she approached again. “Just one minute of your time! One minute could save your soul from Lucifer’s clutches!”

Without entirely meaning to, the drop of that name made you pause. Every once and a while, you forgot that the person you had come to know so well was such a prominent- albeit infamous- figure in the human world. Although, the way he tended to be described made him seem more like a boogeyman rather than a demon capable of Armageddon, scaring children across different nations and cultures into behaving. Perhaps you should be insulted on his behalf. Perhaps you should share some of the stuff you had seen. Tales of ivory wings and the blinding glow of a fallen angel whose twisted voice now told beings to Be Afraid. With a haunting beauty so enveloping, you openly fell further into the nightmare. That being said, you almost laughed in her face, wanting to tell her that the man she was so afraid of had been fretting over what kind of coat to wear this morning. Black was classy. But blue made his eyes pop more. But red was his color. Thirty minutes he pondered over this. “I’m not all that worried about it.”

Maybe you hadn’t contained your amusement as well as you thought you did, because for some reason, a righteous fire had lit under her sandy open-toed wedges. “You should be! Whatever promises the devil gives you, it will only bring you misery in the end! He cares nothing for you! Only HE can give you the joy you seek.” Her pointer finger raised up while she gazed to the clouds like she could peer into Heaven from down here. It was hard to tell if the dramatics were more for you or her. When she glanced at you again, she appeared spooked, clutching pearl hands at the ready.

An arm snaked around your waist, a hand settling on your hip. If the touch wasn’t so familiar, you would’ve jumped. “I don’t know. I think I bring plenty of joy, wouldn’t you say, love?”

Speak of the devil, in a quite literal sense.

Relief flooded your body, the tension you’d unknowingly built in your shoulders loosening. Even posing as a human, Lucifer was intimidating. At the very least, no one bothered to approach him out of the blue. This party buff seemed to extend to you as well. This lady seemed much less interested in trying to convince you of anything now. She cleared her throat and thought about potentially leaving you one last message of warning, but the man in your company wasn’t having it. He scoffed under his breath before he gestured to some of the other sign bearers in the group, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Strange weather today, isn’t it? You might want to help retrieve your things,” Lucifer announced. Eyebrows raised. The weather was quite nice today, albeit a little cold. Curiosity got the better of her. Just as the woman turned around, a heavy gust of wind blew over you all, making pamphlets and signs fly upwards and into the streets. Subtle. People scrambled. The lady hiked up her skirt and ran to the edge of the sidewalk. Cars screeched to a halt and honked, people stopped to gawk at the calamity, all the while, you felt yourself being tugged away.

Lucifer’s hand remained on your waist for a few minutes until he was certain the annoyance was far behind you. How much of a mess was the scene now? You turned your head to look over your shoulder, but only saw darkness as a gloved hand covered your eyes. A slight huff sounded off to your side.

“Leave it. This hesitancy of yours is what got you caught in the first place.” The hand moved from your eyes to the top of your head, making you look up at him with a twist of his fingers. “I leave you be for a few moments, and you once again find yourself tangled up in nonsense.” His narrowed eyes flitted over your form as if checking for signs of distress or injury, like the woman was a master of combat with pamphlets as her weapon of choice. Always the worrier that one. He’d have still a similar reaction if you found yourself lost in a grocery store…

A frown crossed over your face. “I did try to leave. How many times do I have to say ‘no thank you’ before someone leaves me alone?”

He tisked, his posture straightening as he fixed the scarf around your neck. The plush fabric was rubbed against your jaws. “There’s your first issue. Manners are all well and good until someone takes advantage of it. At some point, you have to drop the politeness and just say ‘no’. With your entire chest.” All of a sudden, he took two pointer fingers and manipulated your cheeks and lips to mouth some words. “N. O. Just like that. Can you say it with me? Nnnn��ooo…”

You narrowed your eyes a bit at his teasing, batting his hands away. “Knock it off, Luce…”

“Hmm. Maybe I should go get one of those eccentrics and tell them we changed our minds and—“

“No!”

“Ah, see, you are capable of it.” Someone was mighty pleased with himself. Anytime he found himself in a place where he was free from his responsibilities, he always got shockingly more playful. It would be cute if it weren’t so frustrating right now. His hand started running over your head. “Good job.”

“That’s not funny. You heard how they were talking about you… I hate listening to it.”

At your words, his teasing smile faded. Rolling his eyes, he lowered his hands. “I would much rather you save that vexation for yourself and how they treated you. All the humans in the world could despise me and I would not bat an eye.” Suddenly, his finger tapped your chin, trying to regain your full attention. “I only care what one of them thinks about me.”

Something about the sudden sappiness in public snapped you out of things. You turned a bit on your feet and started walking. “Did you check us in already?”

“I took care of it. Did you want to head in now or wander around the town a while?” His partial pout at ignoring his romanticism could almost be felt physically as he matched his pace with yours.

“I think I’ve had my fun for now.”

A hum, and his hand found your own. Clasping it, guiding you to the hotel as you both walked. It was astonishing how such a move cast a level of camouflage over you two. Suddenly, it was as if you both were a normal couple following the regular flow of foot-traffic, keeping each other warm in the crisp air with the heat of each others close proximity.

If the devil was so callous, why were his hands so tender?…

The rest of the walk was a bit of a blur. The people, buildings, spoken words, all unimportant compared to the sensation of having him near. The elevator ride jostled, giving you some more awareness to your surroundings. A short walk, a brandished key card, and he opened the door for you, the very picture of a perfect gentleman.

If the devil cared not for you, why would he bother with chivalry?

The “room” was huge, with an entire kitchen, walled off bathroom, closed off bedroom, and separate living area. This was more an apartment than a simple hotel room. The luggage was already brought inside, Lucifer’s portion already opened and put away. “Leave it to Diavolo to save you the biggest, fanciest suite in the hotel. If the tub has jets, I’m never leaving.”

“Do you expect the Avatar of Pride, the right hand to royalty, to expect anything less?”

“You’re funny if you think Diavolo wouldn’t give you something like this regardless of your gilded titles. Careful, your sin is showing.” You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful nudge.

He swiveled on his feet and poked your ribs. “You dare push me?” His voice rumbled in amusement deep in his chest. “Rather bold to do to such a dangerous demon.”

“Oh? Is that a threat? Going to take my soul? Well, you’re going to have to get through me first.” Fake punches flew through the air, striking at his chest and face with no force. Although you knew real punches would have the same utterly useless, painless outcome for him.

The world tilted, some of the air leaving your lungs in a giggling gasp as he scooped you up over his shoulder. He twisted, spinning around occasionally to leave you somewhat disoriented until you were plopped down on top of the bed, the whole mattress bobbing. Lucifer hovered over you. “You cannot hope to win, human. You’re mine now.”

Something in your chest fluttered at that. “So you win then, is it? How would you like my soul? Grilled? Blended? Braised?”

One of his hands worked on removing the scarf from around your neck, the back of his index finger tracing the outline of your chin. Just a breath away from being in contact. “Let me see…” Adjusting, rubbing his nose against yours, he waited for that tell-tale sign of permission, of you closing some of the distance. Temptation struck you, flooding in your heart. The plunge was too alluring. You bit of the fruit, and the devil wrapped his clutches around you.

Watch out for the schemes of the devil, who prowls like a beast, waiting for the moment to strike and devour- lips whispering inner desires. Raise up your guard to save yourself from being pulled into darkness, into his embrace, limbs aching and craving. For his claws shall tear and shred in eagerness, unable to contain themselves as they remove the body of protective vestments. He will take the very breath from your lungs. Crush the bones with a heaving chest. Partake of your flesh.

Lucifer raised his head for a moment, letting you both catch your breath. Your thumb traced his bottom lip, puffy and scarlet where you’d nipped it. Red was always a good color for him. That’s why you picked the crimson coat for him today. It matched his cheeks, the end of his ears, his longing eyes.

“Authentically,” he said, answering your question you felt you asked two lifetimes ago. His mouth covered yours as his broad hands squeezed your shoulders. “Slowly…” You could almost feel his hum in the back of your throat as he spoke between kisses. “Bit by bit…” His teeth grazed you top lip. “Over the course of a lifetime…” His affection moved on, venturing out and exploring your cheeks and gently over your eyelids. “So you’ll be right here with me… exactly like this… for a very-“ a searing mark was placed right under your earlobe, against a tingling part of your neck, “…very long time.”

To lie with the devil is to wake up wrapped up in braids of limb and cloth. Tender lips stained with last night’s embrace whisper saccharine words. Cherished is the temporary stillness. Beloved is the lamb who measures the meter of the heartbeat of the wolf. Blessed is the enamored; the ones drowned in their own affection, plunged into the fires of passion, entombed in each other’s chests. The cries of pleasure echoed with ones of mirth. Of declarations and vows held tight between their own teeth. Made to persist an eternity of eternities for existing as the other’s light.

For it's his desire.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader

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